A sort of routine has installed itself on the boat. Get up, shower, have breakfast, get the ship ready to depart, stow the lines, go through your duty rotations, eat, rotate through duties some more, get the ship ready to go alongside, spend time as best as you can at night.
I tried to write but nothing much happened over the weekend and today was a “free” day for me—I was duty NavO (Navigation Officer) so I didn't actually have duty today. I just laid down the tracks on the charts and that was it. Oh, and I went to see the Simpsons movie on Saturday.
We'll be sailing around the gulf islands for three more days, before heading over to Victoria once more for the long-weekend. Hopefully it'll be an interesting couple of days.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Thursday, Fourth day at sea.
A few more challenges popped up today. First, we had a small breakdown which required us to turn around almost all the way from our destination back to where we started the day. We were supposed to run around up there doing various seamanship and navigation evolutions, but because of the breakdown we just turned around, sat at anchor for a while, waiting for the engineer from the company to come onboard and fix it, and then we made our way back to port.
The breakdown afforded me a second (and almost a third) “tour” as OOW, in the same day. In the morning, after being AFixO, I was supposed to have the helm, but it was taken over by one of the staffs just before my turn, so I just stood there, not sure what to do, and as a lot of other people had cleared the bridge, I was given the notebook to write down whatever happens, and I started writing. Once we came to anchor, I was told to take fixes to make sure we weren't drifting too far. Then, after a short break for lunch, I went back to the bridge and I had to be OOW and FixO at the same time. Not too difficult a job, really, but when you're alone on the bridge and you have to make sure the ship doesn't move (not too hard) and you don't get run into... it's easy, but you become acutely aware of what's going on.
The other students were called to the training room (the cafeteria) for a lesson, so I stayed on as OOW while this was going on, and when the officers came back up, they started talking about doing a FIREX (Fire eXercise, where we practice what to do if there's an actual fire onboard). So I got to be OOW during the FIREX, which mostly meant I had to take care of the casualty board (a little schematic of the ship where one indicates all the damage and the status and such) and... listen to what was going on. Not too shabby, but compared to the commotion that must have been going on down below, it was a pleasure cruise.
After a short stand easy, we reverted to our positions, which meant I was back to being OOW—I had been relieved just before the stand easy—but this time we would be transiting back through traffic to our berth in Nanaimo. It was pretty busy, with a lot of ships going around. Luckily the FixO and AFixO were back up on the bridge, which was, actually, fully manned. The CO was sitting in his lofty chair and the XO was manning the navigation console, while the DeckO was OOW (I was “2OOW” though in training terms I was still OOW). I had the conn (command) for the most part, but for certain parts the OOW took over. It was rather nice, especially when we had a few ships that were on a steady bearing (which means they would have collided) and I after I told the OOW he just told me to take action on it, with some input from the XO on the actual course to follow. I did it a few times, and took bearings on tons of ships.
We ran some tests on the engines and went around, waiting for some other ships to go in the harbour first, so we could go in safely. After that, even though it was time for me to be relieved, I wasn't, because we were working “out” of the schedule. This was pretty nice because even though I didn't have the conn after that, I was still on the bridge keeping an eye out for boats and taking reports from the lookouts and keeping an eye on everything. All the trainees got taken off the bridge for part ship hands to get the ship in, because we had to basically heave the ship into place by hand.
I wish I knew what more a “real” OOW does, because from what they have us doing, it's not quite that hard. Sure, there are more rules of the road you have to follow, (I'm starting to learn them, but... yeah) but with a navigator and a fixing officer... it's not that hard. Navigator seems to be much harder, and fixing officer is arduous but easy—by that I mean, it tires you out because you're always looking for fixes and putting them on the chart and whatnot, but it's not a hard job to do, mentally. Navigator, well, you put waypoints on a chart, figure out the danger area, and give it to the OOW and FixO to move around by.
I feel really good on the bridge. Some other duties aren't that fun, like, say, cook, (God bless 'em—they're necessary, but I couldn't be a cook.. probably because I suck at it) but overall I'm having a good time, when I'm not miserable because I feel sick. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, that's for sure. Of course, my conning could use a little more work, but that's why we're here.
Anyway, I'm not too happy to be cook once more tomorrow, but someone's gotta do it! Besides, we're heading off to a weekend of debauchery,* so it's all good.
*By “debauchery”, I really mean “not being in uniform for two full days and not having to jump around doing different jobs all day.”
The breakdown afforded me a second (and almost a third) “tour” as OOW, in the same day. In the morning, after being AFixO, I was supposed to have the helm, but it was taken over by one of the staffs just before my turn, so I just stood there, not sure what to do, and as a lot of other people had cleared the bridge, I was given the notebook to write down whatever happens, and I started writing. Once we came to anchor, I was told to take fixes to make sure we weren't drifting too far. Then, after a short break for lunch, I went back to the bridge and I had to be OOW and FixO at the same time. Not too difficult a job, really, but when you're alone on the bridge and you have to make sure the ship doesn't move (not too hard) and you don't get run into... it's easy, but you become acutely aware of what's going on.
The other students were called to the training room (the cafeteria) for a lesson, so I stayed on as OOW while this was going on, and when the officers came back up, they started talking about doing a FIREX (Fire eXercise, where we practice what to do if there's an actual fire onboard). So I got to be OOW during the FIREX, which mostly meant I had to take care of the casualty board (a little schematic of the ship where one indicates all the damage and the status and such) and... listen to what was going on. Not too shabby, but compared to the commotion that must have been going on down below, it was a pleasure cruise.
After a short stand easy, we reverted to our positions, which meant I was back to being OOW—I had been relieved just before the stand easy—but this time we would be transiting back through traffic to our berth in Nanaimo. It was pretty busy, with a lot of ships going around. Luckily the FixO and AFixO were back up on the bridge, which was, actually, fully manned. The CO was sitting in his lofty chair and the XO was manning the navigation console, while the DeckO was OOW (I was “2OOW” though in training terms I was still OOW). I had the conn (command) for the most part, but for certain parts the OOW took over. It was rather nice, especially when we had a few ships that were on a steady bearing (which means they would have collided) and I after I told the OOW he just told me to take action on it, with some input from the XO on the actual course to follow. I did it a few times, and took bearings on tons of ships.
We ran some tests on the engines and went around, waiting for some other ships to go in the harbour first, so we could go in safely. After that, even though it was time for me to be relieved, I wasn't, because we were working “out” of the schedule. This was pretty nice because even though I didn't have the conn after that, I was still on the bridge keeping an eye out for boats and taking reports from the lookouts and keeping an eye on everything. All the trainees got taken off the bridge for part ship hands to get the ship in, because we had to basically heave the ship into place by hand.
I wish I knew what more a “real” OOW does, because from what they have us doing, it's not quite that hard. Sure, there are more rules of the road you have to follow, (I'm starting to learn them, but... yeah) but with a navigator and a fixing officer... it's not that hard. Navigator seems to be much harder, and fixing officer is arduous but easy—by that I mean, it tires you out because you're always looking for fixes and putting them on the chart and whatnot, but it's not a hard job to do, mentally. Navigator, well, you put waypoints on a chart, figure out the danger area, and give it to the OOW and FixO to move around by.
I feel really good on the bridge. Some other duties aren't that fun, like, say, cook, (God bless 'em—they're necessary, but I couldn't be a cook.. probably because I suck at it) but overall I'm having a good time, when I'm not miserable because I feel sick. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, that's for sure. Of course, my conning could use a little more work, but that's why we're here.
Anyway, I'm not too happy to be cook once more tomorrow, but someone's gotta do it! Besides, we're heading off to a weekend of debauchery,* so it's all good.
*By “debauchery”, I really mean “not being in uniform for two full days and not having to jump around doing different jobs all day.”
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Wednesday, Third day at sea
What a blast! While Assistant Fixing Officer (AFixO) and lifebuoy sentry aren't all that great, if not downright depressing (taking down random names and numbers? yawn!), lookout is pretty fun. You have to look around all the time, figure out what is what—it sounds simple enough, but when you have a contact just on the horizon and you have no clue what you're looking at, it gets tough—and report it, quickly. It would be a drag to do it hours on end, but for an hour it's fine.
What was REALLY interesting was Officer of the Watch (OOW). Now, I'm still not doing everything a real OOW has to do, and we have constant supervision, but it's still pretty cool. You get reports from your lookouts and you have to keep an eye on all the ships around you, especially those ahead or those that might cross ahead too close to you, as well as keeping an eye on what the helmsman is doing and making sure you're on track. It's hard enough staying on a track in a straight line and correcting for whenever the current, wind, or helm pushes you away from where you have to be, but you have to turn and get on another track, too!
You're puttering happily away at, say, fifteen knots, with your fixing officer happily taking down fixes and your electronic chart telling you exactly where you are and how far (down to the nearest yard) you are from the track, and your helmsmen constantly staying within a few degrees of whatever course you're steering, and you have the XO (or, God forbid, the CO) sitting behind you to make sure you don't run aground or run over someone, and then your train of though about where you are and when you have to change gets interrupted.
“Officer of the Watch, Port Lookout.”
You blink and take a step or two towards the port door to hear your lookout better.
“Officer of the Watch,” you say, to let your lookout know you're ready to receive his report.
“Sir, one new contact, bearing red 30, range far, one small power driven vessel.”
One look out the window, thirty degrees off the bow (the pointy end), maybe a quick look through the binoculars. “Very good,” you say, and the lookout resumes his... looking out. If you're lucky, the new contact is too far away to be important, or on a track that leads him away from you. If not, you have to take his bearing—if it doesn't change over a period of time, you're in trouble: you'll collide! If the bearing changes, you might stil have to report to the XO or CO to make sure you don't get too close.
“XO, Officer of the Watch,” you say.
“XO.”
“Sir, one new contact to report...” you start. Your report is much more complex: you have to tell him where, how far, what, how it's moving, it's CPA (Closest Point of Approach) and so on, and recommend the course of action you think is appropriate. That really depends on the rules of the road (COLREGS) but often you don't have to really do anything. The XO might decide otherwise and alter course you don't crash, but that doesn't happen too often.
By now you have to make a course change, so the Navigation officer tells you how far you are off the point where you'll turn, and when it's time, you order your helmsman to turn his wheel. You come up to the course and, if you're lucky, you're almost right on track. If not, you have to do corrections again.
It goes on and on and on.
It's even worse when you're a trainee and you're going through somewhere with a lot of traffic. A trained officer takes over as OOW and you become the Second Officer of the Watch (2OOW). That means you get the reports, but the OOW has the conn (control of the ship) and basically has power over everything. That means you have to sort out through the reports and only tell the OOW about the important ships, so he can concentrate on keeping on track through a narrow passage.
All that is somewhat demanding, but incredibly fun. There's nothing like being in control of thousands of tons of metal hurtling over the seas at twenty knots, while passing by sailboats and small pleasure craft. At a whim, you can do anything you want—not entirely true, but true enough.
After the “trouble” on Monday, it's been pretty good. Being on the upper decks is good: the fresh air and the sun just keep me in an almost persistent good mood. Well, that and the fact I'm actually doing something relevant to my job, for once. No more playing soldier... for now!
I get to be OOW again tomorrow, and hopefully my watch won't be cut in half by going through a busy channel. I also get to do boring but necessary stuff like AFixO and DC (Damage Control) roundsman. That's pretty much it for tomorrow, though.
I gave a few tours to civilians today and it was pretty good. People definately look at you differently when you're telling them about something they have no clue about, and you just move around pointing different things out to them. Of course there isn't all that much on Orca to tell people about, but it's fun to see the look on kids' faces when you take them in the engine room and let them look around the big twelve-cylinder diesel engines and the generators and all the fun equipment down there. (It's also fun to see them when you tell them they can sit in the Captain's chair, but don't tell the CO I let someone sit in his chair!)
Other than that, well, I'm looking forward to the rest of my time “at sea,” and I hope next year's MARS III won't totally kick my behind. It's all Navy stuff from now on, though, so even if I end up sucking at it I'll probably like it anyway.
What was REALLY interesting was Officer of the Watch (OOW). Now, I'm still not doing everything a real OOW has to do, and we have constant supervision, but it's still pretty cool. You get reports from your lookouts and you have to keep an eye on all the ships around you, especially those ahead or those that might cross ahead too close to you, as well as keeping an eye on what the helmsman is doing and making sure you're on track. It's hard enough staying on a track in a straight line and correcting for whenever the current, wind, or helm pushes you away from where you have to be, but you have to turn and get on another track, too!
You're puttering happily away at, say, fifteen knots, with your fixing officer happily taking down fixes and your electronic chart telling you exactly where you are and how far (down to the nearest yard) you are from the track, and your helmsmen constantly staying within a few degrees of whatever course you're steering, and you have the XO (or, God forbid, the CO) sitting behind you to make sure you don't run aground or run over someone, and then your train of though about where you are and when you have to change gets interrupted.
“Officer of the Watch, Port Lookout.”
You blink and take a step or two towards the port door to hear your lookout better.
“Officer of the Watch,” you say, to let your lookout know you're ready to receive his report.
“Sir, one new contact, bearing red 30, range far, one small power driven vessel.”
One look out the window, thirty degrees off the bow (the pointy end), maybe a quick look through the binoculars. “Very good,” you say, and the lookout resumes his... looking out. If you're lucky, the new contact is too far away to be important, or on a track that leads him away from you. If not, you have to take his bearing—if it doesn't change over a period of time, you're in trouble: you'll collide! If the bearing changes, you might stil have to report to the XO or CO to make sure you don't get too close.
“XO, Officer of the Watch,” you say.
“XO.”
“Sir, one new contact to report...” you start. Your report is much more complex: you have to tell him where, how far, what, how it's moving, it's CPA (Closest Point of Approach) and so on, and recommend the course of action you think is appropriate. That really depends on the rules of the road (COLREGS) but often you don't have to really do anything. The XO might decide otherwise and alter course you don't crash, but that doesn't happen too often.
By now you have to make a course change, so the Navigation officer tells you how far you are off the point where you'll turn, and when it's time, you order your helmsman to turn his wheel. You come up to the course and, if you're lucky, you're almost right on track. If not, you have to do corrections again.
It goes on and on and on.
It's even worse when you're a trainee and you're going through somewhere with a lot of traffic. A trained officer takes over as OOW and you become the Second Officer of the Watch (2OOW). That means you get the reports, but the OOW has the conn (control of the ship) and basically has power over everything. That means you have to sort out through the reports and only tell the OOW about the important ships, so he can concentrate on keeping on track through a narrow passage.
All that is somewhat demanding, but incredibly fun. There's nothing like being in control of thousands of tons of metal hurtling over the seas at twenty knots, while passing by sailboats and small pleasure craft. At a whim, you can do anything you want—not entirely true, but true enough.
After the “trouble” on Monday, it's been pretty good. Being on the upper decks is good: the fresh air and the sun just keep me in an almost persistent good mood. Well, that and the fact I'm actually doing something relevant to my job, for once. No more playing soldier... for now!
I get to be OOW again tomorrow, and hopefully my watch won't be cut in half by going through a busy channel. I also get to do boring but necessary stuff like AFixO and DC (Damage Control) roundsman. That's pretty much it for tomorrow, though.
I gave a few tours to civilians today and it was pretty good. People definately look at you differently when you're telling them about something they have no clue about, and you just move around pointing different things out to them. Of course there isn't all that much on Orca to tell people about, but it's fun to see the look on kids' faces when you take them in the engine room and let them look around the big twelve-cylinder diesel engines and the generators and all the fun equipment down there. (It's also fun to see them when you tell them they can sit in the Captain's chair, but don't tell the CO I let someone sit in his chair!)
Other than that, well, I'm looking forward to the rest of my time “at sea,” and I hope next year's MARS III won't totally kick my behind. It's all Navy stuff from now on, though, so even if I end up sucking at it I'll probably like it anyway.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Monday, First day at sea
Someone—I think it was the Venture CO—once refered to our ships as “sleek greyhounds of death.” Well, if that's the case, then the Orcas are greyhound pups. These little ships are basically kid-sized frigates, without guns. They have a big bridge, equipped with modern electronic navigation, control and DC equipment, a modest but adequate galley, a rather spacious lunchroom/training room, and several rooms for the crew. The bunks are what you'd expect from a warship: coffin-sized beds stacked three-high. Most of the trainees' accomodation is six to a room, so two stacks of three beds, with lockers and a small sink. We have two heads for the whole crew: each has two actual heads, two showers, and two sinks.
The day was all right. I was assistant cook all day, and as if that wasn't enough of a hassle, we also have to take care of the zodiac (in case of a man overboard, for example) and... yeah, that's pretty much it. For some reason, I got sick today. Apparently it happens to a lot of people, even in the sea state we had today, and it usually goes away. Most people were all right about it, though some thought it was pretty funny that I was sick in the tiny waves we faced. Luckily, one guy on the Orca used to be a sailor (as an NCM) and said it happened to him and it happens to a lot of other people, and it'll most likely go away. It might go away tomorrow, or I might be sick all two weeks, but it should get better eventually.
Still, it's fairly embarassing to get sick on your first day “at sea,” in a low sea state, and you're not really even on the ocean. Good thing I'm not in a WW2 corvette in the North Atlantic; I'd be utterly useless. Guess it's a good thing I want to go for subs: not much sea state hundreds of feet below the surface!
This trip seems to be shaping up rather well, other than the aforementionned seasickness. Scuttlebutt has it that we won't be switching between the Orca and the YAGs, though I don't know for sure yet.
Anyway, this first harbour we've pulled into is pretty decent. It has a pool and a hot tub, though I haven't had the chance to peruse either; they closed early for some reason. Still, there are a few stores within walking distance, and a few “good” bars, or so I'm told.
Other than that, well, I haven't actually done anything truly Navy-esque, so I can't say how I like it, yet. But heh, it's all good, I'll do plenty of Navy stuff in the next two weeks.
The day was all right. I was assistant cook all day, and as if that wasn't enough of a hassle, we also have to take care of the zodiac (in case of a man overboard, for example) and... yeah, that's pretty much it. For some reason, I got sick today. Apparently it happens to a lot of people, even in the sea state we had today, and it usually goes away. Most people were all right about it, though some thought it was pretty funny that I was sick in the tiny waves we faced. Luckily, one guy on the Orca used to be a sailor (as an NCM) and said it happened to him and it happens to a lot of other people, and it'll most likely go away. It might go away tomorrow, or I might be sick all two weeks, but it should get better eventually.
Still, it's fairly embarassing to get sick on your first day “at sea,” in a low sea state, and you're not really even on the ocean. Good thing I'm not in a WW2 corvette in the North Atlantic; I'd be utterly useless. Guess it's a good thing I want to go for subs: not much sea state hundreds of feet below the surface!
This trip seems to be shaping up rather well, other than the aforementionned seasickness. Scuttlebutt has it that we won't be switching between the Orca and the YAGs, though I don't know for sure yet.
Anyway, this first harbour we've pulled into is pretty decent. It has a pool and a hot tub, though I haven't had the chance to peruse either; they closed early for some reason. Still, there are a few stores within walking distance, and a few “good” bars, or so I'm told.
Other than that, well, I haven't actually done anything truly Navy-esque, so I can't say how I like it, yet. But heh, it's all good, I'll do plenty of Navy stuff in the next two weeks.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
A few quotes before I go
I just thought I'd leave a few quotes for you guys while you wait for my next bout of crazy writing.
"We're here to defend democracy, not practice it."
"England expects every man to do his Duty."
"Not bad in here, is it? No mail, no telephone. Solid wood paneling. Well-ventilated boat. Free food, too. "Rolling in clover" we are."
"I expect and demand your very best. Anything less, and you should have joined the Air Force."
"Short of the outbreak of World War Three, the ship sinking... being attacked by a giant octopus, I'd like to be undisturbed for the next thirty minutes."
"Mr Hunter. I've made a decision. I'm Captain of this bo`t. NOW SHUT THE [redacted] UP!"
"All I ask is that you keep up with me. If you can't, then that strange sensation you'll be feeling in the seat of your pants will be my boot in your ass!"
"In other words, the sailor most likely to win the war is the one most willing to part company with the politicians and ignore everything except the destruction of the enemy."
"In my humble opinion, in the nuclear world, the true enemy is war itself."
"My Morse is so rusty, I could be sending him dimensions on playmate of the month."
"Jack, next time you get a bright idea just put it in a memo!"
"Ensign Cartwright, with all due respect to your rank, may I say I think you're an ass?"
Ok, so they're pretty "standard" quotes, but I couldn't think of anything better.
Anyway, I still have some packing to do... stupid mustang jacket...
"We're here to defend democracy, not practice it."
"England expects every man to do his Duty."
"Not bad in here, is it? No mail, no telephone. Solid wood paneling. Well-ventilated boat. Free food, too. "Rolling in clover" we are."
"I expect and demand your very best. Anything less, and you should have joined the Air Force."
"Short of the outbreak of World War Three, the ship sinking... being attacked by a giant octopus, I'd like to be undisturbed for the next thirty minutes."
"Mr Hunter. I've made a decision. I'm Captain of this bo`t. NOW SHUT THE [redacted] UP!"
"All I ask is that you keep up with me. If you can't, then that strange sensation you'll be feeling in the seat of your pants will be my boot in your ass!"
"In other words, the sailor most likely to win the war is the one most willing to part company with the politicians and ignore everything except the destruction of the enemy."
"In my humble opinion, in the nuclear world, the true enemy is war itself."
"My Morse is so rusty, I could be sending him dimensions on playmate of the month."
"Jack, next time you get a bright idea just put it in a memo!"
"Ensign Cartwright, with all due respect to your rank, may I say I think you're an ass?"
Ok, so they're pretty "standard" quotes, but I couldn't think of anything better.
Anyway, I still have some packing to do... stupid mustang jacket...
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Sub pr0n!!!
Those of you who read my blog regularly probably have figured out by now that I love subs. From the Type VIIC U-Boot to the Victoria (Upholder) SSK, and of course the Los Angeles SSN, if it goes underwater and carries torpedoes, I probably love it. So here's a little video of a SSGN firing a few Tomahawks in practice, with underwater cameras filming everything... and a bit of periscope footage. All in all, pretty sweet video. (Warning to those with poor internet connections: the video is 8 minutes long)
Thanks to bubbleheads for putting it up there on his blog and making me notice it.
Thanks to bubbleheads for putting it up there on his blog and making me notice it.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Das Boot: Orca
Well, I've been assigned to the Orca, at least for the first week. They might switch people around for the second week so I might end up going to a YAG for the second week of the trip.
I'm pumped, but there's a LOT of stuff to be done, and with only 15 “crew,” we'll probably be busy most of the time, with some nightly watchkeeping to be done. Oh well, it'll be pretty fun to do most of those jobs... and hopefully the boring jobs (like engineering roundsman and supply officer) will be filled by people whose job it is to do these things: engineers and log people.
I don't really know what—or how much—to bring. It's only two weeks, but two weeks can turn into an eternity if you don't pack enough “fun” stuff: computer, books, magazines, that kind of stuff. Also, I need to be sure I bring all the “important” stuff: uniforms (we have a whole bunch of NCDs, the big ugly floater jacket, the “canary suit” or raingear, etc), civvies, some books and other documents we need for the trip (various forms and such we have to get filled, the rules of the road book, etc), and so on. We were told that a good rule of thumb is to bring a kitbag's worth, at the most.
As if packing wasn't enough, I have to review the rules of the road (the COLREGS) a little bit; we were told we'll “discuss” that kind of thing when we're sailing around, and knowing my CTO, who also happens to be the OIC of the Orca, he'll probably quiz whoever happens to be on the bridge about anything he can think of. I also have to study for the final theory test, on Monday. It's all about seamanship evolutions, which I'm not too good with.
The port stops we'll make seem all right, though for the most part all I know about where we'll be stopping is whatever other people told me. I'm just glad the Orca has showers; going into public showers at random harbours would (and maybe will) suck. Having to go do my laundry will suck too, but at least you can go a few days without that.
I can't wait for us to get going. I probably won't post anything until we come back, though I will try to write while we're gone. Hopefully it won't be too boring!
Until then, auf Wiedersehen!
I'm pumped, but there's a LOT of stuff to be done, and with only 15 “crew,” we'll probably be busy most of the time, with some nightly watchkeeping to be done. Oh well, it'll be pretty fun to do most of those jobs... and hopefully the boring jobs (like engineering roundsman and supply officer) will be filled by people whose job it is to do these things: engineers and log people.
I don't really know what—or how much—to bring. It's only two weeks, but two weeks can turn into an eternity if you don't pack enough “fun” stuff: computer, books, magazines, that kind of stuff. Also, I need to be sure I bring all the “important” stuff: uniforms (we have a whole bunch of NCDs, the big ugly floater jacket, the “canary suit” or raingear, etc), civvies, some books and other documents we need for the trip (various forms and such we have to get filled, the rules of the road book, etc), and so on. We were told that a good rule of thumb is to bring a kitbag's worth, at the most.
As if packing wasn't enough, I have to review the rules of the road (the COLREGS) a little bit; we were told we'll “discuss” that kind of thing when we're sailing around, and knowing my CTO, who also happens to be the OIC of the Orca, he'll probably quiz whoever happens to be on the bridge about anything he can think of. I also have to study for the final theory test, on Monday. It's all about seamanship evolutions, which I'm not too good with.
The port stops we'll make seem all right, though for the most part all I know about where we'll be stopping is whatever other people told me. I'm just glad the Orca has showers; going into public showers at random harbours would (and maybe will) suck. Having to go do my laundry will suck too, but at least you can go a few days without that.
I can't wait for us to get going. I probably won't post anything until we come back, though I will try to write while we're gone. Hopefully it won't be too boring!
Until then, auf Wiedersehen!
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Of YAGs, Orcas and submarines
Apparently, the organisation for the boats has changed, and we'll be assigned to one vessel for the entire two-week trip. The problem is, there are 60 or so of us, spread out over 3 YAGs (Yard Auxiliary General, the ancient wooden-hulled unarmed mine warfare/training vessels) and 2 Orcas (the newest class of training vessels, which have just started being active for training purposes; their bridge is modeled after the frigates'). While the Orcas are state-of-the-art, the YAGs are starting to go, and are having more and more problems. They're leaky, the black water treatment plant usually “burps” and just generally sucks, and generally they're almost-WW2-era ships, with all that comes with old junk.
It struck me as funny, though, because I was reflecting on that while watching Das Boot, especially during the scene where the Captain reflects that life is good: they have a comfy, well-aired boat, free home cooking, attractive wood panelling, etc. What's funny is that, the YAGs being so tiny and having so many people onboard, the wardroom probably feels as cramped as that of a u-boat.
It got me thinking: I'd really prefer to get on the Orcas because, let's face it, I like comfort. But at the same time, the instructors on the Orcas tend to be more anal about things. On the YAGs, “you get to have more fun,” or so we're told. Also, the Orcas can't dock everywhere; they have to just anchor off the harbour in some places, which means that while the YAG crews will be off in various towns getting wasted, the Orca crews will be standing anchor watches and getting rocked to sleep.
What really has me thinking is that if I'm going to apply for subschool as soon as I make Lieutenant (that's the soonest you can apply; at that point you choose your D-level qual and subs is one of them) I might as well trythe cramped, uncomfortable quarters. Oh, and the whole not-having-a-cellphone-or-email-access, too. We'll be allowed to bring cellphones and the like onboard, but on subs, that's a no-no. Well, it's not so much that you can't, just that it's useless. Cellphones tend not to work too well in the middle of the ocean, under 100 feet of water. And the various comms systems are not exactly broadbend: you get hockey and football scores, a little bit of news, and... yeah, that's about it. No e-mails, no calls, nothing. At least the subs now have big-screen TVs in the wardroom and the various messes, and I think you can bring a laptop onboard, so you can have some entertainment. Of course, those TVs only show whatever the crew brought on DVD or VHS, but still, you can probably go through a short assignment without having to watch the same movie twice.
Anyway, no matter what class I get to go on, I'll make the most of it. If I get the Orcas, then, great! I'll get better accomodations, more modern equipment, navigation equipment that ressembles that of frigates, and generally a better (technologically) vessel. If I get the YAGs, well, I get to sail on a piece of history and pull into every harbour, and I get to have more fun. And they'll probably pack less of us on YAGs, as they're smaller and the Orcas are just plain made to carry more trainees.
Here's to sea phase!
It struck me as funny, though, because I was reflecting on that while watching Das Boot, especially during the scene where the Captain reflects that life is good: they have a comfy, well-aired boat, free home cooking, attractive wood panelling, etc. What's funny is that, the YAGs being so tiny and having so many people onboard, the wardroom probably feels as cramped as that of a u-boat.
It got me thinking: I'd really prefer to get on the Orcas because, let's face it, I like comfort. But at the same time, the instructors on the Orcas tend to be more anal about things. On the YAGs, “you get to have more fun,” or so we're told. Also, the Orcas can't dock everywhere; they have to just anchor off the harbour in some places, which means that while the YAG crews will be off in various towns getting wasted, the Orca crews will be standing anchor watches and getting rocked to sleep.
What really has me thinking is that if I'm going to apply for subschool as soon as I make Lieutenant (that's the soonest you can apply; at that point you choose your D-level qual and subs is one of them) I might as well trythe cramped, uncomfortable quarters. Oh, and the whole not-having-a-cellphone-or-email-access, too. We'll be allowed to bring cellphones and the like onboard, but on subs, that's a no-no. Well, it's not so much that you can't, just that it's useless. Cellphones tend not to work too well in the middle of the ocean, under 100 feet of water. And the various comms systems are not exactly broadbend: you get hockey and football scores, a little bit of news, and... yeah, that's about it. No e-mails, no calls, nothing. At least the subs now have big-screen TVs in the wardroom and the various messes, and I think you can bring a laptop onboard, so you can have some entertainment. Of course, those TVs only show whatever the crew brought on DVD or VHS, but still, you can probably go through a short assignment without having to watch the same movie twice.
Anyway, no matter what class I get to go on, I'll make the most of it. If I get the Orcas, then, great! I'll get better accomodations, more modern equipment, navigation equipment that ressembles that of frigates, and generally a better (technologically) vessel. If I get the YAGs, well, I get to sail on a piece of history and pull into every harbour, and I get to have more fun. And they'll probably pack less of us on YAGs, as they're smaller and the Orcas are just plain made to carry more trainees.
Here's to sea phase!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Playing with fire, Part Deux
Well, I intended to write this yesterday, but I was simply too exhausted to write anything coherent and somewhat (maybe) interesting, so it had to wait until I had gotten a whole lot of sleep.
So, we went through live-fire... fire stuff, yesterday. It was fairly straightforward: we got dressed in "standby" mode, which means we wore the bunker gear (the fireman outfit) and had the chemox apparatus strapped on, with the mask around our neck and our helmet in our hands.
For those who don't know, Navy firefighters (at least in Canada) look like this: (sorry for the crappy picture, I don't have the pictures some people took during fire phase...)
(For those keeping track, this picture was taken on the Fredericton, back in September.)
The big black thing on the chest is the chemox apparatus.
The problem with chemox is that, while being a fully closed system that is very effective, it is also incredibly fragile and prone to malfunctions--caused by human error. The lungs are extremely easy to collapse, and it is nearly impossible to restart the unit without breaking the seal.
So, the day began with some horizontal attacks on small fires. An horizontal attack means you're moving across a deck and opening doors, while carrying the 1 1/2 inch firehose, and fighting the fire. For our training, we had to cross two doors to get to the fire. The first was "cold," which means it is relatively safe, and the next one was "hot," which means there is potentially a fire right behind it, and it's the dangerous part of fighting fires. Anyway, in my case, I ran into a bit of a problem: for some reason, we had too much hose (we had brought too much in the room) and when I turned to attack the fire properly (by placing my body perpendicular to it and spraying back and forth) I collapsed a lung. I got backup somewhat quickly, but finding yourself breathing vacuum tends to make time seem incredibly slow in passing.
In the afternoon, we had to go down a hatch and attack a fire in the engine room. The engine room, as I had been told, was a raging inferno. Basically, it is a rather large room with walkways all around it, and fire pretty much all over, except immediately below the ladder. So, we went down and I started getting out of breath, because of the exertion and the limited amount of air you have in the chemox lungs. I got the hose back from the backup (procedure point.. the nozzleman is the last person to go down) and we started moving across the room to fight the fire. It was hot and looked pretty much like hell. It's pitch-black except for the fires raging all over, and you basically can't see anything except those fires. Anyway, as we turned again, I must have brushed up too close to the railing, and again (you guessed it) collapsed a lung. It wasn't so bad when the exit was just a few meters away and on the same deck, but this time, I was across a firey room, down a ladder, and a few meters from the "safe" zone.
I had to get backup--in itself not too time-consuming--then walk over to the ladder, climb, call for backup, and stumble over to where it was safe, all without breathing. While it doesn't seem to be too long, it turns into an eternity when you were out of breath before you even stopped breathing, and then you have to carry yourself and your equipment up a deck and across all that space.
I wanted to go back, I really did, but I was in no condition to do that. Between the lack of oxygen, the dehydration (despite my best efforts and my drinking of all the water I could get my hands on, I still sweat faster than I could drink) and the exhaustion, I was in no condition to do that. I almost had to go anyway, but one of the actual firemen talked with the chief instructor and I got to go away. In a way it pisses me off because I really wanted to do it, if only to prove to myself I'm not a complete dweeb who's unable to do anything, and also because as scared as I was going down that hatch into the raging inferno, I knew I could go through with it.
Anyway, I liked it, even though it was kind of freaky to lose my air in the middle of a fire and all that. I liked the flood training better, though.
With my luck this week, tomorrow's trip to the gas hut will end up with my gas mask malfunctionning and me getting a great big breath of CS gas. Yippee!
So, we went through live-fire... fire stuff, yesterday. It was fairly straightforward: we got dressed in "standby" mode, which means we wore the bunker gear (the fireman outfit) and had the chemox apparatus strapped on, with the mask around our neck and our helmet in our hands.
For those who don't know, Navy firefighters (at least in Canada) look like this: (sorry for the crappy picture, I don't have the pictures some people took during fire phase...)
(For those keeping track, this picture was taken on the Fredericton, back in September.)
The big black thing on the chest is the chemox apparatus.
The problem with chemox is that, while being a fully closed system that is very effective, it is also incredibly fragile and prone to malfunctions--caused by human error. The lungs are extremely easy to collapse, and it is nearly impossible to restart the unit without breaking the seal.
So, the day began with some horizontal attacks on small fires. An horizontal attack means you're moving across a deck and opening doors, while carrying the 1 1/2 inch firehose, and fighting the fire. For our training, we had to cross two doors to get to the fire. The first was "cold," which means it is relatively safe, and the next one was "hot," which means there is potentially a fire right behind it, and it's the dangerous part of fighting fires. Anyway, in my case, I ran into a bit of a problem: for some reason, we had too much hose (we had brought too much in the room) and when I turned to attack the fire properly (by placing my body perpendicular to it and spraying back and forth) I collapsed a lung. I got backup somewhat quickly, but finding yourself breathing vacuum tends to make time seem incredibly slow in passing.
In the afternoon, we had to go down a hatch and attack a fire in the engine room. The engine room, as I had been told, was a raging inferno. Basically, it is a rather large room with walkways all around it, and fire pretty much all over, except immediately below the ladder. So, we went down and I started getting out of breath, because of the exertion and the limited amount of air you have in the chemox lungs. I got the hose back from the backup (procedure point.. the nozzleman is the last person to go down) and we started moving across the room to fight the fire. It was hot and looked pretty much like hell. It's pitch-black except for the fires raging all over, and you basically can't see anything except those fires. Anyway, as we turned again, I must have brushed up too close to the railing, and again (you guessed it) collapsed a lung. It wasn't so bad when the exit was just a few meters away and on the same deck, but this time, I was across a firey room, down a ladder, and a few meters from the "safe" zone.
I had to get backup--in itself not too time-consuming--then walk over to the ladder, climb, call for backup, and stumble over to where it was safe, all without breathing. While it doesn't seem to be too long, it turns into an eternity when you were out of breath before you even stopped breathing, and then you have to carry yourself and your equipment up a deck and across all that space.
I wanted to go back, I really did, but I was in no condition to do that. Between the lack of oxygen, the dehydration (despite my best efforts and my drinking of all the water I could get my hands on, I still sweat faster than I could drink) and the exhaustion, I was in no condition to do that. I almost had to go anyway, but one of the actual firemen talked with the chief instructor and I got to go away. In a way it pisses me off because I really wanted to do it, if only to prove to myself I'm not a complete dweeb who's unable to do anything, and also because as scared as I was going down that hatch into the raging inferno, I knew I could go through with it.
Anyway, I liked it, even though it was kind of freaky to lose my air in the middle of a fire and all that. I liked the flood training better, though.
With my luck this week, tomorrow's trip to the gas hut will end up with my gas mask malfunctionning and me getting a great big breath of CS gas. Yippee!
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Playing with fire, Part One
Well, my life is a step further to being complete. I can almost cross off “be a fireman” off... kinda. Although the spirit of the item isn't to just play firefighter for a few days, I'm still doing firefighter-ey things and wearing a firefighter suit. The only difference between what we're wearing in training and what real civvie-side firefighters wear is that theirs is much, much, much easier to work with. You see, the Navy has a different way of providing air to its firefighters. Instead of having a big, fat bottle of air on your back with a hose that connects to your mask, we have a big, fat, heavy, cumbersome, fragile apparatus on our chest. Now, the basics of the apparatus (Chemox A4) are pretty solid and basic, although big, cumbersome, and rather heavy. The problem lies with two “lungs” which basically contain the air the firefighter breathes. Those lungs are some kind of fire-resistant rubberish material and they're very, very pliable. What that means is, while you're going around, if you do any kind of normal human movement or your lungs (the rubber thingies) touch up against anxthing, well, tough luck, you're breathing vacuum. Also, as the Chemox is a closed-circuit apparatus, there is only a limited quantity of air, and if you try to introduce more (if you break the seal on your mask, breath in, and exhale into the mask), well, the air just escapes. That's not a big problem when you're just standing around. It does become a problem when you're going around doing manual labour. Just climbing a ladder, which isn't at all challenging, raises my breath just enough that it starts being a problem. The solution is to slow down your breath and, as you're breathing air that has a high ratio of oxygen, it's not too big a problem and you get your breath back pretty quickly. However, the first time it happens to you (especially if you happen to crush a lung at the same time), it's quite frightening, as you just try to breath in and all that happens is that your mask crunches up on your face. In the dark, with smoke all over, and people yelling stuff (commands, reports, etc), it's freaky.
The bunker gear (the yellow suit you all know from TV) is heavy and hot. It's a lot like wearing a heavy winter suit and a rain suit on top of it. It simply does not breathe—which is a good thing in a fire. After a morning of going around wearing chemox and then doing hose handling with the mask on but no canister plugged in (which means the lungs aren't used), most people were drenched in sweat. It might not have helped that the hose handling was done outside, almost at noon, and the temperature reached 30C today.
It's a lot of fun, though. The only problem is getting dehydrated and losing too many electrolytes. Both are not only dangerous, they're annoying as hell. I like the whole deal a lot, and I really hope the live-fire exercise will be as cool as I expect it to be. After all, what can be cooler than going around in firefighting gear and fighting real fires? (Ok, “meeting” the Olsen twins would be a close second)
All I need to do now is get my Navy behind on a calendar, and my life will truly be complete. (Not really.)
I'll try and finally post a few things on flood training and all that, but I'm tired right now.
The bunker gear (the yellow suit you all know from TV) is heavy and hot. It's a lot like wearing a heavy winter suit and a rain suit on top of it. It simply does not breathe—which is a good thing in a fire. After a morning of going around wearing chemox and then doing hose handling with the mask on but no canister plugged in (which means the lungs aren't used), most people were drenched in sweat. It might not have helped that the hose handling was done outside, almost at noon, and the temperature reached 30C today.
It's a lot of fun, though. The only problem is getting dehydrated and losing too many electrolytes. Both are not only dangerous, they're annoying as hell. I like the whole deal a lot, and I really hope the live-fire exercise will be as cool as I expect it to be. After all, what can be cooler than going around in firefighting gear and fighting real fires? (Ok, “meeting” the Olsen twins would be a close second)
All I need to do now is get my Navy behind on a calendar, and my life will truly be complete. (Not really.)
I'll try and finally post a few things on flood training and all that, but I'm tired right now.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Libre ? Ha oui ???
Sérieux, je vous remercies grandement pour les bons mots sur mon dernier post.
Y'a matière à réflexion.....Karla a soulevé un très bon point : kessé que j'AIME et de kessé que je veux faire......
J'me suis déjà posé la question, et c'est con, mais c'est incroyable comment je peux être «cartésienne» et «artiste» en même temps. C'est d'autant plus fou que j'ai les capacités pour exceller et être heureuse dans les deux.
Mon premier choix serait, prenant en considération mes années de lectures, d'introspection et de participation à une certain Courrier, d'avoir mon show de Radio.....Bon, est-ce que «ma station» a besoin de ce genre de show ? Je crois que oui, pour autant que je ne dis pas à l'auditoire que je suis «là» pour les entendre pleurnicher....Un «Courrier du coeur» n'a pas sa place dans une station dont 95% de l'auditoire est masculin ;-). Je vais devoir trouver une façon de les amenner à la confidence sans qu'ils le sachent ;-))
Mais encore, je suis persuadée que ces hommes vivent ou ont vécu des passes assez Rock & roll et n'ont pas pour autant les ressources nécessaires pour dealer avec.
Alors, mon côté mère Téresa serait comblé .....ainsi que mon rêve de faire de la radio à temps plein ! Non seulement faire de la Radio et faire quelque chose en quoi j'excelle ( communiquer ) mais mettre à profit mon vécu, mes lectures et mes énergies.....mettre aux profits des autres.
Mais puis-je gagner ma vie de cela ? À court terme....hum ? J'en doute !
L'autre option alors ?
Devenir «apprenti» dans une institution financière différente qui prône le service à la clientèle avec un grand "S". Là encore, je sais que je deviendrais assez rapidement un atout pour la compagnie par mon expérience et ma très grande capacité de résolution de problème.
Cette compagnie m'intéresse car elle est en plein développement. De plus j'ai rencontré une des têtes dirigeantes par hasard ( le hasard existe-t-il vraiment ? ) la semaine dernière et elle me voyait très bien comme Directrice de succursale ! Elle m'a même dit de ne pas hésiter pour la citer en référence !
Tk ! Je me donne jusqu'à la fin de juillet pour prendre une décision.....je ne veux pas «tirer» sur tous les fronts simultanément, car je sais pertinemment que les deux options seront réalisables en même temps.....et je ne veux pas être «confronter» à ce dilemme !
**
Pis vous autres ? Comment ça va ?
Sérieux, je vous remercies grandement pour les bons mots sur mon dernier post.
Y'a matière à réflexion.....Karla a soulevé un très bon point : kessé que j'AIME et de kessé que je veux faire......
J'me suis déjà posé la question, et c'est con, mais c'est incroyable comment je peux être «cartésienne» et «artiste» en même temps. C'est d'autant plus fou que j'ai les capacités pour exceller et être heureuse dans les deux.
Mon premier choix serait, prenant en considération mes années de lectures, d'introspection et de participation à une certain Courrier, d'avoir mon show de Radio.....Bon, est-ce que «ma station» a besoin de ce genre de show ? Je crois que oui, pour autant que je ne dis pas à l'auditoire que je suis «là» pour les entendre pleurnicher....Un «Courrier du coeur» n'a pas sa place dans une station dont 95% de l'auditoire est masculin ;-). Je vais devoir trouver une façon de les amenner à la confidence sans qu'ils le sachent ;-))
Mais encore, je suis persuadée que ces hommes vivent ou ont vécu des passes assez Rock & roll et n'ont pas pour autant les ressources nécessaires pour dealer avec.
Alors, mon côté mère Téresa serait comblé .....ainsi que mon rêve de faire de la radio à temps plein ! Non seulement faire de la Radio et faire quelque chose en quoi j'excelle ( communiquer ) mais mettre à profit mon vécu, mes lectures et mes énergies.....mettre aux profits des autres.
Mais puis-je gagner ma vie de cela ? À court terme....hum ? J'en doute !
L'autre option alors ?
Devenir «apprenti» dans une institution financière différente qui prône le service à la clientèle avec un grand "S". Là encore, je sais que je deviendrais assez rapidement un atout pour la compagnie par mon expérience et ma très grande capacité de résolution de problème.
Cette compagnie m'intéresse car elle est en plein développement. De plus j'ai rencontré une des têtes dirigeantes par hasard ( le hasard existe-t-il vraiment ? ) la semaine dernière et elle me voyait très bien comme Directrice de succursale ! Elle m'a même dit de ne pas hésiter pour la citer en référence !
Tk ! Je me donne jusqu'à la fin de juillet pour prendre une décision.....je ne veux pas «tirer» sur tous les fronts simultanément, car je sais pertinemment que les deux options seront réalisables en même temps.....et je ne veux pas être «confronter» à ce dilemme !
**
Pis vous autres ? Comment ça va ?
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Matthew Good is retarded
I'm not going to go in any detail because I hate to waste my energy on retarded wannabe revolutionaries.
Anyway, it seems this idiot has forgotten what our flag looks like, and has decided to ignore all the rules regarding the flag. This shows how truly backwards the leftist cause really is. Between the lefties and the propaganda the Taliban and AQ put out... it's pretty pathetic.
I encourage everyone to not listen to Matthew Good's crappy music and, if you want to waste energy, send him letters to denounce his irresponsible, disrespectful, and unacceptable behaviour.
Anyway, it seems this idiot has forgotten what our flag looks like, and has decided to ignore all the rules regarding the flag. This shows how truly backwards the leftist cause really is. Between the lefties and the propaganda the Taliban and AQ put out... it's pretty pathetic.
I encourage everyone to not listen to Matthew Good's crappy music and, if you want to waste energy, send him letters to denounce his irresponsible, disrespectful, and unacceptable behaviour.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
I, for one, welcome our alien overlords
First off, I apologize for the lack of posts. It's not that I've been extremely busy or anything like that; I just have a mixed case of writer's block and thissucksitis*. Anyway, I figured I'd give you guys a glimpse into what's going on right now.
As far as NETPO goes, we had the Sig Sauer P225 range day last week, and it went pretty well. It's a nice pistol. More on that later... maybe. Right now we're in Damage Control school. We have three days of flood control, then we'll move on to firefighting, and finish off with CBRN. (Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear... basically how to wear gasmasks. Lovely.)
Live Free or Die Hard is in my top 5 movies of all time. If only they'd shown the daughter more... or had typical women-villain outfits for the asian chick. Ah well, still an extremely kick-ass movie.
Other than that, I've finally started actually following the training plan I have for the Marine Corps Marathon, and I'm starting to get as motivated for my runs as I used to be for going to the gym. It's weird and crazy. I'm about as far from an endurance athlete as one can be. Heh, maybe I'll get all lean and mean and sexy and I'll have a six-pack and all the women (and the gay men—they're much more discriminating than the women, it seems) will adore me and magazines will ask me to do covers for them and I'll be like the next Pat Tillman, only not quite as heroic. Ok, so I'm pushing it, but I hope to drop a lot of this weight—there's really no point in me weighing 225lbs anymore. A more adequate weight would be 185lbs or so. I'd be pretty much as lean as I can get, at that point.
I've been trying to cut back on junk food even more. I've cut my consumption of chips and chocolate pretty much to zero, desserts have become an exception rather than a rule, and almost all the pop I drink now (I don't do drugs, smoke, I barely drink, seldom gamble, and I don't delve into debauchery... I need to have at least one vice!) is diet—not quite as good as water, but better than regular pop. I still eat bad foods more than I should, but I figure that just the cutback on calories from junk food is already a giant step forward.
It just feels weird, because one generally assumes that eating better also means eating less, but my tray is usually fuller now than it was when I only ate junk food. I have my main dish—meat and some veggies, sometimes some rice—then I have a place for veggies, cottage cheese, and sometimes some pasta salad, then some fruit, cheese, milk, and, (too) often, Diet Coke. Still, all of that packs less of a punch, fat-wise, than my tray with only some Coke, jalapeno poppers, fries, and dessert.
What's the weirdest is that I don't really crave bad foods anymore. I actually eat them absent-mindedly, because it's still a habbit. I stop by the desserts not because I want one, but just because they're there and I used to get dessert all the time. Same when I drink pop at the movies; I'm just used to getting myself a “jacuzzi” of Coke when I go watch a movie. Sure, I enjoy it, but it's not the same visceral sensation of utter satisfaction. It's more the guilty pleasure of doing something you're not supposed to... and it's hollow. I actually got to that point—and beyond—last time I started eating well, but it seems this time I not only feel some revulsion at bad foods (though I still, at the same time, feel some urge to eat them) but I actually enjoy eating “good” foods. My eating habits aren't perfect by any means, but compared to just six months ago, I'm a nutrition saint.
On the intellectual front, some more news. I've been buying books lately, and I'm starting to really enjoy delving in that again. I bought a book called The Triumph of Narrative, by Robert Fulford, and I'm more than halfway though. (It's a short book.) I also bought a book composed of essays on Proust's In Search for Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu). More importantly, I finally managed to acquire a copy—in a pocket book edition—of the famous Story of Art by Sir E.H. Gombrich. It's 500 pages of text, and almost as many of full-colour illustrations, and it kicks some serious booty. No wonder it's hailed as the single best volume on art history. It was originally written for teenagers and young adults, “the harshest of critics,” and it avoids most of the fakeness and pomposity (pompness? pompousness? pompousity?) of other art volumes. I bought it yesterday afternoon and I'm already on page 50—and I read the Foreword and all that other junk. As unmanly as it might seem, I really enjoy art history and, obviously, art in general, but I'm also a near-complete twit in that area, so Gombrich is just about perfect for me.
I also found out, in Fulford's book, that George Orwell had, at least in his youth, a kind of self-narrative going on in his inner voice; his mind described what was going on around him: “an almost precise description of what he was actually doing and the things he was seeing.” It seems strange that I sometimes do that, usually when I'm bored. However, unlike Orwell's decidedly classically literal (for lack of a better term) descriptions, mine tend to be a more barren and matter-of-fact type; Ellisian, really. I guess it must be post-modernism. Or is that post-post-modernism? Either way, I'm glad to see I'm not totally insane; if someone as great as Orwell did it, it can't be wrong!
Anyway, I'm just blabbering on, now. I'll try and come back with some artistic writing sometime... or at least with something of little more value than this post.
So I want to wish, a bit late, a happy 4th of July to all my American readers and their familes, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. Glad to see the stuff that was described in that awesome documentary, Live Free or Die Hard, didn't actually happen.
And to celebrate the upcoming Simpsons movie (and the transformation of 7-11s into Kwik-E-Marts):
Thank you, come again!
*People suffering from thissucksitis believe—correctly or not—that all that they write is crappy and that they ought to work harder on it so it's not as bad. This causes them not to update their blog or send out e-mails, even when they said they would.
Note on the title: it was as random as I could think of on the spot.
As far as NETPO goes, we had the Sig Sauer P225 range day last week, and it went pretty well. It's a nice pistol. More on that later... maybe. Right now we're in Damage Control school. We have three days of flood control, then we'll move on to firefighting, and finish off with CBRN. (Chemical, Biological, Radiological, Nuclear... basically how to wear gasmasks. Lovely.)
Live Free or Die Hard is in my top 5 movies of all time. If only they'd shown the daughter more... or had typical women-villain outfits for the asian chick. Ah well, still an extremely kick-ass movie.
Other than that, I've finally started actually following the training plan I have for the Marine Corps Marathon, and I'm starting to get as motivated for my runs as I used to be for going to the gym. It's weird and crazy. I'm about as far from an endurance athlete as one can be. Heh, maybe I'll get all lean and mean and sexy and I'll have a six-pack and all the women (and the gay men—they're much more discriminating than the women, it seems) will adore me and magazines will ask me to do covers for them and I'll be like the next Pat Tillman, only not quite as heroic. Ok, so I'm pushing it, but I hope to drop a lot of this weight—there's really no point in me weighing 225lbs anymore. A more adequate weight would be 185lbs or so. I'd be pretty much as lean as I can get, at that point.
I've been trying to cut back on junk food even more. I've cut my consumption of chips and chocolate pretty much to zero, desserts have become an exception rather than a rule, and almost all the pop I drink now (I don't do drugs, smoke, I barely drink, seldom gamble, and I don't delve into debauchery... I need to have at least one vice!) is diet—not quite as good as water, but better than regular pop. I still eat bad foods more than I should, but I figure that just the cutback on calories from junk food is already a giant step forward.
It just feels weird, because one generally assumes that eating better also means eating less, but my tray is usually fuller now than it was when I only ate junk food. I have my main dish—meat and some veggies, sometimes some rice—then I have a place for veggies, cottage cheese, and sometimes some pasta salad, then some fruit, cheese, milk, and, (too) often, Diet Coke. Still, all of that packs less of a punch, fat-wise, than my tray with only some Coke, jalapeno poppers, fries, and dessert.
What's the weirdest is that I don't really crave bad foods anymore. I actually eat them absent-mindedly, because it's still a habbit. I stop by the desserts not because I want one, but just because they're there and I used to get dessert all the time. Same when I drink pop at the movies; I'm just used to getting myself a “jacuzzi” of Coke when I go watch a movie. Sure, I enjoy it, but it's not the same visceral sensation of utter satisfaction. It's more the guilty pleasure of doing something you're not supposed to... and it's hollow. I actually got to that point—and beyond—last time I started eating well, but it seems this time I not only feel some revulsion at bad foods (though I still, at the same time, feel some urge to eat them) but I actually enjoy eating “good” foods. My eating habits aren't perfect by any means, but compared to just six months ago, I'm a nutrition saint.
On the intellectual front, some more news. I've been buying books lately, and I'm starting to really enjoy delving in that again. I bought a book called The Triumph of Narrative, by Robert Fulford, and I'm more than halfway though. (It's a short book.) I also bought a book composed of essays on Proust's In Search for Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu). More importantly, I finally managed to acquire a copy—in a pocket book edition—of the famous Story of Art by Sir E.H. Gombrich. It's 500 pages of text, and almost as many of full-colour illustrations, and it kicks some serious booty. No wonder it's hailed as the single best volume on art history. It was originally written for teenagers and young adults, “the harshest of critics,” and it avoids most of the fakeness and pomposity (pompness? pompousness? pompousity?) of other art volumes. I bought it yesterday afternoon and I'm already on page 50—and I read the Foreword and all that other junk. As unmanly as it might seem, I really enjoy art history and, obviously, art in general, but I'm also a near-complete twit in that area, so Gombrich is just about perfect for me.
I also found out, in Fulford's book, that George Orwell had, at least in his youth, a kind of self-narrative going on in his inner voice; his mind described what was going on around him: “an almost precise description of what he was actually doing and the things he was seeing.” It seems strange that I sometimes do that, usually when I'm bored. However, unlike Orwell's decidedly classically literal (for lack of a better term) descriptions, mine tend to be a more barren and matter-of-fact type; Ellisian, really. I guess it must be post-modernism. Or is that post-post-modernism? Either way, I'm glad to see I'm not totally insane; if someone as great as Orwell did it, it can't be wrong!
Anyway, I'm just blabbering on, now. I'll try and come back with some artistic writing sometime... or at least with something of little more value than this post.
So I want to wish, a bit late, a happy 4th of July to all my American readers and their familes, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances. Glad to see the stuff that was described in that awesome documentary, Live Free or Die Hard, didn't actually happen.
And to celebrate the upcoming Simpsons movie (and the transformation of 7-11s into Kwik-E-Marts):
Thank you, come again!
*People suffering from thissucksitis believe—correctly or not—that all that they write is crappy and that they ought to work harder on it so it's not as bad. This causes them not to update their blog or send out e-mails, even when they said they would.
Note on the title: it was as random as I could think of on the spot.
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