thank you all for your readership (though very little to be read here recently). i’ve been working to set up my own web site and i’m quite excited about it.
i will archive the majority of the posts on this site in my new one. hopfeully the new site foster some interesting debate and maybe even some new thoughts. please drop by and check it out and change any rss feeds accordingly. thanks and look forward to hearing from you all!
luke
www.hicsuntleones.us
Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a Comment »
well friends, you’re probably thinking to yourself, ‘this luke guy clearly has no idea what he’s talking about…commodity prices are tumbling and looks like the banks are going to make a rebound.’
well, i may have no idea what i’m talking about, but at least i know a scam when i see one. lets review a few things just so we’re all on the same page.
1. bankers try to make money
2. you have the money they need
3. in order to make money for themselves they must take yours.
4. thusly, wall street is a sales organization hell bent on separating you from your money.
okay…that said, lets look at what’s going on. in econ 201 you learn market stimulants take 6-18 months to have effect. to those who’s job it is to be one step ahead, this gives them plenty of time to take care of their business. however, most americans only get the reports of what happened, not what is going to happen.
so do any of you actually think the inflated oil price was the true story and concern of the bankers this summer? no. it was a classic, ‘watch the baby’ scenario. while the general population was watching a fluctuating and easily manipulated price index, those in the know were putting together plans to combat the inevitable.
bankers and economists knew the banking industry was about to fail. need proof? look back to the amazingly complex and intricate plans which came to fruition in a matter of hours after failures of note to include, leman, freddy and fanny and merril.
how is it possible that the government and a private organization can put together a package requiring hundreds of pages of legalese, board approval and government sanctions in a matter of hours? answer, they didn’t. these plans were in the works for months.
so while you were duped into watching oil prices, the real issue was the complete collapse of the financial sector. feel bested? i do. because what did they get you to do? that’s right, buy banking and oil stocks. why, when your friendly financial advisor is acting in ‘your best interest’ would they have you buy manipulated stocks? simple, so they could come out smelling like roses and again, separate you from your money.
what was the plan you might ask? simple. they were exiting their positions in the financial sector while pushing oil prices higher. they got out while the getting was good in corporate banks and set themselves up for a two fold windfall of profits in commodities.
this is easier done then you might think. they pushed up oil prices by creating a buying frenzy. press releases were sent to cnbc, fox business and the like talking about shortages and never ending price surges. the minions simply followed. wall street bought in initially then watched as scared investors jumped aboard. prices sky rocketed.
but this was only phase one. this was the distracter to allow for their money making potential. did they make money on the raise, probably, but not like they did on the fall. by waiting till they had exited their financial positions, those in the know then began to short sell oil, or bet on the price falling. its an easy bet when you are the one who drives the price.
its almost like being the star quarterback betting his team will lose…he holds the key. call it cheating…most people call it investing, you be the judge.
so the real profits for these bankers is coming in the short selling of oil futures which the continually push lower. why? well, they make money on the way down as the general populace says, ‘oil was over inflated, and I need to get out.’
this is exactly wrong. they are pushing the price lower in order to buy back in at a lower price! if you knew you could sell a car for 50 grand, and then re-buy it at 10 grand, wouldn’t you do it?!? of course.
the fact of the matter is, oil has hit peak production. General Zenatti, in his weekly financial report has reiterated despite increased drilling and finds, we have been able to produce more than 85-86 million barrels of oil per day. peak oil was reached years ago according to many geologists. more proof to the dwindling oil supply is the heaviness and sulfur levels of currently drawn oil.
sweet crude, as its called, is getting harder and harder to pull out of the ground as new finds are in increasingly colder and deeper places. the cost to actually get the oil out is increasing while the supply is staying the same. moreover, india and china are using more and more oil at startlingly increasing rate.
what does that sound like? higher demand + lower supply = higher prices. but that’s not what is happening. banks are pushing prices lower so they can buy at lower prices.
so then, how can we benefit from this? it is time to start your oil and commodity buying. begin averaging down. don’t spend all your money today as prices will continue to fall. there are great deals on the things that are guaranteed to make you money, i.e. gold and oil. but don’t try to time the market.
starting buying small, but regularly for the next few months as these prices continue to be pushed lower by the banks. let them do the hard work and you reap the benefits.
here are two etfs to look at:
IAU – gold
IEO – oil
Posted in economics | Leave a Comment »
this is an enormous situation and in my mind one of the most historically significant moments in our country’s history. we are at a fork in the road. we have painted ourselves into a corner where we must choose one of two difficult roads. on one hand we can choose fear and relent to the government who got us into the problem in the first place. on the other we can choose to hold fast to the ideas we cherish as americans and push through a very difficult economic time.
due to the way our financial systems are set up (this is by no means a modern idea, but the traditional ‘austrian’ capitalism re-iterated time in and time out and firmly entrenched when our founding fathers choose to utilize a national debt), we require debt and credit as a lubrication to keep the machine running.
by not ‘bailing out’ the banking system, we are throwing a wrench in the system. the banks will not loan to each other and consequently not to corporations which require capitol for further research and development. as financial institutions are hunkering down and doing their best to maintain solid balance sheets, they are less willing to make risky loans to other institutions, which works full circle to bite them in their collective asses. when the banks fail to loan, corporations limit expansion and operation; thus wall street’s woes hit main street’s wallets.
however, this is the nature of capitalism. this is why the system works. as described in ‘the wealth of nations’ capitalism works in cycles. when one industry or sector fails, those affected re-tool, re-skill then brought back into the fold in an industry which succeeds. clearly this has nothing to do with how we are handling the current debacle.
unfortunately, there is very little reward that does not come without risk. we’ve thrived and enjoyed the rewards for a very long time. now we are experiencing the risk.
this all said… by not bailing out the financial institutions we are upholding capitalistic ideas at the cost of severe and difficult repercussions. many folks will lose their jobs. many will lose their nest eggs. but just as disciplining a child is difficult at the moment, the long term benefits far out way the short term difficulties.
if we allow the government (the same knuckleheads who got us into this mess) to buy up and thus control nearly the entire financial sector, we will have moved away from our independence from governmental control. the government will now be the one’s determining which companies can or will expand, who should and should not buy property, etc.
this is frightening indeed! more over, combine these un-american ideas with the current conversation and accusations being tossed out by our supposed leaders. you have obama slamming mccain for owning multiple homes. obama is an overt and unapologetic socialist, so perhaps this is no surprise. but what is a surprise is that he is not alone! mitch mcconnell, a kentucky republican, is doing the same to his democratic rival!
catch your breath comrades! what does this sound like? both sides of the isle are bashing each other for following the american dream. is not the american dream to pull yourself up by your boot straps and succeed? i know it sounds pathetically materialistic, but alas, this is what we have collectively decided puts us in a realm surpassing all others. we dream of our children out pacing ourselves. we dream of hard work resulting in positive rewards. we dream of a freedom to pursue happiness of our own choosing.
but comrades, i can recall a group of people who believed individual success was sinful and un-patriotic. they were the reds of russian. when the reds defeated the white army, a new era was ushered in russia…communism. i’ve often discussed the ideas of communism and socialism and distinguished how one is the political and the other the economic arms of the same beast.
i’ve often asked myself how such a fiercely independent people as the cossacks could ever allow such a stark and dramatic revolution to occur. i am no longer as surprised. who 200, 100 or even 50 years ago would have ever believed we would stand on the precipice, staring at a viable comparison to stalinist-communism, styled social revolution?!
this is an unthinkably important moment in our history. this is the moment we decide the future direction of our country. this is the moment we as a nation stand and fight. we must call upon the industrious and indomitable spirit of americans to look into the face of fear and not blink. future generations will certainly judge us for how we act today!
Posted in politics | Tagged economy | 2 Comments »
c-12
the first few weeks have made an early impression. gtmo is an unusual place. most everyone is transient; one year is a long stay with six months the average. the feeling of being ‘new’ only lasts a month until you learn you are nearly established and all your friends are leaving. quite odd.
all said though, life is good. flying the c-12 is as much fun as i imagined before i left. switching back to fixed wing airplanes has brought with it an almost new view of flying. taxing passengers is certainly different from tactical flying. if last night is any indication, i will be gaining some interesting experiences. last night i flew to kingston jamaica just for some approaches. while this may not seem like an intersting thing to some of you, for a helo pilot, it is quite an adventure.
this is a short and insignificant entry, but just wanted to put something up. hopefully more to come…
Posted in life, the military experience | 3 Comments »
i can’t help but get a little sick pleasure out of the state of the market. honestly, playing the stock market is better than watching a good suspense movie. if you are fully invested, you hope and pray for the good guy to get out of the house with his beautiful girlfriend; if you are cashed out and on the sidelines, you love the slow steady walk of the bad guy – the one where he simply takes his time waiting for the inevitable trip.
well, looks like we’re witnessing at least a stumble if not a complete fall. i mentioned on lifeconnect two weeks ago it was time to take profits as the market was overbought simply on emotion. thankfully i took my own advice. its difficult to sell off then watch as the stocks you just sold gain a few points, but all is right when you see the red numbers of death a few days later.
there is increasing speculation as to the cause of our current volatility (a topic i will expound upon in detail later) but the fact remains, volatility is a traders friend. there are many tactics and strategies to trading, none of which i seem to employ in my ‘on again, off again’, erratic trading. the simple fact is, if you take your money seriously, then the volatility offers a great chance to make money. make no mistake, your money is yours to manage. even if you utilize a broker, you simply must take ownership over your own investments.
all right, enough rambling and on to my current watch list to include buy in points. as always, these are simply my opinions, but i put my money where my mouth is. if you care, i’ll most certainly supply chart analysis as support for my points.
scoreboard:
Year to date – Luke 19.44% Dow -7.24%
Q2 – Luke 35.36% Dow 3.06%
Watchlist:
Symbol / Target Price
AAPL 177
CSE 14.75
DRYS 66
DSX 25.13
EDU 50
ESV 65
EXM 32
FRO 50
IEO 75
ILF 250
KOL 42
LEH 20
MA 245
SFI 14
SLX 87
TAN 21
TELOZ 29.5
V 69
there you have it. do your own research, but this might be a jumping off point. happy trading. if you have any good tips, please let me know. oh, a study of market forces is on the agenda.
Posted in quickies, the market | 1 Comment »
i must admit, my brief blogging career to date shows signs of less than stellar performance. i am, after all, a flippant writer with a short attention span. though my enthusiasm seems above reproach, my constitution for consistency is lacking.
i often feel as though i have much to say as the world must be saved. but more often than not, i’m learning it is me who is in need of salvation and education. but as any teacher will tell you, at times the best learning comes from teaching.
i do not know what i’ll write about or where this blog will take me. in the past it has served as an idea board, a launching pad, a place to rant or laud and even mournfully dirge. i hope to find direction and i hope to once again find a voice that sounds right in my own ear.
my ideas and thoughts tend to be my own and so often in opposition to those who are gracious enough to read my outspread mind. i’m not sure if i’ve offended more or spurred more thought. writing with an audience in mind is a tedious path. i’ve followed it before and bowed to its tireless pressure.
this blog will constitute my thoughts. this blog will not be about the audience. if you choose to read, please indulge fully; criticize and critique; scoff and rebuff or think and enjoy. but i must admit, i almost hope no one reads. sometimes the whisper in the wilderness is more satisfying than the shout among the masses.
today is a new day. my battered and clipped wings feel spry for flight.
Posted in life | 2 Comments »
it is late in coming, but it is now time to begin writing again. skool is in full swing and summer is waning. thank you for you patience in my absence. so, please, keep reading and i hope i can provide a few thoughts, insights and maybe even a laugh or two. its good to be back.
lr
Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment »
26. there simply is no way to be at one with flies
27. april showers bring may heat
28. work, with out professionalism quickly feels like pee wee’s playhouse
29. seven varieties of food is simply to few
30. email may be the single best invention
31. my guitar has nearly gone around the world, yet it still knows the same old tunes
32. absence does make the heart grow fonder
33. people should measure their reading not in number of books, but by the pound
34. you can still smell rain, even in the desert
35. even if it is simply to remember the flatness, a man should sketch at least one scene of the place he lives
36. camels get a bad rap…they are actually quiet kind, curious animals
37. Kuwaiti’s have mastered the art of hiring others to do their work and still stay rich
38. the constant wind of the desert speaks to you
39. I’m glad I’m not here during the summer
40. arabs clearly learned nothing from Rodney King
41. I still haven’t figured out why arabs use 220 electricity instead of 110
42. few things are better then a decent cigar and a swig of scotch…even in the desert
43. crossword puzzles are a lonesome man’s best friend
44. if first you don’t succeed, throw more money at it…it’s the American way
45. it takes a complex mind to grasp on to a single, simple idea
46. more people are interested in the trees then the forest. There must be something about those trees
47. any person can survive six months anywhere (the air force just does it a bit easier then the rest)
48. hand written letters are as good as kisses
49. kisses are hard to beat
50. serenity can be found anywhere Jesus is to be found
Posted in life, the military experience | 2 Comments »
I lay awake, curiously pondering the sensation of losing that spark; the spark of intrigue, of mystery which surrounds life as a child. Do you remember when you were a child playing outside? You didn’t require anything more then a stick for a sword and an old towel for a cape. Life teamed with mystery and the unknown. There were creeks to explore, rocks to overturn, trees to climb, bugs to squash…all in the name of mystery and natural philosophy. Though those particular words would not be used, for that is the way a grown-up would explain it.
I am reminded of Saint-Exupéry’s wonderful contrast between the mind of a child and the mind of an adult in Le Petit Prince. In it, Saint-Exupéry so eloquently demonstrated the lack of imagination of the narrator. It was to his shame. So often I feel like the pilot in the story. I have lost the ability to be amazed. I have lost the since of mystery.
I do not feel alone however. I am accompanied by most all of the men and woman on this fine rock. Where is the mystery we so enjoyed as a child? The resounding answer is, it’s gone. Lost. Never to be found again. It is not a loss of innocence on the part of the observer, but merely a consenting sigh. We have no continents to discover, no pyramids to uncover, no seas to explore, no conquests left unturned, no forgotten people, no race untried. No mystery.
All is explained. There is no longer the question of why something falls or how to determine longitude. We no longer wonder at the marvels of the balanced humours in the body, make up of light, or life at the bottom of the ocean. Science has given us all the answers. There is no Santa and, what is more, there never was.
We are nearly done explaining. We are most definitely done exploring. What is left? Where does a man extinguish his innate desire to conquer, explore and discover? Simply put, no where. It’s like buying a new house. The first few months feel exuberant and wistful. Each corner, nook and cranny is new and unique; yet inevitably, the newness wears off and what is left is living. We are as a people now living.
Look at the big picture of science and development in recent times; effort is not put toward the challenge of new things to come, rather to creature comforts and longer life. But it’s not beyond reasonable to ask the point of a longer life void of the possibility of mystery and adventure? Who wants to live bored longer?
Now truly in your mind as you read you are sure to think of dozens of things exciting and truly worth living for and indeed I am with you one hundred percent. But I hope you understand my point. I miss the mystery of youth. I miss the promises of new and unexplained. I miss the hope of adventure and the insecurity of doubt. Bring back the mystery and you will bring back the spark of the living.
Part of me thinks it is a sign of the times, a consequence of our occupancy and tenure, the other thinks it may simply be a human condition. I’ve often wondered what it might be like if lo and behold a press conference is held announcing our allegiance with little green men from outer space; these little green guys are friendly and desire a peaceful co-existence filled with cooperation and mutual benefaction. Imagine the awe and surprise. But after a few years would it stop being interesting? Would it be like the short lived television show Alien Nation where ‘Newcomers’ are added to the mix and once the new car smell is gone we learn they are as bored as we are holding down regular jobs and miring through similar financial, familiar and relational issues?
Life requires a since of purpose. Life requires a since of mystery. I made the off-handed comment in a past post, ‘It seems the human constitution is weak unless provoked; we tend toward the lowest common denominator unless pushed.’ If this is true, what do we have left to push us? This author has no answers as I am searching for mystery myself.
There is at least One whom I fear; whose very idea is a mystery with no beginning or end. God. Perhaps He set life up in such a manner that ultimately we would seek Him as the true mystery and only satisfying journey.
I dislike the idea of a neat little bow, wrapping up a post for the simple hope of closure. Sometimes there is no closure, there is only observation. So I’ll leave you with this question: where can a man find a touch of mystery in this shabby little town?
Posted in life | 6 Comments »
there are many ways to get to know someone. i considered many questions, many ways to get to the core of a person, but i could can think of none better then the following. if you feel so inclined, please answer the following question. for my friends and family, i would love to read your answers, but if you would rather email it then post it, feel free. however, sometimes there is a freedom in transparency, so feel free to post as you will. alright, here is the question….
‘i am _____.’
thats it. be good
Posted in Uncategorized | 7 Comments »
it seems the human constitution is weak unless provoked; we tend toward the lowest common denominator unless pushed. for this reason, i’m challenging you to april’s struggle. thanks to everett’s suggestion, april will be a push-up month. he suggested 2000, but i’m going to up the ante just a touch and propose 2500.
are you up to the challenge? 2500 push-ups in april. lets do it, you nancies.
Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment »
the month is just days away from completion which means the end of the 100 miles in march competition. congratulations to all of you who participated and finished. as for myself, miles 60 – 80 were killer, but the last 20 seemed to float by. well, hope you enjoyed it, lost a few winter pounds and even found yourself in a bit better shape. i really liked the idea of a fitness challenge and would love to do something for april. i’ll put it to you guys…any suggestions?
i can’t wait to hear some success stories and ideas for next month. again, congrats to all you running fools who finished those miles. onward and upward.
lw
Posted in Uncategorized | 4 Comments »
i figured now is as good a time as any to begin the post deployment lessons learned. any of you who know anything about the military understand on time is late, five min early is on time and delay is a certainty. with these ambiguous images of time, i’ll begin my post deployment lessons learned list 40 odd days prior to leaving. on to the goodness…
1. eating dirt is a reality.
2. not all sand reminds you of the beach.
3. its tough to ride a bike on loose sand.
4. checking your email once per day is sufficient.
5. i do not possess the constitution to only check my email once per day.
6. the air force has it good.
7. people adapt remarkably well for the most part.
8. a jerk in san diego is a jerk in kuwait.
9. riding a bike no hands is more fun and looks way cooler then with hands.
10. cards are the entertainment of the past.
11. few things are as precious as a thunderstorm in the desert.
12. its no fun sitting on the front porch watching a sand storm.
13. duke sucks.
14. if you have the choice of ice cream or not, choose not.
15. acquaintances will only use you until they have no more need.
16. friends will look for your need and stay beyond when it is fulfilled.
17. a seven meal rotation is not sufficient for my taste buds.
18. few things are as wonderful as a cold beer.
19. more then two weeks without a cold beer is cruel and unusual.
20. God loves Dustoff…He provided tail winds whenever we flew.
21. God apparently does not love bikers…He provided headwinds to and from work.
22. running without an ipod is impossible.
23. positional power does not constitute leadership.
24. tan and blue are beautiful, but no country should consist of two colors only.
25. tell al gore, kuwait had the coldest winter in 30 years.
more to come…
Posted in life, the military experience | 6 Comments »
the above opening has absolutely nothing to do with anything. i just remember reading a line similiar in a short story once and always thought it was a wonderful way to begin a story. well, its been a very long time since last i wrote anything. i needed the break. i can only compare it to a well needed nap. i allowed work to pile up and stress to crowd the creative centers of my mind with abstract thoughts of necessity and requirement. as luck would have it, i fought those wicked little words off with withdrawl and sleep. unfortunately, stress saw this coming and flanked me with the dreaded responsibility. luckily, i was able to countered with a classic pincer move with my trump card, excersise and reading.
anyway, a long way to say, thanks for the patience. i feel refreshed and ready to write again. i’m planning on getting back to the roots of this blog and talk about the in and out of life here in kuwait. though the work load is slowing down on the paperwork side, it is becoming increasingly interesting on the flying side. i’m looking forward to some new material and will do my best to put something up each week. I sincerely appreciate your loyal readership. there is truly nothing more satisfying for a writer then feedback, so please feel free to leave comments as you see fit.
until then…peace.
Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments »
well, its almost beach season! time to dust off those tenni’s and faded head bands. i am challenging you to join me in the 100 miles in march. the guys in my command have issued a challenge to run 100 miles this month. of course, its two days in, just means you have some catching up to do.
now fair is fair. i’ll spot you the 10.5 i ran yesterday and today. now we’re even and you only have 89.5 to go. good luck. just a few notes, if you have a heart condition, talk to your doc. get some good shoes, if you don’t you’re sure to get shin split and sore knees. don’t over do it, if you have not been running, start slow and don’t go and run 10 miles the first day. mix in walking with your running, it will pay off in the long run. lastly run on grass or dirt if available.
alright you bunch of nancies; i hope to hear you guys are all joining in. like i said, beach season.
lw
Posted in life | 7 Comments »
I lost my desire to write. ‘Why?’ I asked myself. I figured it out today.
Politics.
That one simple word is like sugar; in it is the power to sweeten and the power to rot. When I was younger I loved it, I couldn’t get enough. As I’ve grown, I found I have a limit. I’ve reached that limit. It went from a sweet pastime to a bellyache. The very thought of it disgusts me. For the past few weeks I’ve pretended to care. I even wrote to it in my own damning way. No more. Not only am I disgusted at politics; I have distaste for the pretentiousness of the politicians who pretend they know the best for the common man.
I know nothing of politics. Why? I read and study it regularly. I examine the history of political thought and evaluate it in my own mind. I have a very clear understanding of my own beliefs. So why? Because I only know one thing about man…his inherent evilness. That is it. The pursuit of ‘political truths’ seems plagued with vanity and smeared with the putrid scent of desperation. So in the spirit of lent, here is my promises to you my loyal reader: I will no longer write anything political, more I will delete any comment that tends toward the political. Let the dead bury their own.
If, however, this is your passion or your interest I have two brilliant brothers who will systematically cover and expose a myriad of difficult political topics. Their Christian worldview and clear thinking will be a refreshing breeze for all of those masochistic enough to indulge in the subject. I cannot recommend their sites highly enough. They are as follows:
Now, what will I write? I will go back to what I enjoy, I will write of my perceptions and observations on life and the military experience. A few stories here and there, perhaps a book review, I might even write a short story or two. To be assured, I will likely weave philosophy throughout. I hope to write something you will find interesting and engaging. I welcome your input. If you have a suggestion, please fire away.
Until then…be good.
Posted in Uncategorized | 8 Comments »
just a couple of photos. thought it might add a touch of spice.
Posted in photos | Leave a Comment »
So this is one of my least favorite things to do…admit that I’m wrong.
With trepidation, but honesty I say, ‘I’m wrong’.
I’ve come off as an arrogant, elitist ass. I thought about the previous post series today. It didn’t feel clean and I didn’t like where it was going. That is until Herman’s post yesterday. I believe he succinctly encapsulated the discussion and offered real Biblical insight.
Everett is completely correct in saying I have attacked what I assume to be the opinion of the responders. (Definitely not a good way to maintain readership!) My original intent was to damn our cult of money. I am surrounded by day traders and the like who seem to have but one goal in life which is to amass more money. The talk in the office is nothing but how to make the most money through whatever means possible then retire and lay on a beach.
I began thinking about it all. In made me sick. I wanted to reach into my savings account and give it all away so I didn’t have to look at it, think of it, or touch that which has drove its roots so deep into the hearts, minds and core of our being as to usurp the One we should be worshipping.
Our society seems so ready to heap glory upon him who amasses huge amounts of cash no matter how he does it. We praise celebrity. We worship buying power. I couldn’t help but feel as though I wanted to burn it all to the ground. Instead I began researching so I could understand the very thing I despised. I wanted to see where it was we took a wrong turn if you will.
All this to say, your well thought out ideas, where as they do not necessarily align with mine, were right on the money. It is us, not the system that is the problem. Objects, like economic systems, are not inherently good or bad per se; humans with our sinful nature stain its blank slate. The point is we are to serve one God, the Almighty who is and was and is to come.
With your permission I will end the discussion of the economic systems. You may, if you wish, continue to post and discuss as you please, but I will be moving into another direction with the following entries. I loved the discussion and hope you guys learned as much as I. Herman, I appreciate the perfect period you set to end the long sentence.
Luke
Posted in Uncategorized | 5 Comments »
I began this entry as a response to a question concerning my response to the well thought out essay, ‘Of Liberality and Parsimony’ by Isaac Riddle, my brilliant little brother. The essay dealt with the underlying economic ideas of the modern liberal. He aptly describes the fallacies of the liberal economic ideas while contrasting it to the out-moded meaning of ‘liberal’.
While I thoroughly agreed with the essay’s theme, I saw a more interesting, though possibly unintended current. It was a desire to achieve the ideas of social responsibility, or liberalism, through capitalistic ideas. A beautiful dream. I posted the comment ‘You make a strong case for capitalistic socialism. Well done sir.’
My other erudite brother asked me to explain. The following is my attempt to do so. It is a deviation from what I like to write, but perhaps you will find it a touch interesting. I have no delusions to the response I will no doubt receive. Please do keep it civil and take it easy on me, I used to be a Republican. On to the show.
Alright, capitalistic socialism. I’m quoining the phrase (and yes, I’m using ‘quoin’ instead of ‘coin’ because I like the building representation rather then the invention idea associated with ‘coining’…I digress already) ‘capitalistic socialism’ due to the desire for both worlds.
The two are diabolically opposed, yet strive for the same end. This complicates matters. Both seek happiness. Simple as that. (Or other semi-synonyms like contentment, provision, ease, &c.) The problem is until this moment – rather 05 Feb. 07 when Isaac so eloquently brought the two together – you had to choose. I propose we name Isaac the great combiner; the next in a long line of greats – Henry ‘the great compromiser’ Clay, Luke ‘the great kisser’ Riddle, &c.
Okay, quickly since you all know this…capitalism seeks its ends through individual achievement; socialism, through collective achievement. Isaac wants to combine the practicality and out and out greed of capitalism with the dreamy unicorns of collective socialism. I love it. Not sure how it’s going to work, but I love it all the same.
Unfortunately in this world, you are forced to choose between evils. Not the lesser of, just evils. And for me and mine, I choose moderate socialism for one complex reason: money will not be my god.
Capitalism, no matter how you slice it sets money up as an idol. You strive, fight, scratch and grope for its attention and hopefully its blessings. It disgusts me. There is something to say for pulling yourself up by your boot straps, cowboying it, making it on your own, living the ‘American dream’, &c. But I reject these. I reject the idea that the American dream is to pull myself up by my bootstraps and ‘make something of myself’ through momentary gains.
There was a time when people of quality thought it foul to even discuss money. Honor and family were the means of self promotion. This too is flawed, but it preserved something deeply imbedded in our souls. Money and its love debase this precious spark of honor and family, community and welfare. Thus I reject it.
I dare say, (and this is an opinion you can and most likely will throw back at me and I will be unable to defend) no society based on capitalism will stand. It will collapse under the weight of its selfish greed. It will fall through exhaustion and boredom. But it will laugh at others as it falls, for there is no system as thoroughly self centered and void of charity as capitalism.
Yes, it will give the power to buy toys. Yes, it is the engine powering the machine generating funds for missionaries and churches; hospitals and needy kids in Africa; retirement homes and food banks. Did you catch it? In the above sentence lies the base line problem. We see these things as ‘charity’ and we pat ourselves on the back when we give. The government offers tax breaks to do so. Do you see? Or are you so ingrained in self provision you fail to see this is a finger of its evil. We should not pat ourselves on the back for doing those things, it is out duty. We should not congratulate others or ourselves for doing what we are commanded.
“When a servant comes in from plowing or taking care of sheep, he doesn’t just sit down and eat. He must first prepare his master’s meal and serve him his supper before eating his own. And the servant is not even thanked, because he is merely doing what he is supposed to do. In the same way, when you obey Me, you should say, ‘We are not worthy of praise. We are servants who have simply done our duty.’”
Luke 17:7-10
Those acts of charity and good will are our duty. This drives to the heart of capitalism. Capitalism would have us believe the commandments Jesus gave us to feed the hungry, cloth the naked, aide the poor, &c, were suggestions only to be executed after we have maxed out our Roth IRA, put some aside for our kids college and of course paid off that credit card debt we incurred through buying into the capitalistic idea of excess and impatience. I reject this.
So what is the alternative? Socialism? Good Lord, now we are in trouble. Socialism as I put forth above is the dreamy, unicorn idea that we actually want to help our brother. When we choose otherwise, the government steps in and forces the issue through excessive taxation. It is an idea of commonality and welfare. Yet it assumes too much. It assumes though holding hands we can compete against the frantic rage of capitalism. It assumes no bitterness. It assumes an idea of ‘greater good’ and ‘nationalism’ and ‘brotherly love’. If this world has proven nothing, it has proven we cannot bear the thought of any of these ideas.
The knock on socialism is it allows people to fall to their base level as sluggards. This may be true. Opponents site the lack of quality provided by countries with socialistic health care systems and public works. These are for good reason. Despite the fact socialism dreams to be by the people and a brother of political anarchy, it is still a system that must be run by men. And men play favorites. And men are corrupt. And men fall into the trap of capitalistic ideas.
Where does the downward spiral take us? Idolatry and boredom. Emptiness and dullness. Both systems slowly crush our will to serve and, isn’t servitude the example Jesus set? Are we not called to be servants of all? Ultimately are we not called to serve God? When He said, you cannot serve two masters, it was a simple prognostication. Any active observer might easily make this same statement concerning money and God. It is obvious when you watch your brother.
Here is where Isaac comes in. He has proposed (even if he didn’t know it at the time) a system where the two join hands and form a self-aggrandizing evil for which there is no combating for it is too beautiful, too simple and ultimately too deceptive to be fought off. Capitalistic socialism puts all of us who despise money and the world it produced in a tight spot. It asks us to use capitalistic ideas to produce a social state. A marriage made in hell. How could we ever dream to fight such massive ego and conscience stroking? Simple answer you can’t. Thank God it would never work.
He discusses the out-moded idea of ‘liberalism’ and explains how the modern liberal stole and bastardized this idea. He insinuates a contrast between the modern liberal’s economic ideas of socialism with a desire to produce socialistic ends through capitalistic means. Unfortunately, the only solution is not an amalgamation, rather the destruction of the two. As God opposed the Israelite’s desire for a king, yet consented and gave them Saul, perhaps He has done the same through our current monetary systems. Clearly God knew the best for His children was to worship him and not a kingly figurehead. I believe He would say the same about economy and politic. Though we may dream to the days when He has washed both away, for now we are left with few choices. Whichever we choose lets not make it our idol. Deal?
Posted in politics, rants | 16 Comments »
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any – lifted from the no
of all nothing – human merely being
doubt unimaginably You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
a poem by e.e. cummings
Posted in poetry | 3 Comments »
who knows if the moon’s
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky–filled with pretty
people?
(and if you and i should
get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we’d go up higher with all the pretty people
than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody’s ever visited,where
always
it’s
Spring)and everyone’s
in love and flowers pick themselves
a poem by e.e. cummings
Posted in poetry | 1 Comment »
Life goes on.
An ambiguous start to an entry, but there is no other way to put it. After the shock of losing our friend, life is stumbling back to normal at God’s resort, Camp Buehring. Flights are launching, training resuming, time marching. And so it goes. This world, if nothing else, is resilient. Great scars are healed by great victories, only to be subdued my greater scars and greater healing.
War is one of the most interesting institutions in all of academia. Through it we learn to listen to our innermost whispers. Through it we learn to ignore those same whispers. It is a remarkable thing to imagine how people continue to put themselves at harms way. But greater is experiencing loss of a comrade and then wish that upon someone else. I honestly marvel at the constitution of those who experienced substantial violence in war.
Through war we listen to the whisper that quietly says, ‘this is all you can take, all you can do, all you can muster, all you will endure.’ Thusly, through war, we learn we can take more, do more, muster more and endure more. God truly created marvelous beings. I am reminded of the scripture encouraging us that God will not put more on us then we can handle. If this is true, when you think of the atrocities flung about the globe on a daily basis, a man of contemplation cannot but wonder what is the limit of the human capacity.
Prepare yourself for the most trite, self-aggrandizing sentence you will read today. I am constantly more impressed by God.
If it is true the search for God ends in the ‘still small voice’, we must understand the core of the idea. It would mean God’s majesty is revealed in His details. I cannot get over the intricacies of His creation. It should come as no surprise He deemed it ‘good’.
What was I saying? Oh yes, life goes on.
We took a trip to Kuwait City. It was a canned trip to a science center followed by a buffet lunch at the Kuwaiti Towers. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw the itinerary. I suppose this is what we Americans find entertaining. The other option was a trip to the mall followed by the buffet lunch! Indeed we as Americans are truly typecast.
Science. Capitalism. Excess. Seem to be the new American slogan. I realize to many of you this seems an unduly harsh criticism. Harsh or not, our actions and lifestyles reaffirm the idea every day. Remember when it was ‘Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness’? What happened to those days? I’ll leave the political analysis to my brothers, but I shall supply you with my philosophic interpretation.
There is no difference. For both are vanities. The original was propaganda. The new is a simple deprivation of reasonable ideals. The pursuit of life led to the humanistic idea that we can manipulate it through our own mental exerts. Liberty was misconstrued as consent to chase wanton pleasure; the attainment of desire found legs in capitalism and greed. The pursuit of happiness, fueled by the monetary successes of capitalism became the societal gluttonies of excess.
Yes, this is a slap in the face. If we are not going to look honestly at ourselves or worse continue the back-slapping acceptance of our moral and social ineptitudes how do we propose to once again attain status as a light on a hill?
As I discussed last entry, our lifespan is no surprise to God. It stands to reason then neither is our birth. God chose us to live in this time. He will not exceed our capabilities. This leaves us, His children, with a monumental task before us; ending the paradigm of accepting of our moral mediocrity as a beacon of righteousness and turning a nation hell bent on Hell.
What was I saying? Oh yes, life goes on.
The trip was lovely if not a bit boring. I am not the canned trip kind of guy. Never have been and hopefully never will be. We left under the auspicious hope of bazaars and belly dancing Arab beauties. Those hopes were for naught, but we did happen to see some green grass, palm trees, a motorcycle riding a wheelie down the road, a pink Lamborghini, a Viper, a sheik and his entourage, the Kuwaiti Towers (representing the finest in 1970’s Swedish architecture) and a handful of American fast food joints.
Kuwaiti’s are more interesting for their bleak landscapes. It lends more time for patriotic confusion. On one hand they are fierce nationalists. A Kuwaiti can expect a significantly more substantial salary than his non-Kuwaiti counterpart (this in addition to the nearly $30,000 yearly stipend he receives for merely being Kuwaiti). On the other hand, the society is dominated by Western ideals of success, i.e. fast cars, fast food and designer cloths (not sure if Yves Saint Laurent made burkas, but it’d be worth looking into).
On one side, they believe in delving into their Bedouin heritage, spending the spring months rekindling the fires of their nomadic forefathers by camping in the desert wastelands. On the other, the camps have satellite television, propane heaters, gas generators and room for SUV parking.
On one hand their households are traditional in that entire families, in some cases to include up to four generations, live in the same abode. On the other, these same houses look like stacked Legos with painted Greek and Roman columns pushed into 1960’s American subdivisions.
Its no wonder they forbid alcohol. Can you imagine the exasperation alcohol would cause these chaotically confused people? For once I agree with an Arab.
What was I saying? Oh yes, life goes on.
We played softball last night. Despite my agreement with the Kuwaiti’s ban on alcohol, it hardly seems fair for levelheaded American softball players. If my memory serves me, beer was the reason they had to make the ball bigger and institute an underhand pitching rule, not to mention four outfielders. So without the beer, it degrades into a bunch of men playing a game they are a touch too good for; like golf when the green is placed in a sinkhole or bumper bowling.
But yes, life is going on. We are working and playing. Mostly we are looking anxiously to our calendars. Hump day, an ambiguous day marking the middle of the deployment, is close. I’ve deemed February 7th for such honors (though today being Groundhogs day would seem more apropos). I’d love to hear how you plan on celebrating ‘hump day’ as for me; I’m going to shave this mustache.
Be good.
Posted in life, rants | 7 Comments »
Life without death is as lopsided as a life without children. We hate death. We love birth. There is unfairness in death; a frankness we are unaccustomed to. Today my friends died. Two pilots and two crewmen flying the same helicopter I fly. Flying the same mission I fly regularly. The same schools. The same teachers. Two pilots and two crewmen crashed the same bird I may have flown.
I am shaken at the fragility of life. The spark of life is precious and fleeting. To an eternal God we must surely be as Solomon elegantly wrote, ‘a wisp of smoke’. The simple truth of the matter is we are soft and most of reality is tangibly hard.
The drive to Kuwait City today provided ample time to contemplate the tender balance between life and death, safety and danger, fear and living. That I’ve experienced more enjoyable times of quiet and introspection goes without saying. However, it is a topic I unfortunately expect to be a running theme throughout my life.
My morose and somber mood required placating, much as the Jews did when they asked Jesus who’s sin was at fault causing the tower to fall and kill their kinsmen. My questions were of the same vein, but of a more secular nature. I wanted to know what went wrong. What happened? Was it mechanical? Was it pilot error? It was the middle of the day, how did they crash?
These questions seemed as logical as the curiosities that plagued the Israelites. There is nothing wrong with the question, but I think it misses a central truth: God has numbered our days before there was even one. The fact is, we are not promised a single hour. Life is not our right. The Founding Fathers got this one wrong. We are at the liege of the Creator.
Luke 12:20, ‘But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your soul is required of you; and now who will own what you have prepared?’
Clearly our lifespan is in no way a surprise to God. David understood this when he wrote in Psalms 139:
‘O Lord. You have searched me and know me.
You know when I sit down and when I rise up;
You understand my thoughts from afar.
You scrutinize my path and my lying down
And are intimately acquainted with all my ways.
Even before there is a word on my tongue,
Behold, O Lord, You know it all.
You have enclosed me behind and before,
And laid Your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
It is too high, I cannot attain to it.
Where can I go from Your Spirit?
Or where can I flee from Your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.
If I take the wings of the dawn,
If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,
Even there your hand will lead me,
And Your right hand will lay hold of me.
If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,
And the light around me will be night,’
Even the darkness is not dark to You,
And the night is as bright as the day.
Darkness and light are alike to You.
For you formed my inward parts;
You wove me in my mother’s womb.
I will give thanks to You,
For I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Wonderful are Your works,
And my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from You,
When I was made in secret,
And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;
Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;
And in Your book were all written
The days that were ordained for me,
When as yet there was not one of them…’
Our days were number before there was even one. Amazing. It takes the guesswork out of the equation. Our final moment is a variable to us, but a constant to Him.
I’m reminded of the scene in the movie Gods and Generals. Scanning the field laden with his fallen comrads, a fresh faced, Virginian officer asked General Jackson how he stood so brave in the face of the horrors of the battle. Captain James Power Smith: ‘General Jackson, how is it you remain so calm in the midst of battle?’ General Jackson: ‘Mr. Smith, my religious faith teaches me that God has already fixed the time of my death; therefore, I think not of it. I am as calm in battle as I would be in my own parlor. God will come for me in his own time.’ The man soon to become known as ‘Stonewall’ answered in the same vain as David. My paraphrase: ‘God has predestined the day of my death; my fear shall not cause it to tarry nor my bravery to hasten. Why then should I fear?’
Here in lies the problem. I am not Stonewall Jackson much less David. My apprehension of death and sorrow for my fallen comrades has yet to be abated despite what is written above. I cannot shake the idea that my friend’s lives were in some way snatched from them. I chose the word ‘snatched’ very carefully as it conjures ideas of violence and impetuousness.
In my mind I thought through the last few moments in the cockpit. I felt the calm, mind emptying feeling of helplessness. For those of you who have never truly felt fear or stared down death with an unwavering eye, it may be difficult to understand how everything slows to a stop. There is a moment of reflection when you realize how helpless you are. The reality of your situation washes over you much like the dulling effect of an anesthetic. You give over to the idea of your fate.
My mind’s eye pictured a halcyon last moment. A look of sorrow and acceptance coming over my friends as they look at each other. Perhaps they grasp hands across the center consol, as they know it is the end. The last moment of serenity before the chaos.
I wish it were so. Reality tends away from this coloration. A new picture flooded my glum imagination. It was one of fighting. A resistance. My friend knowing it was his responsibility to save the lives of the crew. The screams of terror. Then the violence. The tossing. The discombobulating. Water filling the helicopter as the weight of the transmission sadistically turned it upside-down as it immediately sunk, tracing a lessoning parabola to the bottom of the cold dark ocean.
I hate this thought. It’s not fair. Why must this be the reality? I can barely stand it. I want to lash out. Tears are in my eyes this very moment. Why were their souls required of them now, in this way?
I thought about their day. I’m sure he woke up and shaved like every morning. His easy smile and quick wit rested for a full day. Her lacing her boots in the same outside over inside manner she does every day wondering what her husband is doing this very moment. Him worried his hairline is receding. Her brushing her teeth. &c.
Did they know today was the day which God destined for their reckoning? Did they feel the foreboding sense that today their soul was required of them? Did the crewmen have any idea when they made their way up the ladder-well to the briefing room that this was the last joke they would ever make, the last time they would laugh, the last time they would sing? What will my day be like the day my soul is required of me? What will my response be?
Innate is the desire to preserve life, to cling to the hope of a long peaceful existence. Why? ‘Vanity, vanity, all is but vanity.’ Yet it is innate. We, rather I, simply cannot shake it. Benjamin Franklin once said, ‘those who would sacrifice freedom for safety deserve neither.’ For years I hung this quote in a political frame. As I re-examine, I think it stretches far beyond what Mr. Franklin intended. God calls us to live life. We are exhorted, nay, instructed to fear not those who can kill the body and do nothing more, rather Him who can kill the body and cast the soul into hell (Luke 12). Moreover, we are reminded in 2 Timothy 1:7, ‘For God has not given us a spirit of timidity, but of power and love and discipline.’
It is so easy to take the events such as happened today and curl into the fetal ball of self-preservation. For some it is to hold onto relationships in a way as to think it protection. For others it is to push everything away as it is to slip through the fingers anyway, why form the bond only to lose it. This chasm between freedom and safety, holding and loosing is not so great as it seems.
For life without risk is no life. There is no reward not borne from sacrifice or danger. For me, it means climbing back into the helicopter, when all my feelings of self-preservation say the odds are always stacked in favor of the house, quit while you are ahead. But I will not live in timidity. I will not live fearing those (and that) who can kill the body. For that is not living.
My heart breaks for the loss of my friends. But I will praise God. Yes I will praise God. My heart breaks for the families of my lost comrades. But I will praise the Almighty. Yes I will praise the Almighty. My heart breaks yet still He is God.
Posted in religious, the military experience | 5 Comments »
So I finally understand the old army slogan, ‘we do more before 8 a.m. then most people do all day’. It’s a simple matter of time difference; else it’s some sort of inside joke between Joes. Honestly, I’m fairly certain there are more then enough underemployed Joes to suffice without adding more troops. Oh if all warriors were as diligent and industrious as sailors…
For weeks now I’ve promised an entry concerning the lesson God is teaching me lately. However, one thing after another continues to creep or jump in the way. Surely soon, I’ll get to some meat and substance, as it is what I really want to write even now. Alas, I find myself relating a story from a couple days ago you might find interesting. I’ll warn you, there is quite a bit of aviation jargon. I’ll do my best to explain everything, if you are still confused, let me know and I’ll further refine and define. Without further ado, nights like these.
For those of you new to my web log, I am deployed in Kuwait, serving as a pilot in the facility of an air ambulance squadron. Coalition forces proudly claim we own the night. I prefer to think of it as on loan. Though our technology allows us an advantage, it is not always a gift. There is a reason the night is so coveted by military leaders and yet so slippery. For the night in the desert is dark. Very dark.
And what a night it was. We stand twenty-four hour alert shifts. We launch on a moments notice. The notice comes in the form of a ‘nine line’, a brilliant name gleaned from the fact it contains nine lines of information describing what sort of injury, the wounded’s locale and other peripheral information.
The day began slowly. Nothing happened. Though this means no flight time, it also means no injuries, no death and no tears from mothers and sisters of those fighting bravely. My crew drove home from dinner blaring Wilson Phillip’s Hold On, all singing along. A cop pulled us over for going too slow. Apparently this gentleman didn’t share our appreciation of one of the ninety’s real gems (sarcasm). We cracked up as he yelled his face red despite the fact we couldn’t hear a word he said due to the music. When we turned the music down, he was so flustered, he drove off. We thought this was the highlight of the night. How does it get any better then getting reamed for singing along to Wilson Phillips and serenading the troops?
The night was only just beginning. I was just about to lie down to sleep when the nine line came in. 2230 perhaps. Selene sleepily rose to take her throne low on the horizon above an ever-thickening layer of spotted clouds. Over the hand held radio came a raspy voice, ‘medevac, medevac, medevac!’ I couldn’t help but wonder why people never get hurt in the daytime. I put on my side arm and hurried into the tactical operations center, toc. The squadron duty officer was furiously chatting away on the telephone, scribbling notes. She hung up the phone and told the crews now assembled, we were flying to western Iraq. Immediately we began loading additional ammo clips, checking our side arms and rifles.
When flying into Iraq, it is required we fly as a flight of two. This requirement acts as a safeguard against the chance of one helicopter going down without aide. As is standard operating procedure, the co-pilots, played in this case by Lieutenant Junior Grade Mike ‘Long John’ Silver and a dashing young Lieutenant (yours truly) quickly grabbed our gear and the ‘football’ and ran to start up the alert helicopters. The football is our secret briefcase filled with the current passwords and frequencies in Iraq. And yes, we stole the name from the president’s nuclear code briefcase.
Quickly, the rest of the crews arrive and we spin up the bird. Pat Larsen, a pilot I cruised with the past year was assigned as the helicopter aircraft commander, HAC, for this particular event. A HAC is the one who signs for the aircraft. In a nutshell, it is his bird and consequently his flight. The other aircraft, commanded by Lieutenant Joe Adams, call out they are up and ready.
I lower my NVD’s and taxi behind them. ‘Tower, Dustoff Evac zero-five and flight, approaching hold short for the active.’
‘Roger, Dustoff Evac zero-five, wind three-three-zero at twelve, cleared to take off.’ We launch in order. The excitement of the rush to get to the bird and launch is still evident in the idle chitchat and excited voices over the internal communication system, ICS. Dustoff Evac zero-five, Dash One, lifts. I pull us into a hover, check the gauges and call, ‘Two’s in’.
A moment later the form flight is bustering (flying as fast as the aircraft will allow) at two hundred feet, skimming along the desert floor. Dash One, the lead aircraft sets in the locale and heads direct. My aircraft, Dash Two, follows behind, keeping them at our ten o’clock. It wasn’t until this moment we realize just how dark it was. The precious light of the moon was masked behind an ever-growing layer of spotted clouds high above us.
‘It’s a varsity night boys,’ I call over the ICS. How right I was, for it was a dark night. One of those terribly dark nights. In the desert, when there is no light, there is NO light. In low light situations on goggles you get a situation called scintillation; an effect borne from the way goggles gather ambient light (a flash of light from the ionization of a phosphor struck by an energetic photon or particle). The normally crisp green and black images are now laced with tiny flickering dots. It looks very much like a television station you can’t quite pick up.
Joe’s voice over the radio: ‘Looks like we have fog forming below us.’
‘I don’t know man; it actually looks like the difference in the shadows of the moon poking through the clouds,’ Pat answered.
As we flew deeper into Iraq the weather started to get a little worse by the second; a false horizon formed. We were bustering at one hundred, thirty-eight knots (roughly equivalent to one hundred, sixty mph) at two hundred feet and below. The excitable chitchat lessoned. It’s clear this is going to be a night we are put to the test. I am at the controls. Without warning, dash one made a startling climb.
‘What in the world are they doing? Why are they climbing?’ I almost yelled the question.
‘Climbing…they’re not climbing!’ Pat replied. Immediately I recognized vertigo. A false horizon (a cloud layer resembling the visible horizon but above it) formed in the distance tricking my brain. Vertigo is a play of deception with your senses acting as the stage.
‘Vertigo, Vertigo!’ I cry, passing the controls. We were in a fifteen-degree nose down dive! It came on so quickly; I felt no effect of the ‘leans’, the typical clue of its onset. One moment perfect, the next completely in the grasp of vertigo. Recognition is the key. Luckily I recognized and passed the controls and we were saved the very fate of the doomed marine h-53 of one year ago. Until that moment, I didn’t understand how the pilot of the marine helicopter could suddenly loose all awareness and crash straight into the ground, killing all thirty-five men aboard. That crew was in the exact situation I now found myself in; Dash Two on a low light, low-level flight. I suddenly became very aware of my situation.
Pat took controls and leveled us out from the diving turn, reestablishing straight and level flight. It took a moment, but I re-caged. The weather suddenly took a turn for the worse (if that was even possible). A glance at the gauges showed us still fifteen miles from the crash scene. The left seat, the HAC, had controls. We swap duties, I began making the calls and running the show. The pilot at the control’s only job was to fly. Just fly. No brainpower extended anywhere else besides keeping the equal proportions of blue on the top and brown on the bottom of attitude gyro. Knowing first hand how difficult the formation flying had become, I began backing him on the gauges.
‘Air speed’s looking good. I’ve got you a hundred, ninety feet. Dash One is at ten for about fifteen (ten o’clock for a distance of fifteen rotor arches). Looking good.’ I continue to call out our numbers, not only for safety and his benefit, but to help get my mind around reality. Mere moments later, the nose pitches up and airspeed drops through the floor.
‘Watch your nose attitude. Watch your climb. Dude, watch your nose up!’ The second I mention it, Pat confesses vertigo and passes me the controls but not before over compensating for his lack of perception by pushing hard forward on the cyclic. The result it now a hard nose down one thousand feet per minute rate of descent at one hundred, sixty five feet and minimal airspeed.
My heart jumps. I immediately level the nose and pull in as much power as I can. Good thought, poor execution. I am not completely over my vertigo, but I now have the controls. I pulled in too much collective and see red on the NR gauge (NR=rotor speed. The gauges stay green during normal operation; red indicates a significant rise or drop in rotor speed. A dramatic power pull increases the blade pitch, increasing the ‘bite’. This slows down the rotors causing a condition called drooping because the transmission cannot handle the additional strain and the helicopter begins to loose the ability to stay in the air). The power did its job and got us to three hundred feet before we began to droop.
Yanking that much collective (the collective is the lever at the pilot’s left hand which controls the vertical axis) was a rookie mistake. But in defense, I was scared. No lie, scared. The lightening change from extreme nose up, to nose down, then level put me back in the throes of vertigo. I hung on as long as I could. You are taught to trust the gauges. I don’t talk. I just look at the gauges. Pat, gathering his wits, flips the C-PW (contingency power) switch giving us more power and alleviating the drooping. ‘Trust the gauges,’ I tell myself, ‘Trust the gauges.’
It is amazing how much your brain can actually handle. We are flying in a tactical formation over Iraq, doing our best to maintain flight integrity while in condition midnight (completely blacked out). Somehow your brain filters out the superfluous. Unfortunately, one thing we failed to recognize was the low-lying cloudbank we had flown into.
Pat, now re-caged, took the controls. As he does, we go zero-zero (zero vertical visibility, zero horizontal visibility). We are completely blind. There is nothing. We could have been upside down for all I knew. No reference to anything. Dash One, while only a few hundred feet away, was gone. As a pilot, this is as terrifying a moment as you can imagine. We brief the procedures for inadvertent IMC (instrument metrological conditions) before every flight. Unfortunately this time it came at the most inopportune time; on a low light, low level, high air speed, form flight when both pilots are experiencing vertigo.
It is nearly impossible to describe the sensation. The closest simile I can conjure is driving full throttle, blind folded through intense traffic while reaching behind you to smack the kids. Discombobulating and frightening to say the least.
Most who survive a moment of physical crisis tell the same story; you are overcome with a sense of calm as your mind begins to wash out peripheral information and your better sense takes over, whether it is natural reaction or in this case training. Time slows down as your mind speeds up, once again proving the relativity of time and the immensely spectacular brain the Creator provided.
As so often happens in times of peril, the crew gelled in a remarkable way, any dissidence prior to the current situation dissipated in a single heartbeat. The moment we recognized our situation, Pat instantly began the loss of visual contact procedures as briefed that morning.
‘Loss of visual contact,’ he called over the radio.
‘Roger, we are currently heading three-zero-zero, two hundred feet,’ came the voice from Dash One.
‘Rog, turning right one-one-zero.’ We broke away, beginning a climb in order to separate altitudes. I looked around frantically. Still no idea where they were. Through my goggles I can see only green. Worse, a flat green. There is no differentiation between sky and ground. Screw being tactical, I threw the anti collision lights on. Pat continued to make calls try to coordinate a rendezvous. I heard Dash One calling their turn. The goal of the turns when you encounter inadvertent instrument conditions, especially whit the loss of visual contact is to get out of the situation you put yourself into and create a safe distance between yourself and your playmate.
Turns completed, we began the arduous adventure of rendezvousing. Pat, performing ever bit the role of competent pilot, presented a steady platform; wings level steady altitude. Petty Officer Petrie, who remained stationed just behind the pilots ever since he rushed up to turn the altitude hold on while we were experiencing vertigo, backed us up on the gauges.
Like I said, the weather was zero-zero. Seemingly, ten very long, very uncomfortable minutes later a call comes from the back, ‘got ‘em…four o’clock high, coming down!’ Dash One called two hundred feet; we reported level four hundred so what were they doing above us? Clearly the night was affecting everyone. As I catch sight of our playmate, they descend from above and pass right behind us, within several hundred feet, on their way to their called altitude of two hundred feet! Scary.
Dash One tells us they are passing controls back and forth; vertigo. Yeah, no kidding. This night is turning into a disaster. It is not until this very moment I was able to even think past the essentials of flying to consider the mission. We were in a horrible situation, promising to get worse, and still had not found the crash site.
Luckily, when things seemed at their worst we see a strobe. The crashed Australians (yes we were risking the lives of 10 good men and 60 million dollars worth of us technology for Australians), put out a strobe. The little blinking light created a point of reference to the ground. Essentially, a twenty-dollar piece of equipment saved us. In an area where the sand stretches for miles and miles with no topographic deviation, anything that delineates ground from sky immediately re-cages your brain.
We began a slow controlled descent to an altitude of two hundred feet. Visibility increased to roughly a tenth of a mile. Through my goggles I could see the non-infrared strobe light from about .5 nm out, but no further. To extend beyond that miniscule arch was to once again be blind. On a typical night, where the visibility was normal, the fact they placed a non-infrared strobe out would infuriate me because with each pulse our goggles would bloom out. This night, however, it allowed us to actually find the crash site.
Pat, the HAC, took off his goggles and switched to an instrument only scan. Though a deviation in standard operating procedures it was a brilliant move. We made it as simple as possible; he flew, I controlled him around the crash site. It was seriously a brilliant move. The goggles were killing us, almost literally. Though he no longer had any visual reference to where we were, we now had a stable platform and were orbiting the crash site safe and controlled. The next thought was to land and aid our allies.
I analyzed the situation. From what we knew to be the injury (a broken leg and possible broken back) and the immense difficulty in simply flying to the crash site, I felt it wasn’t worth it. It just was not worth it. The moment I verbalized this to my crew, Dash One calls for us to set up as an octagon gun ship. They were going in!
‘Come right. All right, roll out. Easy right,’ I called as we traced an octagon around the crash site. The crew in the back is still experiencing vertigo. It is much easier for a pilot to overpower the false sense of motion because we can look at the gauges for proof. Unfortunately for the gentlemen in the back, they have no such luxury. The corpsman, Chief Owen, continued to ask for our altitude and ask why we were descending in a left hand turn despite our right hand orbits. Now out of imminent danger, we laugh a bit as he was clearly turned around and full into a bad case of the leans with no chance of getting past it anytime soon.
Dash One descended to perform a landing zone evaluation. They made several low passes and found a clear lane by which to enter and began their pattern to land. ‘I can’t take this one Mike, I’ve got vertigo, you’ve got it,’ Joe told his co-pilot. It was a brave decision. Mike ‘Long John’ Silver is a very skilled aviator, but he lacks the experience of a pilot like Joe Adams. However, it was the only way to land and help this guy. Petty Officer Carlile felt none of the effects of the vertigo plague and began making the calls to guide Mike into the landing zone.
Mike did not have full vertigo. However, he did have the leans. He felt a very real sensation of a right hand turn. A pilot naturally combats this by putting in a bit of left cyclic thus the dangers of vertigo. Carlile called him straight. Mike fought every feeling in his body and the urge to conform to the sensations ever arguing and persuading him to put in just a little left stick, just a little left pedal. Carlile’s calls were true and Dash One landed safely behind and left of the crash site.
The sand kicked up while coming into the zone splashed off their rotors creating a fire of green light around their helicopter as seen by our orbiting bird. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I can’t tell you how great it was to see them safe on deck.
‘Well done boys, well done!’ I called over the radio. It was the first time I gave any real credence to the possibility of my friends balling it up and dying. It is a prospect all to real, thus one we put in our pocket, hide and forget about.
Dash One quickly prosecuted the Medevac. We are left with one last obstacle; how do we coordinate a safe rendezvous and fly in formation through the same conditions back across the Iraqi plains to Kuwait? I still had a good eye on our playmate. By giving directions for Pat to loop wide around, we were able to allow Dash One to launch and fall in directly behind them with interval.
Once again, we are totally in the blind. The air-to- air tacan read one point six miles of separation. Dash One assured us they were at five hundred feet. We claimed seven hundred feet and simply push despite IMC and lost contact. We are in a loose combat cruise formation of sorts. There was adequate spacing to allow for any deviation.
‘We’re climbing to see if we can get above the goo,’ Pat called as he began a slow climb. All of a sudden a flicker of black, then we push through into the black darkness of a clear night with light green puffy clouds below us. ‘Joe, looks to be VFR on-top around thirteen hundred feet.’
When we crossed the boarder into Kuwait we dissolved the formation. Dash One took the highly sedated patient to Camp Arifjan and we turned northeast heading home. Barely a word was spoken from the time we departed the soup, till the moment we got on deck. Then it was all smiles and slaps on the back. As you can imagine we were all pretty glad to be back on deck.
I have nearly died a couple times since I’ve had this job, but this was hands down the scariest of them all. We ordered a pizza and discussed the flight. Pat pointed out the obvious, ‘someone should have died there, we are good pilots, but we are not good enough to get out of that one. That was luck.’ I’ll put it one further, it was God’s protection.
I suppose I’m supposed to wrap this up with a moral or a witty remark to the extent of it all in a day’s work or some nonsense, but not this time. The next day I ate lunch alone. A funny thought came to mind; I nearly proved my religion. God clearly has work for those of us on that crew to complete. I felt obligated and thankful. Praise be to God.
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For some reason, I decided to dig deep into the repertoire and pull one from the tremendously horrible date file. A little back story, Monica was a girl I knew in San Diego a few years back. Her ex-boyfriend was a buddy of mine throughout flight skool. He introduced us thinking I might be a good influence on her and I might like her since she was killer hot. She worked for the Padre’s and we went to all the games for free. Just a little fun, no biggie. I asked Monica if she would be my date for the Navy Ball. The Navy Ball is a formal dinner and dance where women wear gowns and the men wear choker whites. Alright, enough background, onto the goodness.
Saturday I took Monica to the Navy Ball. The date didn’t start as planned. She was to be at my apartment in the afternoon and meet some friends and me before going to the Ball. Friday came and went and she never called to confirm. Saturday morning comes and goes and still no Monica. Finally late Saturday afternoon she calls. With a bit of exasperation she explained how she spent the night in jail. In jail. A DUI. Not a good start indeed. But she still wanted to go. I was already dressed, so game on.
She no longer has a license so I pick her up. She doesn’t say a word. Clearly not in the mood I was hoping for. My friends, Sam and his wife, Pat and his girlfriend, classy kids all of them, arrive to pick us up. I don’t mention the fact she spent the night in jail. It’s not really their business. Besides, you wouldn’t know it. She looked fantastic. Unfortunately, I think the reality of her situation was finally beginning to set in. She lights a cigarette and spewing profanities. Not becoming of a lady, but we’ve all seen worse.
At last we get arrive at the Ball. The set up was outstanding. The entire Radisson teemed with Lieutenants and gowns, wine glasses and laughter. The hotel was set perfectly on the water making for a spectacular view of the setting sun. All of this was wasted on my date. She grabs a wine for the two of us. I’m not about to tell her no, although I can’t help but to think it’s a bit odd considering. Looking back, it is as though the first domino was pushed even before the last is placed. Next we know test tube shots are in order.
Monica had no intention of being social, but that’s to be expected. She doesn’t know anyone and doesn’t try. Dinner comes. She is still cursing and behaving completely inappropriate for the situation. We have another drink.
Throughout dinner, the girl starts flirting with my friend Mark who is himself, three to the wind. Midway through dinner we sneak upstairs to the ‘Admin Room’. A Navy Admin Room is a suite rented by the squadron to allow the guys to party in a little more relaxed atmosphere. There is an idea of acceptable behavior while at a formal ball wearing choker whites that does not include all out boozing. I suppose the Admin Room is a hold out from the old Navy; the pre-Tailhook Navy. Monica pours herself some vodka. By now her drink count is somewhere between four and five.
I’m sure you see where this is leading. Not me, however, not at the time. We have now been at the Ball for two hours. She finishes her drink and I persuade her to have some desert. I paid good money for the tickets, I wanted my desert. After quickly putting down three bites I’m chasing after her on her way back up to the Admin Room. As we await the elevator in the midst of a crowd of couples and regular hotel patrons Monica starts yelling.
‘You people can all f— off,’ she slurs to no one in particular. Mind you, most of these are just people staying at the hotel. A very nice hotel down town on the water.
‘What are you doing? Shut up!’ I exasperatedly whisper under my breath.
‘I’m just telling them they can get on the elevator too’.
‘By telling them to f— off?’
‘Yeah.’
Now I know she’s completely out of control. It’s as though it just hit her all of a sudden. Luckily the elevator doors open just in time to end the beginnings of a new tirade. We make it up the elevator uneventfully, our last uneventful moment of the night. While we walk (well, I walk, she stumbles) to the Admin Room she begins an incoherently, random rambling. Something about how she can’t stand Bush lovers or something, I don’t know. Somehow, from the elevator to the suite, a whopping six doors, Monica manages to break her wine glass.
We hurry into the room, hoping no one noticed. I fix a drink. She sits down on a chair on the balcony. I’m already tired of the girl. I do my best to forget I brought her. My friends are all filing in; the night looks salvageable until someone points to the blonde on the balcony. Monica passed out in the chair; completely slumped over, drink precariously held in her hand. Oh, oh…oh no, the glass slips from her hand and smashes. Glass number two. I can’t believe it. I finish my drink in disbelief. Begrudgingly, I make my way across the room to her chair.
‘Baby, wake up and act sober for 30 seconds,’ I whisper. Unfortunately, it was a request to great for her to manage. I half carry her, half lead her to the elevator. I’m praying no one will see us. I am in the midst of the final stage of flight skool and all my friends, not to mention instructors are all around.
The elevator door opens. To my dismay, one of my favorite instructors is standing there staring at me. I manage a wry smile and attempt a look which I hope conveys the only thought in my mind, ‘this girl is a total wreck and I’ve beyond frustrated, beyond embarrassed’. As so often with men, it almost seemed as though he understood and said not a word. The elevator is small and lined with mirrors. Perfect for reflecting on how ridiculous I look holding this beautiful blonde up by the waste. She wrapped her arms around my neck as though she was going to kiss me, completely oblivious to our guest or my growing annoyance. My instructor is cracking up. He’s managing to make it subtle so as not to ruin Monica and my romantic moment. But all of a sudden, this drunken girl on my arm hikes her leg up and wraps herself around me. Then he loses it. The expression on my face must have been priceless. I’m so, so, so embarrassed. I do my best to disencumber myself, not as easy a task as you might expect, before the door opens displaying us to the busy hotel lobby.
‘Stay there,’ I order her, as I physically place her in an overstuffed chair in the lobby. I walk to the concierge station, ‘Sir, I need a cab now. Five minutes ago in fact.’ I look over my shoulder to see Monica pulling out her cell phone to make a call.
‘Speak up! I can’t F—ing hear you.’ In horror and disbelief I notice she is talking the wrong way into her phone; mouth to speaker. Her mother is on the line.
Snatching the phone, ‘Mrs. Ulmer, this is Luke. I’m taking care of Monica, don’t worry’. The same moment her mother is thanking me, Monica breaks her third glass of the night. This one was far and away the most impressive; mostly because she managed to break it on carpet. The bad news was we were drawing the attention of those around us, the good, she no longer had a drink or anything glass.
The security guard, a plump middle-aged woman purposefully makes a b-line for the small commotion. ‘Sir, you two must leave; your wife is way too drunk’.
‘I know, I’m so sor…’
Emphatically Monica breaks in, ‘He’s not my husband! We’re just having sex’. The security guard’s face turns blush, without a doubt dimly mirroring my own. Let me make one thing perfectly clear. I did not have sexual relations with that woman. I could not believe she said, no, yelled that statement. A family with small kids was sitting in the adjacent couch. All heads snapped toward us.
Flustered, ‘Well, whatever your ’status’ you need to leave.’
‘Not status,’ Monica comes back, ’sex.’
‘Monica!!! Go sit outside, don’t talk to anyone, just sit on the steps and wait for me!’ I demand. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I should have seen it all coming. What a disaster. Luckily a lieutenant in my squadron saw what was going on, stepped in and began to run interference while I got her ouside. I walk back to the concierge. ‘Sir, we simply must have that cab!’
‘I’ll call again,’ he replied dryly. Profusely, I apologize. Cab en route, I step out to find my burden. I walked outside but she is no where to be found. Not on the stairs. Not to my left. Not on my right. At this point I’m through. Parked in front of the stairs, under the arcade is a giant limousine; a converted SUV. I have a sneaking suspicion where my little drunk date might have wandered. I poke my head in the open door. My lovely Monica had crawled in and slid to the very front of this huge limo.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask. She shakes her head while stealing Champaign glasses and putting them in her purse. I’m through with her. I’m passed mad; beyond embraced. The limo driver is standing there with a sardonic look on his face as he takes in the ridiculous scene. He is a young guy with bleached blond hair, spiked a bit as though he was getting about ready to go to a Green Day concert. ‘Listen man, I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘Can I just rent this thing? I don’t care what it costs. Just take her home.’
‘Sorry bro, it’s already rented.’
I coerce then drag Monica out of limousine. On the way out, she gives the driver, completely unaffected by the tumult as though it happens regularly, a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. Finally our cab arrives. I literally throw her in and she passes out cold. Now, what to do with her? I can’t take her back to her place; I don’t know the apartment code or where she keeps her keys. The only option is to let her sleep it off at my place.
The cabby helped me hold her up as I pulled out my keys out and his fare. Seriously, we held her up as she was completely limp. A moment later, she comes to and starts saying, ‘Did he tip you? Did he tip you? He never tips. Did he tip you?’ The cabby kept assuring her I did. I guided her down the walkway, up the stairs and into the apartment. No sooner had we stepped through the doorway, when she strips down buck naked, superman dives into my bed and backs out.
We left for the Ball at 7:30; it is now 10:30. Three glorious hours. My friends called, ‘Dude, were going out, but we have to come by and get Pat’s keys first. We’ll pick you up, you’ll ride with us.’
‘Sorry guys, can’t’. My friends drop by and I can’t help but laugh as I explain that my date is blacked out drunk and naked on my bed. How do you make that sound innocent? Despite their persistence suggesting I leave here there, I decide to stay. I’m not exactly sure what to do, so I cover her up with a blanket, put a bucket out just in case and try to get some sleep myself.
4:30 A.M. rolls around and she wakes. She comes over, wrapped in the blanket and wakes me. ‘What happened?’
‘Well, long story short you got drunk and made an ass of yourself and here we are.’ She cracked up and asked why she’s naked. No apology. No mention of the previous night’s events. Amazing. Honestly, I hope she has no recollection of it. I hope it’s a complete blank.
‘I’ve got energy now…’ she says. I turn over and go back to sleep. Monica got up, meandered to my refrigerator and cracked open five beers as she watched Sportscenter and proceeds to pass out once again. Fin.
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