Veteran's day

Normally I take offense when people do not uncover indoors, doubly so at the dinner table (“Ian, Garrett hats off!” “Yes Mom.”) However this was different. They all had worn other hats, and had followed the strict rules which went along with those hats. On Friday they were wearing baseball caps. These caps said different things: Khe Sanh, Korea Vet, Vietnam Vet, Navy, Army, Marines, Air Force, OIF, 34th ID, WWII VET. Sweatshirts also adorned the seated with the same logos. A PFC came in with and immediately saluted two captains, all in ACUs as they waited for their names to be called. As I walked from the back end of Texas Roadhouse, one of the many restaurants in the Des Moines area honoring veterans with a free meal on Veterans Day, I swelled with pride. The stories these men and women could share. The sacrifice they had made, and the thanks a restaurant was showing them…was an amazing experience.

Zoot suit riot

I had dinner with a friend last night. She remarked that in the time we were hanging out, she could have ran a half marathon (Thank you Drake’s all-you-can-eat dining experience. Food should be social!) We talked about everything and anything, including one of my more cocky moments…

When I was in 9^th grade I needed a suit for a career class job shadow. I was going to be shadowing a State Senator, and thus found myself needing a suit. I remember my father and the salesman telling me about which button options I had and a whole slew of other French sounding terms. I picked a three piece. After I picked it my dad looked at me and said “sometimes, always, never.” This was the way to button my options, to maintain the look of professionalism.

When I got slightly older, I became a big fan of two button blazers. There is something about the fit that just brings out confidence in me. The rule with these buttons was “Always, Never.” One never buttons the bottom on a two buttoned blazer, it just looks wrong.

I had a very young professor a few weeks back demonstrate how to give our final presentations. He had come in wearing a new suit. He mentioned that he got the suit for his job interviews coming up at a big state university in Ohio. He is just an adjunct here, and was picked up as the original professor took very sick right before the semester started. I like him, and think he will do great. There is limited chance he will go fulltime at Drake, and his dream school is in Ohio.

He made a big deal about making sure we look professional in our presentations. His suit was pressed and sharp. He stood up to give the presentation and immediately buttoned both of the buttons on his two button jacket. I cringed. I do not consider myself a slave to fashion at all (in fact I complain about people wearing topsiders who have never been topside.) However this was a sin against basic male dressing, something I felt might damage his chances of getting the job.

After class got out I waited around to pack up. We walked down to the main floor where there is a large glass entryway. The glass was immaculately clean, and reflective. I asked if I could speak to him in private and motioned to the glass. He said absolutely with a concerned look on his face, asking me if everything was okay. (I am the only non-major in this specific class and struggle with some of the material.)

I said I was fine, but I wanted to show him something. I asked him to put on his jacket and button it as he did in the class. Then I requested him to point, as if he was repeating something he had said in the presentation. He did, and I said “you see how that looks really awkward?” He wholeheartedly agreed, and so I told him how to fix it by only having one of his buttons used. That immediately made the suit fit better and he looked more relaxed.

My dinner date and I go back in forth about whether it is appropriate to tell a professor they are dressed wrong. Normally I do not care how professors dress (and almost all of mine have tenure.) This professor was just starting out, and was about to have one of the most important interviews of his life. I am a senior, full of way too much confidence, and therefore saw no qualms with pulling him aside privately. Had I done it in the middle of the class, in front of my peers, the results would have been horrific for saving face (and possibly my grade.)

This is the culture we have at Drake. We help each other out. Generally it is the professors helping us out, but every once in awhile, after developing a large amount of confidence through the Drake experience, we students look out for ours profs.

crying

I was talking to one of my professors a few days ago their summer travel. Drake sends a lot of students abroad with Drake professors during the summer. That professor mentioned a student whom I was familiar with. With great pride, they let it slip that upon informing the group that he would be taking the spring semester off to spend much time outside of the country working on research, the gal cried. I take great pride in the relationships we have with our professors. It was amazing to hear that this gal thought so highly of the prof they were upset that she wouldn’t be able to talk or learn from him in the classroom setting.

My love of a small school was increased yet again yesterday. There are a few military types in one of my classes and we were talking about the art of shooting. The professor overheard this, and said they had never fired a weapon before. We immediately set up a chance to take him to the gun range. I can’t imagine this happening at many of the larger universities many f my high school friends attend.

In other news I registered yesterday, for the last time of my undergraduate career. I only have class on Monday and Wednesday, from noon on. Meaning I will have plenty of time to study Navy stuff, get in shape, and maybe pick up some more hours or another job.

A pirate's look at 22

“I need to go to the hospital. I broke my nose.”

“Ok, I am on my way.”

A vastly different way than I thought I would spend my 22^nd birthday. I spent the better part of the actual morning celebrating my birth in the hospital with my best friend. Fittingly he celebrated the festivities of Halloween as the game Operation. The doctors loved him. However we spent a lot of time in the emergency room (2am to 6am) which allowed for some reflection on the last year.

This time last year, I was setting up for one thing; my semester abroad in Egypt. I knew from my French teachers in grade school that I would study abroad for a semester in college. The parts of my life I consider most interesting (Jordan 1 and post) were all training to do the full semester in a place as different as Egypt. I had done two summer long stints in Jordan in 2007, and 2008, and had gotten the short trip dance taken care of with numerous conferences and a three week study session travelling around Egypt. However there would be a big punctuation before I would leave for the Arab world. This exclamation point would take the form of an anchor. I was offered a position with the United States Navy on the last day of the Fall semester, sending my life down a very different path from what I went into my previous year with. I was then ready to take the plunge, to fully immerse myself in Alexandria, Egypt and fall in love with the sea. My last post before I left was from a Jimmy Buffett (whom I have become borderline infatuated with in the past year) song:

“Reading departures signs in some big airport reminds me of the places I’ve been…Visions of good times that brought so much pleasure make me want to go back again!”

So I will.

See you in the Sandbox!

And I went. And had a wonderful time. The first night I was there I walked to the Nile. I watched the sun set over the old city, as hookah smoke tangoed above my head and below the Arabian stars. However things would not be as they seemed. The country I intended to fall in love with as on it’s own course. The Arab Spring would become a defining moment in my life, and has provided me great insight.

And like that first crack from the authorities gun, I was off like a pinball for a quick stay in Prague, where I yet again learned the power of patience and an easy going attitude. I found myself in a country where I once again had to look up exactly where it was. Oman was different. I never thought I would end up there, and can’t say it was all fun and games. But I learned there. I learned Arabic, I learned photography, I learned solo travel, I learned that faces are so much more interesting than trees, sunsets, and buildings. Above all I learned to understand myself. I learned to not long for consumption, to travel light and look for the best in situations.

The tumultuous semester eventually found me walking off a plane to those I love. It was an absolute thrill to see my parents after undoubtedly putting them through a rather stressful semester. It was just as pleasing to see friends and a gal whose company I have enjoyed for the better part of my Drake career.

Taking my love of beaches and at this point life’s soundtrack of Jimmy to heart, I took a job living in Des Moines sailing. This was the first time I had ever lived in the US without being in school or with my parents. I finished off a basement with the help of my fraternity brothers and had a wonderfully fun summer. I read, hung out, got into trouble and then got out of it. It was a positively wonderful way to spend my last summer of civilian life.

I learned and then taught sailing. I had friends out on a Hobie Cat almost every week. I spent countless hours before and after work tacking and jibing up and down Gray’s Lake. I watched sunset after sunset from a dock and reaffirmed my love for Iowa.

I witnessed my brother graduating and head for college in Minnesota. I got to relive some of the entering freshman angst through him, fondly reminiscing.

I spent one of the top three nights of my life with a beautiful woman seeing the man in concert who along with Steve Job’s ipod, kept my spirits up and wanderlust flowing.

And now I am a senior. 22 years old. By this time next year I will have a degree, and be an Ensign in the United States Navy. I may be underway back to the Middle East. Before the next birthday I will have undergone one of the most challenging and grueling experiences I will face: Officer Candidate School. A lot can and will still happen before then, and it is always good to have a crew. I will continue writing this as long as I have interesting things happening. Come along, and welcome aboard.

The funny man

“Ian, do you want to listen to the funny man?”

A very prepubescent response “sure Dad.”

There were many Saturday evenings that went like that when my father would turn on the radio. We were generally driving back from dinner or a movie, and then I would hear that voice…

It was a voice that taught me many of my foundational things: republicans were bad, the church was good, and life was a little slower on the lake. After the news was finished with the line “all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average” I would be transported to a dark mystery of Guy Noir. There was something rhythmic and soothing about the voice, which made me laugh at some of the same jokes my father laughed at, thus making me feel smart and connected.

I had no idea what that voice looked like for a long time. I filled in the character. In Sunday school we would hear stories about God talking, I assumed God sounded like the voice I heard from “the funny man.”

Years later when the movie A Prairie Home Companion was released I saw what that voice actually looked like. Yesterday, I got to shake that voices hand.

Drake hosted Garrison Keillor yesterday for the Bucksbaum Lecture, a time every semester when we play host to some of the most influential people of the day. Maya Angelou, Ambassador Pickering, Ken Burns, Bill Bryson have all graced the Blue stage. Keillor is hilarious, in a kind of comedy that is unmatched. He started out singing and then went into poetry, and finished off as he does so well with telling stories.

I like his stories. I like stories. I take a great deal of joy from being able to tell stories, and one of the tenants, the foundations of my life is to have good stories. Upon leaving Oman I made a list I keep on my mobile for when I am bored or when people ask, of stories that I was a part of in Oman. Drake allowed me the chance to create story after story for myself, and yesterday gave me the chance to meet and listen to the master.

OccupyDSM (This Land is Your Land...)

Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings:

This land is your land, this land is my land

From California, well, to the New York Island

From the redwood forest, to the gulf stream waters

I tell you, This land was made for you and me

As I went walking down that ribbon of highway

I saw above me that endless skyway

Now I saw below me that golden valley

And I said: This land was made for you and me.

As I was walking, they try to stop me,

They put up a sign that said, it said "Private Property."

Well, on the back side, you know it said nothing!

So, it must be that side was made for you and me.

One bright sunny morning, well, in the shadow of a steeple;

Down by the welfare office, I saw my people.

You know, they stood hungry; I stood wondering,

I was wondering if this land made was for you and me?

This land is your land, this land is my land

From Riverside, California, to the Staten Island

Well, oh, down to Modesto, Georgia, don't forget to say Philadelphia, oh

we moving on down to Mississippi, Houston, Texas, ah LA,

you know,This land is your land, this land is my land.

This land is your land

You've got to believe, This my land

This land was made for you and me

Steve

My relationship with Steve Jobs started like most good relationships: introduced by a pretty girl. I had an mp3 played (called an Iriver-no affiliation to ipod) which was more or less an AA battery holder and a headphone jack. Long strands of grass stood no chance between me, my mower and my music. However one time I went driving with a gal who had an ipod. This was the size of a large cell phone, black and white text, but contained countless songs. I was fascinated. I then went home and went in on one with my father for our road trips (no more mixing tapes or trying to burn CDs from .wav files for us!) I think we might still have that ipod wired into his car.
One of the collections my father has is CDs. He has multiple shelves, full of floor to ceiling CDs with almost every artist and genre one could think of. (This created interesting conversations when we saw what it took to make a CD as he has, and I was all for Napstering/Kazaa/Limewire-stealing of music) When we bought the Ipod, we had to set up our itunes account. Which meant while working on homework on one computer, I was uploading every CD he had (insert, rip, eject. Rinse, repeat. ) over and over and over. Nowadays, Jobs has created jobs for companies who will do that process for you. My father had a high school kid with a lack of desire to complete math homework.
I got a little older, and met an even prettier gal. This meant long trips driving, and I had a need to set the mood from time to time. Thank you Steve Jobs for enabling to do so, with my own ipod (which just died this weekend-more on that later)
We spent so much time listening to music that for one of the obligatory gift giving holidays I saw it fit to get her an ipod (she did not have one) engraved with her name on it. My line of thinking was that every time she listened to music I would cross her mind. We don’t talk much anymore, but the ipod still works. I remember the gift being a huge deal, and feeling great pride for having worked the extra hours to enhance someone’s joy of music.
On every big race I have ever run, I have had my trusty ipod helping me keep smiling and keeping time. I always felt excellent when Living on a Prayer” was timed just right in my playlist to hit at the “halfway there” mark. I also am notorious for singing that song in (hopefully) the middle. It also made me smile during the doldrums (the 60 to 87% of the race.) I remember distinctly listening to the Army Strong song as I finished Des Moines Marathon last year, shortly before passing out.
I had a real sweet place list for chicagos marathon last Sunday. At least I thought I did. I got through a few miles only to figure out that my playlist had not uploaded correctly. No biggie though, I was still using my DSM one. Then just after the halfway point (bonjovi has passed me, as I was much slower) silence. Fittingly matching the creator, my ipod just stopped working. I tried to fix it (no small feat while running a marathon, trying not to run anyone over) much like the doctors probably did. Then I said forget about and proceeded to look for the two people I knew in the race (to no luck.) I sang songs in my head, lots ot songs, I took in the sights, and smiled at the cheer squads. I ran free and true, just as I imagine Steve Jobs is doing now in Apple Heaven.