I'm Movin' Out!

Truckin'

Flat Tired

After making the ascent to the Walter Reed Army Medical Center Annex the back tire of my mountain bike went NMC. The timing was somewhat appropriate seeing how I had been treking all over Chevy Chase most of the day. The last two tenths of mile to WRAMC-A is all up hill. I felt like I was pedaling to a stand still. It gives you a deeper respect for the Pyrennes portion of the Tour de France. My quads were smoked. So after grabbing a 2003 Beaujoulais (incredibly tasty), priority mail envelope and a diet Coke with lime (not as tasty as the aforementioned beverage but refreshing), I tried to utilize my newly acquired free time to leave an Audio-blog. It seemed like a good use of my time until my cell phone went dead. Live Strong.

Ode to the First Loser

I'm #2! I'm #2! I'm #2! Once again the universe has demonstrated that I have what it takes to be the runner up. I was K's complement to her Boss' annual wing-ding on SAT night in Leesburg, VA. A great opportunity to put faces with familiar names that pass between us in post work discussions. After a few well mixed concoctions of gin and juice, it was time for a game of trivia. With pickled brain in hand I proceeded to kick some cerebrums in a multiple choice venue. Thank goodness there were choices or it could have been ugly. After another drink or two it turns out that I tied for the intellectual poll position with the husband of one of K's co-workers. A potentially political sensitive situation, do I whoop his ass and do a victory dance remenisent of a NFL celebration over his twitching carcass OR bow graciously out and defer his older statesmanship. The challenge of choice: estimating the number of Hersey Kisses on a plate and bowl. (What happened to stripping down to our respective loin clothes and sporting daggers?) Damn that bowl and my 4th G&T. My superpowers are limited and unfortunately do not include reliable estimation with any sort of accuracy. I need another drink.

Without

With

Running for My Life

Just catching my breath. I'm getting old. As indicated in my profile, one of my interests is running or the similated act of. The weather has been absolutely gorgeous (~67 F). Just right to put a few miles on the ol' Pat and Charlies. Unfortunately I have neglected myself over the course of the past year. I would like to blame it on the fact my running amigo went off to Afghanistan and left me high and dry. But at the end of the day I can only blame Osama Bin Laden. We (not to include Osama) used to put in some serious miles before he went off to beat up on the bad guys. Though my running muse is back we are geographically separated. I think I've just run (not literally) out of excuses hence it is time to break the gravitational pull of my ass off this government seat and beat my feet. (Hey that kinda rhymes.) But I digress.....so with my trusty HP IPAQ a.k.a. a MP3 player in hand I went off to run some of the great trails around here (Georgetown Branch Trail and the Capital Crescent Trail). They're wooded, well maintained, and provide several different permutations to keep it interesting. So there I was half way to Walter Reed Army Hospital Annex when my IPAQ went T/U. Right in the middle of 50 Cent, "It's your birthday...something-something...it's your birthday." Hold the music, I thought I had charged my pocket brain. Scratching the exterior of my aforementioned organ, I was mystified and out of synch. A white boy with no rhythm or tunes, is there a God? Upon my return to the abode and closer inspection, I indeed plug the IPAQ in but failed to plug the power-cord into the outlet. Smart. Did mention I'm getting old?

Mentoring and Dead Sea Scrolls

And so begins the journey into the unknown. At least up until now. I have stepped off into the deep black void, that while known to all, is seldom referenced, never exercised, and essentially a forgotten attribute. Tomorrow I venture into the art of mentoring. I go with the pure purpose of counseling and the driven endstate to affect the outcome, albeit His will be done. The first test lies simply in the process of:

1) clearly stating the required standards of performance
2) letting the junior leader know they are a valued member of the organization
3) identifying the result for failure to achieve the clearly stated standards

It is as though this art was lost thousands of years ago with the Dead Sea Scrolls. The probability of discovering the Lost Ark or the Dead Sea Scrolls often seems more realistic than the actual mentoring of junior leaders. Who is my mentor? Am I a protoge'? Why the secrecy?

As a 5-year CPT with all military and civilian education complete (to include anti-terrorism, unit movement officer, and commander's safety course), why am I labeled as a non-eligible for promotion CPT? What series of lunar landings must I acquire to be held as a legitimate contributor to the program that I helped bring integrity into? Why can I not be given a road map to success by senior leaders?

I will never receive the map that I so desire. I accept that. I WILL, however, give subordinate leaders their maps. In the absence of guidance from the HICOM, I will assume that the values to be bestowed upon the new leadership echoes that of senior regular army leadership. That is my starting point.

Let the excavation begin.

My First Piece of Mail a la Ross Rd

In my hand I hold the winnner of the next publisher's clearing house a.k.a. the confirmed itinerary for our upcoming Turkey-Day Extravaganza at the Colony of Williamsburg. K thought it would be hoot if I had my pic next to the mail slot. My poor knees. As if groveling didn't already take its toll. Though I don't officially reside here as of yet, this piece of postage is just the beginning. Release the hounds.

To the Last Man

I had an wonderful opportunity see Jeff Shaara at the Barnes and Noble in Bethesda. He is promoting his new book, "To the Last Man." I have hyperlinked the title so as to provide you with a greater in depth description of his book. He was enthusiastic and quite engaging. And that's not the Pumpkin Spice Latte speaking either. He loves what he does and it reflects in his discussion of his work. Passion. His late father, Michael Shaara, wrote, "Killer Angels", a quintestial book on every young military leader's reading catepillar. C-SPAN's Book TV recorded the whole session. As a matter of fact I asked a question reference one of his lesser known characters in the book i.e. the etiology of Roscoe Temple. I don't believe the camera caught my mug but you'll be able to hear my high pitched girlish voice from the back. Though at the time of this entry they have not posted when they are airing this segment, the hyperlink should provide up to date G2. I think you'll find Jeff's answer quite interesting. From the mouths of babes.

Casa Grande

Casa Grande. This amazing prehistoric 4 story structure was erreceted around 1250 A.D. by the ancient Hohokam native American tribe. It was constructed and aligned with celestial phenomena i.e. the summer equinox and a lunar event that occurs only 18.5 years. If only my watch ran that well.

Native American Cultural Festival

Navajo Eagle Dance. The dancer was from a the Redhouse family of the Navajo Nation in Northern AZ. The dance honored the four cardinal directions. Unfortunately I can't recall what each direction represents.....damn aspartame.

Orange County Choppers

I was parked on the highway in traffic trying to make my way South towards Tuscon. Orange County Choppers (OCC) was inTempe on the same weekend as Arizona State University's homecoming. So while pimping at a stand still in the eonomy class rental car, Paul Sr. and Paul Jr. climbed up on their trailer to throw frisbees and insite a riot. At about this point, traffic began moving so my pics are few and from a far. My momentary fender bender with fame.

Climb Every Mountain

Hayden Butte Preserve. The first thing I want to do once we arrive in Tempe, AZ, is climb this mountain/hill behind the hotel. Why? Lack of O2? Lack of Sleep (up at 0300 EST)? Jet Lag? Because it's there? Perhaps all of the above, regardless, I perceived it as a challenge. A manifestation of how I have approached many things in my life. Screw the fact I have atrophied into a slug in the last few months. Cactus et al, the Butte was mine. While K went off to her conference I packed my patrol pack, slipped into my PT gear, and took the toughest route, running. About a 1/3 of the way up you would have thought I was tackling K2. I couldn't remember what I was thinking that had got me to this point due to lack of oxygen to my feeble brain. Once I got to the stairs, walking was more in order, and holding the hand-rail. The preserve overlooks Tempe and is adjacent to the the ASU Sundevil stadium. To the left in the background of the above photo you can see Phoenix. As a matter of fact the preserve is in the flight path of the airport runways. The yellow painted "A" you see on the side of the mountain is maintained by the Student Alumni Assoc. I read that on sign I was leaning up against while catching my breath at 1495 ft. Next step, Everst.