(I wrote this blog quite a while ago, but only posted it on my other blog site. I reread it and liked it enough for reposting.)
I was a bad kid. When I say "bad," I don't mean that I kicked puppies or anything. I just drank too much alcohol at a rather young age; I was a sharp tongued teenager and I felt bad about it. When the attacks of September 11 happened, I was suffering a hangover on the couch. I had thought of joining the military before but on that morning, perhaps due to my decadent suffering and a misguided sense of "patriotism," I thought much more seriously about it.
About two weeks later I was officially signed up. I seriously thought that it was a good idea at the time, and those recruiters sure didn't hint otherwise. I actually really enjoyed the Army's basic training; I thought that it was a fun... game. In Kuwait, things were similar; it was "game-ish" in a new, sexually explicit way. But this is not what this blog is about...
I matured while in the army. It seems like an appropriate observation to say that the U.S. Army matured me; in fact I have heard many soldiers say this about the military. "It really makes a person into a wo/man," I've heard them say. I would have to say that for a while I agreed. I felt much more grown up now, having been a soldier that had been deployed to fight in a war. Or perhaps...
As I was washing the dishes at my home the other day, it occurred to me that the whole idea of "military maturity" is a farce. Holding my half dried dish I realized that, of course, I was more mature; it had been six years. Between the ages of 17 and 25, with or without the military, people mature. This falsity is just another reason to disallow people that you are familiar with to join the military.
The military has nothing to do with maturity. In fact they do have much to do with perpetual childhood. When else is it appropriate to hit/shoot/maim another human rather than simply discussing what to do about a problem? I can only come up with one time in life when it is even remotely appropriate to hit another human... in childhood. And even then it is highly questionable.
So, the point is this: it is inevitable that a human between the ages of 17 and 25 will grow up. This is the "maturing age." It is simply a coincidence that most military-bound children will come to mature while in the ranks of a mindless and opinion-less mass platoon.
Tecumseh "Tigre" Fontenot September 2003 - 4 January 2008
Current mood: sad
Category: Friends
Today I felt it was in the best interest of one of best friends to die. He was a great cat, more meaningful as a friend than a cat most times. When I was sad, he was there. When I was busy studying or writing horrible research papers, he was there to interrupt me with his loud purrs.
Though he would become sick from time to time, he was never as sick as he had been lately. I brought him to the vet on the second of this month and he was diagnosed as having an urinary tract infection. We received medicine and that was that. But, he suffered terribly up until this morning, while I waited anxiously for the vet's office to open at 8 a.m. There it was discovered that he had an obstructed urethra, causing him very painful kidney failure. As I was told, only much too late to make a difference, neutered males suffer from this often and should be fed special food. A surgery could have helped him, possibly, after three days with an IV and a catheter. But, there was a chance that his bladder would burst and that his urethra would swell and remain smaller than it was before. This life was not what I imagined for my good boy. A decision had to be made immediately, due to his pain and kidney's increasing strain. I thought of him, waking up in a kennel, with those tubes in him and I thought of what his life would be like, seperated from all of the other members of his cat family, eating bland food and distilled water and medicine, oh, how he hated taking pills! I thought that he would be happier to go back where he came from, wherever that is.
I may never have another cat like my Tigre. He was so smart and understood many words of English, including "Cream" and "Snack," something I never knew another cat to do. He was MY cat, missing me when I would spend a lot of time away from home and sleeping with me nearly every night. My family got Tigre when his mom abandoned him, while his eyes were still closed. We had to feed him with baby kitten bottles; I think this is when I fell in love with him. He loved cream cheese and whipped cream. He was 15 pounds when he was healthy, pretty big for a regular cat. He was 12 pounds today, right before the injection.
I buried him on the side of my house. I put on top of his burial a pineapple plant that I had been meaning to plant. Digging his grave was the only time today that I didn't have tears in my eyes.
I know that he was "only a cat" as many of you may be thinking, but he was so much more to me. I will miss him greatly, but I did what I thought was best for him. As when I am old and suffering I don't expect people to keep me that way for their own pleasure, I am going to miss Tigre so that he can stop suffering.
I plan on not smoking any cigarettes this year and only drinking three beers a week. I think this is totally possible. Also, I plan on drinking lots of water and not drinking much sugar. I would plan on not eating meat, but I don't really have a problem maintaining that particular resolution. Also, I will try to figure out my plans after graduation... I have a general idea, but those plans need to be tweaked. I also have another plan that I don't feel comfortable sharing with the Internet. But, let's just say I have an idea on that.
I am sure there are much more things that I have to do, but I will resolve to make good decisions.
I am not that good at speaking Spanish, but I am getting a lot better at reading it. This is my first attempt at taking a Spanish song that I like and making it understandable to English people. The reason I picked this song is because I really liked how catchy it is. Enjoy.
Wheel of the Angel
Already he goes to the heavens, that beloved angel, to plead for his grandparents, for his parents and younger brothers.
When the flesh dies, the soul searches his space, inside of a poppy, or within a tiny bird.
The land is waiting with his open heart for that is what the angel seems to be awakening.
When the flesh dies, the soul searches for his center in the brilliance of a rose or of a new fishbowl.
In his little cradle of earth he will lull a bell to sleep, while the rain cleans him cute in the morning.
When the flesh dies, the soul searches for his target in the mystery of the world that has opened his window.
The butterflies, cheerful to see the beautiful angel around his cradle, they walk slowly.
When the flesh dies, the soul goes directly to greet the moon and on the way the star.
To where did his grace go, and to where did his sweetness go? Why does his body fall like the fruit matures?
When the body dies, the soul searches in the height, the explanation of his life cut with too much urgency, the explanation of his death, prisoner in a tomb.
When the body dies, the soul remains dark.
I remember you, Amanda by Victor Jara
I remember you Amanda, the wet street, running to the factory where Manuel used to work.
The wide smile, the rain in the hair, nothing else mattered, you would go to meet with him, with him, with him, with him, with him… they are five minutes, life is eternal in five minutes.
The siren sounds, return back to work and you, walking, you were illuminated, the five minutes made you bloom.
I remember you Amanda, the wet street, running to the factory where Manuel used to work.
The wide smile, the rain in the hair, nothing else mattered, you would go to meet with him, with him, with him, with him, with him… he left for the mountains, never was he harmed, he left for the mountains and in five minutes he was destroyed.
The siren sounds, return back to work, many did not return, including Manuel.
Today was my first peace rally. It was great! Yeah, there weren't a whole bunch of people, but considering the people I know that hate the war and the Bushit agenda that DIDN"T go, it was a nice turn out. I was glad just to spend my day off of work hanging with peaceful and caring activists. I met a man named Ward Riley (a seemingly big name in NO activism) and two fellow IVAW peeps. We all heard speeches and marched around the French Quarter. Later, I ate at a great Lebonese place called Mona's on Frenchmen St. and walked down Bourbon St. drinking an Abita beer. I later watched a movie called "Ghostworld," which was pretty damn good, and came home. Over all, I can say that this day rocked. I can't wait for the next peace rally... with luck, another won't be necessary... but, we all know reality very well and Bushit is a warhungry shitface. Peace and love!!
... that I may finally be lonely... actually, I am sure of it. I daydream about random interesting guys that I know... I have NEVER done this before. Maybe it is because my so-called "biological clock" is running out... I am going to be twenty-six! Don't get me and my clock wrong, we don't REALLY want kids... we just want what makes them.
But not just that... I think that we want a really smart guy, but one that doesn't really know just how smart he is... a decently cute guy that is very concerned about his health, other living creatures and the state of the world... but, also a guy who knows what his limitations are... but, at the same time, knows when to pursue more in life (not just money though, of course). I think that I would like to even marry someone again (yes, again... that first has been spoiled by my marrying of an overzealous character, to say it nicely). I am sure the person that will eventually fit this ragged description will be much more complicated and wonderful to explore.
But, alas, it seems that the only men that I respect enough to have sex with are unavailable... the one being happily married and the other being in California. Pfft... oh well... I will just tell my clock to stop nagging already and wait... There are bigger things to worry about now anyway.
... actually, it is not a problem, really... rather, it is a fork in the road of my life.
Okay, so I went to the SOL (Students of Language) meeting today and we discussed something I never knew about. Apparently, at my university, there is a program which sends willing Spanish students to Mexico and gives them a buttload of money to do it! Okay, so this is interesting... Also, if I were to go, I would take classes, at a nice university in Mexico, about FAIR TRADE... so this is right up my ally... there is only one problem.
I am scheduled to graduate in May. I asked if that was a problem and it is (figures.) So, I will have to throw off graduating for a whole other year! I would graduate in the Spring of 2009! This is due to having to go to Mexico during the summer and then spend both fall and spring afterwards in business classes at Nicholls. So... this will actually help me in many ways, but I am going to have to break with what plans I had.
The business classes will help me with my opening of a small business (friends know my plans...) and the Spanish and experience gained in Mexico will help me in graduate school (and numerous other ways).
And, for some strange reason, kids at my school don't want to take up the offer!!! So there are tons of scholarships and no competition.
Hell is for heroes... or that's what Bob Newhart at least partly believed. I agree, but if you commit suicide, I think that you are a "hero" also.
Working at the library I have found that the messiest people, in regard to book order, are the christians that read those neverending christian series... Jesus should have mentioned something about being clean... perhaps.
I watched a movie titled "The Mission." I cried in class, but I don't think anyone saw it... but, why should I hide it? I think that we should all just walk around sobbing until something is done... but, let's just watch a movie about it all and call it history.
Beer makes a sore throat feel better... and it makes the coughing stop.
I am painting a smaller copy of a great mural by Jose Clemente Orozco titled "Christ Destroying His Cross." It is coming out pretty nice... so far.
School is good... I think all of my teachers like me... perhaps not Dr. Price. He may not like me questioning the heroic myth of early USian leaders (Hamilton)... but, the French Revolution, in total, didn't kill THAT many people... 2,600? Name any monarch and I am sure s/he killed way more than that... But, we must MUST condemn the people who refused to starve!! **I guess they didn't like that particular POSH fashion... THAT may be a good research topic for a DISSERTATION!**
sad
