...I am filled with a sudden burning desire to go to a horse show.
My stepmom raised Morgans, so every summer, that was a huge part of my life. Mucking stalls, feeding--I got to see one of the mares give birth, even, and spent quite a bit of time playing with the filly afterwards. I got to ride, clean tack, learn how to hitch up the cart...
Wow. I miss that.
I've mentioned this before, but there are people who think I'm nuts when I say that I miss the smell of horse. Not horse *shit*, but *horse*. It's very distinctive, and one of the reasons I love it when the mounted cops show up at the hockey games is because I get to drift by them and just breathe in that smell.
So, I want to find a horse show somewhere, but it's turning out to be a bit more challenging than I thought. There was one in Woodside earlier this month, but the next one isn't until sometime in June. There's also the Bay Area Summer Festival show, but I don't know whether it's up there or not. There's a Morgan-specific show in August, but in Santa Barbara, and during the week, so I'd have to take vacation time to go.
In the end, I think what I really want most is to go back to being a kid. I want to be able to go back to North Carolina for the summer, to work with those horses again, to go to the shows... I miss that.
Sigh. :)
So much hate for blog comment spamming cocksuckers, who have put html characters in URL names and other text now so that it breaks the MT blacklist filter.
Hate.
Math is hard, Barbie! Let's go shopping!
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Yay, RotK comes out today on DVD, along with the newest Dean Koontz book. Yeah, I am going to go to Borders or something on my lunch break.
---
I have to take a hiatus from University of Phoenix. I don't *want* to, but I'm required to have 30 credits of electives before I can begin my core classes, and I get no additional financial aid for that stuff, so screw them. I am not paying $1400 (roughly) out of pocket for a 5 week long class that'll give me 3 or 4 credits, when I can pay around $100/$150 to take it from a community college, and get pretty much the same number of credits. Yeah, it means my enrollment is delayed, and I'll have to take a 'proficiency test' once I'm done to make sure that I'm up to the UoP standard, but oh well.
It sucks, though. I can't take a lot of the distance learning courses from DeAnza, because they're largely telecourses, and DirecTV doesn't carry the correct channel. That leaves me with evening courses, which will just suck during the hockey season. Sigh.
(Update: Interestingly, DeAnza *does* have afternoon classes that are usually 2 or 3pm to 5 pm. It means I'm stuck on the 5am shift, but it's another option, at least.)
---
I have a meeting with a small business counselor at the Sunnyvale Chamber of Commerce on June 15. I have some questions I want to ask them before I get too involved in this Street Fair America thing, but if all goes well, I will have a list of products up for sale by the end of June. I hope. Wish me luck.
---
One of my clients is high. Seriously. I have no freaking idea where his problem is. I've been staring at it for 45 minutes now, thus the 'math is hard' and 'ow my brain' comments, and I am no closer to figuring out what the blue fuck he's talking about.
Save me. :)
I only saw him coming across the street because I had to go out to my car and raid the stash of change. The 7-11 card machine said 'fuck you' to my debit card, and I couldn't find my cash this morning, so I had to do something else.
I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, but didn't think anything of it. I went back inside, paid for my stuff, and came back outside...and there he was.
I rode the bus out here for a long time, long enough to know that face, that look, someone who wants something and is going to ask you for it come hell or high water. I was expecting that he'd ask for money, which I could honestly say I had none of, but instead...
"Excuse me, ma'am. Can I have a ride, please? I'll pay for gas..."
Yeah.
"Ah...no. Sorry. I'm on my way to work, I have to be there in five minutes," I said, and it was hard not to keep the laughter out of my voice. I mean, really. It's almost five in the morning, the only light from anywhere nearby is the 7-11 store front, what would make someone even *consider* that a sane person would agree to something like that?
Consider my good deed for the day not yet completed, I guess.
...that this would be the last sports-related entry for awhile, but I'm honestly not sure.
I had to write this, though...it started last night after the game--I had to write part of it before I could sleep last night.
I also sent it to 'fan mail' on the Sharks website. I don't expect anything to come of it, but part of me still holds out this hope that they'll see it, somewhere. :)
An open letter to the San Jose Sharks players and coaching staff of the 2003-2004 season
Last season, 2002-2003, was my first as a season ticket holder, the first year that we didn't buy a Shark Pack. It was going to be so exciting, it was going to be so wonderful, it was...wow. So very much not what anyone expected, probably not even in their wildest of nightmares.
And yet, there was never a question in our minds that we would renew for the 03-04 season. No question at all, it was simply fact, simply there. We waited to see what the off-season would bring. We cheered when Patrick Marleau signed early, and cheered again when others followed suit. We puzzled a little over Selanne's departure, but ultimately figured that it was for the best (little did we know!). We wondered at who Scott Parker was, and whether he'd be a good fit. We were glad to see that Stuart and Thornton were healthy again and ready to go.
The excitement and anticipation grew as the season grew nearer, and were certain of Parker even then, impressed by the grit that he showed during the pre-season. Who fights in pre-season games, after all, and with such passion?
And then...then, finally, came the regular season. There were hints of promise here and there, enough ties that we were certain we'd take then NHL record by the time all was said and done, and at last, for the hometown faithful, that first home victory of the season. The amazing goal by Patrick Marleau parked out in front of the Nashville net.
There are so many other highlights of the season, for me, that it'd take pages to list them all. Every single player on the roster this year made at least one play that rendered me speechless. The chemistry that we saw on the ice was amazing, and we were grateful for Drew's locker room Shark Byte segments. We knew there was something special, something magical in that locker room.
We watched Nabokov post a career year for shut-outs. We watched Vesa's brilliant play while Nabby was out. We watched and cheered until we were hoarse for Ekman's penalty shot, then did the same for Cheechoo's. We watched, and worried, as Marco was lost for the season, wondering what kind of effect that would have on the team, particularly on his linemates, and we were happy to see the result, even when it took a little longer for some than others.
Then came the last few games of the season, and the agonizing waiting game to see how high the Sharks could go. Wayne Primeau's OT-winning goal against Dallas to give the team 100 points for the first time, the closest Dallas ever got, in the end. The shut-out against the Kings to clinch the second seed in the playoffs, to tie the record for most road wins in a season.
And then...then, there was the last game of the season. The Kings, with their two goal lead, late in the third. Stuart's two fastest goals, and Vinnie's OT-winner...I thought the roof was going to blow off the place. It was an amazing moment, such a wonderful feeling just to be there, to watch that, to feel like I was a part of it, even for just one moment.
Excitement ruled for the playoffs, and it seemed the team was as fired up as we were. Game one, Vinnie with the incredible presence of mind to warn Niko off the puck, then push it forward to him. Marleau driving the net, and then... My Boston-born husband beside himself (as were we all) when Niko stole game one with that brilliant shot. Game two, and Patrick's hat trick...the hat trick that we'd waited and hoped for all season, the chance to see it at home, and it came in the playoffs. Wild. Incredible, wild, and wonderful. Korolyuk's brilliant effort in the game three loss. Nabokov so strong and huge in net, the whole series. The fast pace of game four, and bringing it home to win in game five, with the crowd going wild as the handshake took place at center ice.
Up next, Colorado, and once again, Patrick and his hat trick, and some great play by Niko. Cheechoo's amazing goal that left Blake and Aebischer staring at one another, wondering how in the name of all that was holy had that puck gone in. The stellar defense from the big four--McLaren, Rathje, Hannan, and Stuart. The 1-0 shutout. The two worrying OT losses, but a brilliant game six...so brilliant that I couldn't argue that it happened on someone else's ice.
There were so many others, too, who stood out: Smitty and Goc. Harvey. McCauley back in the lineup, then Thornton's return. A true team effort that was amazing to watch.
And then, Calgary. There's not so much to say, here. It's hard enough to go through as a fan, I can't imagine what it must be like as a player. It's hard to talk about, so soon. I couldn't watch the handshake, I heard later about the ultimate in class acts from Darryl Sutter. I'd have given almost anything to hear what he had to say, but it's still a bitter, bitter thing to swallow.
Now, the next day, the ashes have cleared a little, but there's still a Sharks-sized hole in my heart that won't quite be filled again until the next season starts, whenever that happens to be. There'll be reason to at least pay attention to the World Cup: Marleau, Ekman, Goc, Sturm, Ehrhoff.
And now we come to the point of this letter.
This is the part where I say a great big THANK YOU.
Thank you, Patrick Marleau, for a wonderful season, for doing justice to that C on your sweater.
Thank you, Jonathan Cheechoo, for those goal celebrations.
Thank you, Scott Hannan, Brad Stuart, and Mike Rathje, for the amazing defense.
Thank you, Marco Sturm, for the speed and power, and for being able to come back next season.
Thank you, Kyle McLaren, for that punishing hip-check on Petr Cajanek in the first round.
Thank you, Evgeni Nabokov, for every game you played, for every moment.
Thank you, Vinnie Damphousse, for playing like a man ten years younger.
Thank you, Wayne Primeau, for that OT-winning goal against Dallas.
Thank you, Alex Korolyuk, for the incredible way you played all year long. I am so glad you're back.
Thank you, Mark Smith, for beating Sean Avery like a rented mule--twice in back-to-back games!
Thank you, Vesa Toskala, for the smile you gave me at the autograph session, and for being so utterly brilliant in relief of Nabokov.
Thank you Nils Ekman, Alyn McCauley, Scott Parker, Jim Fahey, Mike Ricci, Scott Thornton, Todd Harvey, Marcel Goc, Rob Davison, Curtis Brown, Christian Ehrhoff, Tom Preissing... thank you ALL.
Thank you, Ron Wilson, Tim Hunter, and Rob Zettler, for a brilliant coaching job.
Thank you to the training staff, I wish I knew your names, for taking such good care of the boys in teal.
Thank you, Randy and Drew--we missed you in the conference finals!
Thank you, Dan and Pete, for being another voice, another perspective on the radio.
Thank you, everyone. Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you.
Because of all of you, I am proud to say that I'm a Sharks fan. I'm proud to say that I was a season ticket holder this year, and will be again next year. I feel so lucky, so honored to have been a part of this, however small that part may be, for someone who's just a fan, a fan of a team that she truly loves. It has been a true joy to watch you this season, and I cannot wait to see what the future holds.
Here's to this year, and the future.
With high hopes, I remain,
A loyal fan.
Some sports content--first half of the post.
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Someone (a Calgary fan, I believe) on the hockey community on livejournal is just aghast at the fact that Sharks fans booed their team during a horrible outing in game 2. She just can't understand why people would ever boo a team that they love. No matter how many people try to explain it to her, she's just genuinely puzzled and taken aback. The impression she gave was that fans of her team NEVER boo at all. Why would they boo their heroes?
I'd like to put this one to rest please, kthxbye. Go and watch the replay of the Patty Marleau goal (goal number four in the game), and listen very carefully after it's scored--there are quite a number of people booing there, after the puck went into the net.
Please to be shutting up about how Sharks fans suck because they boo their team now, okay, because it's not only us. Got it? Thanks.
---
Saturday night was the monthly dinner, and much fun was had by all. We went to Outback, since it was right across from this place called the Putting Edge, a glow in the dark minigolf venue. Dinner was pretty good, there was much good conversation to be had, but it was the minigolf that won the night, I think. The holes would probably not be quite as challenging on a course that's lit by something other than black light, but the glow in the dark thing makes it hard! It's impossible to tell where there's a slope, unless you walk the course beforehand. All in all, though, it was a lot of fun, and we all did pretty damn well, for the most part. I'd love to go back again.
My only gripe is the fact that it was fucking HOT in there. Gah. Turn on the AC, please! :)
Okay. So, I watched about half an hour of Oprah today after I got home--yeah, I know, I know, but she had some of the cast members of Shrek 2 as guests. I missed most of it, but I got to see Antonio Banderas talk--he's playing Puss In Boots, which just cracks me up. His wife, Melanie Griffiths, made some comment about his 'big long' cat, which prompted lots of whoops and cheers from the crowd.
Part of the reason I watched the show, though, was because Dame Julie Andrews was going to be on it. Yaay.
I hadn't realized until pretty recently that she had surgery on her vocal cords a few years ago, and that it wasn't entirely successful. She's lost her four-octave range, and she said today on Oprah that she doesn't sing anymore, which I found really sad. Just as bad is the fact that her voice cracks occasionally, and it just...sad.
But I'm actually looking forward to Shrek 2. It looks like it might be fun. :)
Client has a problem, opens a ticket.
Problem stumps everyone, because it is maintained that, contrary to what the evidence points to, there is no other version of this file that is probably causing the problem anywhere on the server.
Development sends program to test theory that there *is* a file hidden somewhere.
Program is supplied to client with directions.
Program is supplied to client with directions.
Program is supplied to client with directions.
Program is supplied to client with directions.
Program is supplied to client with directions, development closes bug.
Program is supplied to client with directions, and a warning that if client is not heard from by end of the day, ticket will be closed.
Client replies, says the program has not been received (virus scan blocks attachments), would like it sent to another address.
Writer develops concussion from banging head on desk, wonders why this was not brought up the first time program was sent.
Program is supplied to client at second address with directions.
Program is supplied to client at second address with directions.
Program is supplied to client at second address with directions, and a second warning that ticket will be closed soon.
Client responds, unsure of how to use program.
...
...
...
After several moments staring at email, writer tries not to tear out hair.
---
All in a day's work.
Yep, still more sports content.
Oh, and very long.
I was thinking about a few things early this morning, post-Sharks loss, that I ended up repeating to someone in the Sharks LJ community, that I thought about writing here, so I guess I'll finally get to that. The discussion started after I misunderstood one of her posts and commented--her response to my reply was totally unexpected, so I ended up having one of those foot-in-mouth moments after the fact.
ANYway.
So, the Sharks lost again last night, and it was pretty miserable. They played like shit, there was no real effort involved, and they basically rolled over and let Calgary spank the shit out of them. So much for Ron Wilson's 'expect another game like game one' theory. Game 1's loss was hard, but they played really well, and still lost it--what can you do? Last night was just an embarrassment.
We got to talking about having taken the loss really hard, which prompted me to bring up what I'd thought about this morning.
I have this theory about fans and how they deal with team's losses, you see. It's...well. As I've mentioned here before, I grew up a Utah Jazz fan. The year we got there was the year they started making the playoffs and didn't stop until this season. I don't know if it's an NBA record for consecutive playoff appearances, but it's close. It's a franchise record, certainly.
Every season, though, they got punted out early. Every season it was an exit in the quarters, or the semis, or even the conference finals. Each year, it was like a kick to the gut, especially those years where they came *so close*, but still managed to lose before getting to the NBA finals. The closer they got, the harder the punch.
And then...then came the first year that they finally made it. I watched the game, I watched Stockton's 3-pointer in Houston, I watched as he leapt into the air, as his teammates mobbed him, and oh my god, that feeling. That indescribable high that every sports fan knows when their team does well. They'd finally made it!
Twice, they made the finals--that year, and the year following.
Both times, they lost to the Bulls, and as high as that high had been, that's how low the losses felt. That's how hard that sucker-punch to the gut hit. The game where they were utterly humiliated, losing by some 30 points, it was just...god. I've never been one to get 'can't get out of bed' depressed over sports, but that one left a sick feeling in my stomach.
(Yeah, I have a point. Yeah, I'm getting there.)
Why did we get to talking about this? Well...
I have this theory. I think that, when your team is a team without a lot of expectations, who go out there and play even though they're really bad, who don't or can't or won't make much of themselves, who consistently put together shitty seasons year after year, it's almost easier to cheer for them. When they win, it's great, but you may never get that absolutely elated type feeling. When they lose...sure, it might sting if it's a particularly bad loss, and while you might hope that they'll pull themselves together and do it better, I think the realism sort of sets in. The bar's not very high, there's no huge standard for them to live up to, so they lose, and you move on.
With teams that consistently do well, it's harder. Like, for example, the Sharks this year. *No one* expected them to do as well as they did through the season and into the playoffs, not even the players themselves, I don't think. They didn't start off on a good foot, either--they started off where the previous season had left off, so that still left us (me) in that mode mentioned above. But then, they went on a tear, and they pretty much *stayed* on a tear through the rest of the year. They posted a franchise record in points. At least half their players had career-tying or record-setting highs in various statistics. In short, they put together an excellent season, when all was said and done, and earned themselves the second of eight seeds in the conference.
Then, the playoffs rolled around. They pretty much steamrolled St. Louis, and though the Avs put them into a bit of a tailspin, they still managed to conquer *those* demons and finally...finally, they got themselves a berth in the conference finals, for the first time ever.
Now, of course, the expectations are higher--they need four wins in order to get to the finals and play for the Stanley Cup. Four. They need sixteen to win the whole enchilada, and with eight, they're halfway there. This is not to say that it's *easy*--it's not, the Cup is probably the hardest championship in sports to win. I'm not trying to take anything away from football or basketball, but seriously, think about it. Basketball players don't bang each other around like hockey players do, and football players don't play a best of seven series.
So now what? Well. As fans, and maybe even from the player perspective, the bar has been raised. They've done so well so far, what the hell happened in the last game? Sunday's loss sucked, but they worked their asses off and got beaten on a mistake. Everyone knew that was going to happen, that it would be one team making a mistake, and the other capitalizing on that mistake. Last night? What kind of crap was that? It's that same, lingering, sick-to-my-stomach feeling I had when the Jazz had their asses spanked til they were cherry red by the Bulls.
So, yeah. That's my theory. It's sometimes harder to be a fan of the teams that are such high achievers, because it's just that much more devastating (for lack of a better word) when they lose. If they always lose, well...you sort of expect it. But when they do as well as the Sharks have done, and you expect, and you hope, and (some of) you pray that they win, and they don't...that's hard.
And yet, we still watch, and we still hope, and we still pray, and we still cling desperately to the belief that our boys can do it.
Why?
Because we're fans, and that's what being a fan is all about.
Yes, sports content in this entry, please skip it if you're not interested.
So, every once in awhile during the Sharks/Avs series, I'd read the Avs LJ community or look at the Avs message board, and just like with the Sharks, there seemed to be an interesting split between the classy fans and the asshats. I had *thought* that there were more classy fans on the Avs side of things than the asshats, but as it turns out, I was pretty well wrong.
Check this out: (quoted exactly--spelling and grammar errors are the responsibility of whoever wrote them)
the sharks deserve to die.
damn straight they do. a painfull death too. i want there to be a SLAUGHTER OF TEAL IN GAME 5 TO RUB IT IN THOSE SHARK-FANS FACES!!! see how they like them apples.
don't want san jose to be a cup contender, i want to see the sharks humiliated and the fans to be as pissed off as i was last week. sorry, i'm just that vindictive. in the past i've really disliked calgary, but they took down detroit, and therefore, i cheer for them. i'm sure if sj got into the cup finals, they'd lose, but i don't want to see them hoisting a cup, that would just be unbearable.
You know...trust me, I can understand bitterness at losing, I really can. It sucks when your team gets punted out of the playoffs, and sucks when it happens multiple years in a row. I spent a long time as a Jazz fan, remember.
But shit like that makes me laugh at the ones who said that Sharks fans have no class.
First of all, don't lump us all in the same group--some of us, though we might not have been happy about the OT losses, didn't stoop to the trash-talk level, we just kept our heads up and hoped for the best. Ie, some of us are actually classy, and not snarky winners.
Secondly, let he who is without sin cast the first stone and all that shit. Yeah, okay, so you're upset your team lost. If it were the Sharks, I'd be disappointed, too. But seriously. Get a fucking grip. Shit like that makes you into exactly the sort of fan you seem to hate.
I thought about posting a reply, but then decided that dealing with the subsequent flames it'd produce didn't make it worth my time.
Bah. Grow up, bitches.
It's been windy for a day or two--particularly yesterday afternoon and evening, but it's also pretty breezy this morning, as well. Once again, I sit here and look out the window of my office as the sky continues to get lighter. The trees are still shadows, no real color to them, but the branches move in the wind.
I could tell on the way in that it's been pretty brisk outside lately because, after I turned off Lawrence onto the side streets that take me to the office, it was a veritable graveyard of leaves, twigs, branches, and clumps of all three.
The amusing part was that there's a huge limb in the parking lot here. Guess it's been windy.
---
Also. Today's bit of immense frustration.
Say you work for a software company, okay? In fact, say you're a support engineer for said software company. A client comes to you with a problem that turns out to be a bug, and your development group gives you a workaround--not an actual fix, but a workaround, to make sure that the product remains functional.
With me?
Okay. Say, now, that every year your company has this 'user conference' thing, where clients can go meet-and-greet both other users of the product, as well as attend seminars put on by product management, development, and support.
You're working on an issue for one of the clients who's at this user conference thing, and he's running into this bug that you only have a workaround for, and not a fix.
The Monday morning after the user conference, you get email from the client: 'We had a number of interesting conversations with development at the conference. One of the things they pointed out was that [this workaround you've given me] should be built-in. Would it be possible to get a fix?'
This is the part where my head exploded this morning. I've only been telling these fuckers in development to fix this problem for TWO YEARS, that a workaround is good, but we need to get a fix, and now, THEY'VE told a client that it should be fixed--something WE'VE BEEN BITCHING ABOUT FOREVER, but they've IGNORED ME when I bring it up. ARRRRRRG.
As if I'm responsible for the code or something, and not just passing along what development gives me. Fucking hell.
I hate my job.
And this fucking 5am bullshit
SSSSSSSSSS
UUUUUUUUUUU
CCCCCCCCCCCCC
KKKKKKKKKKK
SSSSSSSSS!
Ahem.
Next door to where I work (good god, I keep wanting to type 'next store') is a place called Java Street Cafe. I've been eating there fairly often since I first started working here--it's always been within walking distance, and though it might be a touch on the expensive side, the food is delicious and the service is absolutely wonderful.
Not too long ago, we heard that Simon, one of the co-owners, had cancer--bone marrow cancer that had spread to his stomach, no less. They were trying to find bone marrow donors, and held a couple of donation drives, funded by the family, for people to get tested.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. Simon died over the weekend, and Java was closed on Tuesday for his funeral. I went in yesterday, and just...how do you know what to say to that? I talked to his sister (the other co-owner) briefly, and she said that they're doing as well as can be expected. She said that she'd kick his butt' for leaving her alone like this.
I'm not sure what prompted me to bring it up, probably that the website mentioned a rosary service, but I offered to bring her a rosary that I'd made. Little did I know...
Turns out that Mama had given her rosary to Simon, because they hadn't put one in his hands as they were supposed to do, so she needed a new one.
Today, I took the two that I had made--one amethyst and lapis, the other jade and mother of pearl--and made a gift of the pair of them. Angela says that the first will go to her sister-in-law and the second will go to her mother. I didn't ask for money, I didn't feel right about it, all I could do was just give her a hug and tell her that I hope it helped a little bit, especially since I'm sure they've probably heard just about all of the 'I'm sorry' they can take.
Her reaction to it just...I don't know, it made me feel like maybe I really did help out a little bit, and that...that brightens my day.
I found this very interesting--it's really lengthy, but...still. Wow. I've actually been there, though it's been many years. It's definitely something to see.
TOMB OF THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER
Interesting facts about the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and the Sentinels of the Third United States Infantry Regiment "Old Guard"
1. How many steps does the guard take during his walk across the tomb of the Unknowns and why?
21 steps. It alludes to the twenty-one gun salute, which is the highest honor given any military or foreign dignitary.
2. How long does he hesitate after his about face to begin his return walk and why?
21 seconds, for the same reason as answer number 1.
3. Why are his gloves wet?
His gloves are moistened to prevent his losing his grip on the rifle.
4. Does he carry his rifle on the same shoulder all the time, and if not, why not?
No, he carries the rifle on the shoulder away from the tomb. After his march across the path, he executes an about face and moves the rifle to the outside shoulder.
5. How often are the guards changed?
Guards are changed every thirty minutes, twenty-four hours a day, 365 days a year.
6. What are the physical traits of the guard limited to?
For a person to apply for guard duty at the tomb, he must be between 5' 10" and 6' 2" tall and his waist size cannot exceed 30".
Other requirements of the Guard:
They must commit 2 years of life to guard the tomb, live in a barracks under the tomb, and cannot drink any alcohol on or off duty FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES. They cannot swear in public FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES and cannot disgrace the uniform {fighting} or the tomb in any way.
After TWO YEARS, the guard is given a wreath pin that is worn on their lapel signifying they served as guard of the tomb. There are only 400 presently worn. The guard must obey these rules for the rest of their lives or give up the wreath pin.
The shoes are specially made with very thick soles to keep the heat and cold from their feet. There are metal heel plates that extend to the top of the shoe in order to make the loud click as they come to a halt. There are no wrinkles, folds or lint on the uniform. Guards dress for duty in front of a full-length mirror.
The first SIX MONTHS of duty a guard cannot talk to anyone, nor watch TV. All off duty time is spent studying the 175 notable people laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery. A guard must memorize who they are and where they are interred. Among the notables are: President Taft, Joe E. Lewis {the boxer} and Medal of Honor winner Audie Murphy, {the most decorated soldier of WWII} of Hollywood fame. Every guard spends FIVE HOURS A DAY getting his uniforms ready for guard duty.
The Sentinels Creed:
My dedication to this sacred duty is total and wholehearted. In the responsibility bestowed on me never will I falter. And with dignity and perseverance my standard will remain perfection. Through the years of diligence and praise and the discomfort of the elements, I will walk my tour in humble reverence to the best of my ability. It is he who commands the respect I protect. His bravery that made us so proud. Surrounded by well meaning crowds by day alone in the thoughtful peace of night, this soldier will in honored glory rest under my eternal vigilance.
[More below the cut.]
More Interesting facts about the Tomb of the Unknowns itself:
The marble for the Tomb of the Unknowns was furnished by the Vermont Marble Company of Danby, Vt. The marble is the finest and whitest of American marble, quarried from the Yule Marble Quarry located near Marble, Colorado and is called Yule Marble. The Marble for the Lincoln memorial and other famous buildings was also quarried there.
The Tomb consists of seven pieces of rectangular marble:
Four pieces in sub base; weight A- 15 tons;
One piece in base or plinth; weight A- 16 tons;
One piece in die; weight A- 36 tons;
One piece in cap; weight A- 12 tons;
Carved on the East side (the front of the Tomb, which faces Washington, D.C.) is a composite of three figures, commemorative of the spirit of the Allies of World War I.
In the center of the panel stands Victory (female).
On the right side, a male figure symbolizes Valor.
On the left side stands Peace, with her palm branch to reward the devotion and sacrifice that went with courage to make the cause of righteousness triumphant.
The north and south sides are divided into three panels by Doric pilasters. In each panel is an inverted wreath.
On the west, or rear, panel (facing the Amphitheater) is inscribed:
HERE RESTS IN HONORED GLORY AN AMERICAN SOLDIER KNOWN BUT TO GOD
The first Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was a sub base and a base or plinth. It was slightly smaller than the present base. This was torn away when the present Tomb was started Aug. 27, 1931. The Tomb was completed and the area opened to the public 9:15 a.m. April 9, 1932, without any ceremony.
Cost of the Tomb: $48,000
Sculptor: Thomas Hudson Jones
Architect: Lorimer Rich
Contractors: Hagerman & Harris, New York City
Inscription: Author Unknown
(Interesting Commentary)
The Third Infantry Regiment at Fort Myer has the responsibility for providing ceremonial units and honor guards for state occasions, White House social functions, public celebrations and interments at Arlington National Cemetery and standing a very formal sentry watch at the Tomb of the Unknowns.
The public is familiar with the precision of what is called "walking post" at the Tomb. There are roped off galleries where visitors can form to observe the troopers and their measured step and almost mechanically, silent rifle shoulder changes. They are relieved every hour in a very formal drill that has to be seen to be believed.
Some people think that when the Cemetery is closed to the public in the evening that this show stops. First, to the men who are dedicated to this work, it is no show. It is a "charge of honor." The formality and precision continues uninterrupted all night. During the nighttime, the drill of relief and the measured step of the on-duty sentry remain unchanged from the daylight hours. To these men, these special men, the continuity of this post is the key to the honor and respect shown to these honored dead, symbolic of all unaccounted for American combat dead. The steady rhythmic step in rain, sleet, snow, hail, heat and cold must be uninterrupted. Uninterrupted is the important part of the honor shown.
Recently, while you were sleeping, the teeth of hurricane Isabel came through this area and tore hell out of everything. We had thousands of trees down, power outages, traffic signals out, roads filled with downed limbs and "gear adrift" debris. We had flooding and the place looked like it had been the impact area of an off-shore bombardment.
The Regimental Commander of the U.S. Third Infantry sent word to the nighttime Sentry Detail to secure the post and seek shelter from the high winds, to ensure their personal safety.
THEY DISOBEYED THE ORDER!
During winds that turned over vehicles and turned debris into projectiles, the measured step continued. One fellow said "I've got buddies getting shot at in Iraq who would kick my butt if word got to them that we let them down. I sure as hell have no intention of spending my Army career being known as the damned idiot who couldn't stand a little light breeze and shirked his duty." Then he said something in response to a female reporter's question regarding silly purposeless personal risk... "I wouldn't expect you to understand. It's an enlisted man's thing." God bless the rascal... In a time in our nation's history when spin and total b.s. seem to have become the accepted coin-of-the-realm, there beat hearts - the enlisted hearts we all knew and were so damn proud to be a part of - that fully understand that devotion to duty is not a part-time occupation. While we slept, we were represented by some damn fine men who fully understood their post orders and proudly went about their assigned responsibilities unseen, unrecognized and in the finest tradition of the American Enlisted Man. Folks, there's hope. The spirit that George S. Patton, Arliegh Burke and Jimmy Doolittle left us ... survives.
On the ABC evening news, it was reported recently that, because of the dangers from Hurricane Isabel approaching Washington, DC, the military members assigned the duty of guarding the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier were given permission to suspend the assignment. They refused. "No way, Sir!"
Soaked to the skin, marching in the pelting rain of a tropical storm, they said that guarding the Tomb was not just an assignment; it was the highest honor that can be afforded to a service person. The tomb has been patrolled continuously, 24/7, since 1930.
From Grouchy Old Cripple in Atlanta. Copied and posted here without permission.
Theo (Me): ... ew. Some poor lady on a Qantas flight got a frog in her salad.
Beka: Was it en route to Paris?
(Yes, it's early and I'm punchy. Sue me!)
5am is too fucking early to be at work, especially after waking up every hour on the hour last night while trying to get some sleep. I finally gave up at quarter after three and got up at about 3:30. Now, it's almost 5:30, the energy boost I got from the shower is slowly but surely leaving me, and...you know, I have a blanket here at work, because this office gets so fucking cold (though it's not cold right now--go figure, they don't turn the AC on until 8am Monday, asshats), and I'd really love to close the blinds, close the office door, and take a nap.
On the up side, the commute this morning was almost fun. I wish I could figure out why the lights change when there's no one coming, though, and why they STAY GREEN for three bloody minutes, for the love of god, when the only car on the road out there is ME. Bitches. :)
Oh! I talked to my mom last night--she and Matt are getting married next year. :D