The JetBlue Experience and the USMAPS Position

Today I arrived back at the beloved USMAPS compound with the wrestling team and our body language spoke volumes of our liking of the return as the five of us assumed the "USMAPS Position" we like to call it--we fall into this position as soon as the giant brick arch at the front entrance is within squinted eyesight, and our capturers' name can be read, "Fort Monmouth." Almost in unison we sound off as though we're about to meet our maker, "USMAPS Position" and we paralyze our necks and let our heads free fall into our hands, supported by our elbows posted into the meat of our knees. -I'm sure you've seen a similar position in movies, like when a boy sits on the foot of his bed crying tiny oceans into his hands because he's just been removed from the dinner table and exiled for the night, 'straight to your room young man,' the father demands. Similar position. But ours runs much deeper than any boys' ocean of tears. Because upon return to the USMAPS compound the fabulous-free-world as all of you regular college brats know it comes to an end. No random events. No beautiful women, walking freely embracing the gaping stares from all directions. No excitement... just another week of gray. I swear there is a permanent cloud hovering over this place only to remind CC Nation that we are volunteering ourselves for another weeks' captivity and crawling closer to the commitment of four much more gruesome years of the gray life. Believe it or not, these are the thoughts that merely scrape the surface of thoughts that run through our head as we assume the "USMAPS Position"

...What made this return much worse than the usual lashing of the soul is that we returned from five days in Florida. Walking from the hotel to the rental van in shorts and a t-shirt, soaking up the sunshine, casually walking from A to B, amazed at the sight of female skin-shorts and tank-tops were torture in a beautiful disguise. Beats the hell out of Class B's and the ACU- Florida.

...USMAPS. ugh.

But I'll tell you what... if you have the chance to book your next flight through JetBlue..do it. No lies. I'm not some sort of undercover advertiser here, and I'm not receiving any secret commission either. But, the JetBlue experience added 6 hours to our Florida experience. Three hours there and back of lounging, drinks, snacks, t.v., they make the plane ride part of the vacation, not just the transportation to the vacation.

I'll be back soon to vent on the weekends' many exciting events. I should have time to write. Somewhere between the three square meals a day and unnecessary formations I'll find time to transfer my thoughts to blogs desperate for somebody to understand them, and then translate them back to me so that maybe I can.

..Either way... four more days until I escape the compound and fly away to my buddy's house in beautiful California.

...I'm pissed though I didn't know before to book this six hour one-way flight JetBlue. The leg room, t.v. and bottomless food and drink would have helped out a lot. :/

..what rhymes with NyQuil. :)

Yo, jot that down..

I must admit that I feared for my personal journal's existence once I became a Blogger, but to tell you the truth, it hasn't taken much of a hit. I find myself almost reassuring our almost intimate relationship, like a little boy reassures his jealous best-friend that the new kid in the neighborhood, with the newest video games and best snacks, isn't going to ruin their friendship. I often wonder how many people actually keep some sort of a journal?? And after that, I'm thirsty to know which of my friends write??? Regardless of your method of writing, I recommend that you do it. It's healthy.

I read once that if your life is not worth taking the time to someday write a book about, or at least record certain events in your life, than you really aren't living. ...Not that the life of a Cadet Candidate at USMAPS is very eventful, or worth several hundred pages even if greatly modified into a dominantly fictional narrative, but the personal contacts alone could fill several chapters. The people in my life are great. -love you guys. no homo. haha-
If nothing else, write about people and your unique relationships with them.


Personal contacts... you shouldn't need me to tell you that personal relationships are what make any situation worth living in, and definitely worth remembering for. My memory holds no past-time that doesn't revolve around the character of a friend of mine. Even most great novels and movies rely on the relationship developed between the reader-viewer and the characters involved.
FRIENDS. The greatest t.v. series of all-time! I even place it in the movie category just so it can hold another title. -Best movie ever- The show clicks on all cylinders. Comedy. Drama. Action- Yea, action. Try to argue that Joey's 10 second gallon-milk chug is not action!- Romance. Intellect. It's the perfect show. The personal relationships between the characters, and between the viewers and the characters create the ultimate friends circle that 'Chad' from Altell just cannot fit into his network.- Oh, no. Me, my friends, and my FRIENDS are exclusively V.I.P. Verizon.- But the show was so clutch because I became the 7th FRIEND. Anyone who's been a FRIENDS Fanatic feels like Central Perk was the number one hang out spot for ten of the best years of his or her life. I know I do.

All the hilarious anecdotes from the show were written by some of the most creative and genius writers ever. -who both inspire the aspiring writers of America, and burn those amateur writers' dreams because of their greatness. How can we ever compete or compare to such great humor?- all the anecdotes hailed from different corners of the city, and different cities. These writers had great laughs with their personal friends, and then write the script to the show, based off their own lives. Humor is truth. These writers, as most great writers do, use their own life experiences to create universal hits that leave impressionable marks on millions.
....Thus I encourage you all, to write. You never know when a funny story that happened to your kid sister might combine with something that happened at the coffee shop to create a 22 minute episode worth timeless laughs for generations to come.

My Passion

Before this girl I had rhinoceros thick skin and a defense mechanism to avoid showing emotion that was like clockwork. I never really opened up to anybody. I love my dad more than anybody on this earth - mom love you just as much :)- but even with him, I'd never let him see me down. I'd never open up to him completely. No, that would be too big of a risk even for a guy like me who thrives off living on the edge. my best friends in the world, would sometimes notice when I let my guard down, and they'd ask what was on my mind, but I was so good at changing the subject without making it obvious that I was really hurting. I could never let myself become vulnerable. Perfection. Iron.



...then I fell in love...



and for any man who has ever been truly in love with a women, you truly understand that I was at her mercy. I gave her my heart, and I was completely aware of what was happening. this wasn't a dream- you know the ones where you hear a voice and completely connect with that person, but when you wake up you have no recollection of who she was or what she looked like.-no, this was my life. I was living in a dream. and for the first time in my life, I could honestly put somebody's happiness before mine, and feel like the luckiest man alive. Merriam & Webster have not the knowledge of words deep enough to satisfy my heart's aching desire to describe this love. and I passionately want to transform these feelings I have in the swell of my heart and the depthest of my soul, my being, into words, most likely a form a literature, unless I learn the tongue of dear Hamlet and can stand alone in a dark tower and speak aloud though my heart and soul combined grew a voicebox and years worth of built up emotion poored to the air for only mine own ears to embrace. But Hamlet is in a class of his own, and if I cannot obtain this miracle, then I only wish to give the unlucky people in the world, who are without any experience with love, a distant glimpse of how great it feels. how magical it can be. Love is the sole purpose for our existence.


she made me the biggest little kid ever. we would play fight-I'd always crush her with wrestling moves, and she'd always stab me in my soft spots--sharp elbows to the ribs, and pull my leg hairs--chickenshit. she'd chase me around the pool table and around the couches until we were both so out of breath that we'd give a 5 minute truce and just collapse on the couches like two children at nap-time after a sugar crash. she'll kill me for saying this, but truth is...when she was super tired..she wheezed. haha :) Me-1, Her-0.

My one true passion.

Coach P. always told me that my success would never be fulfilling because i wasn't ever passionate about sports. which is weird because if you know me, you know I'm all about winning. but he was right. winning made part of who i am, but it never filled the shadowed corners of my heart with joy and truth. passion for love is the unmeasurable happiness, and not comparable to anything else a human could ever hope for.

We live and dream to someday love.