Theme, Week three

Jackson was dreading this assignment. He had been on it several times before and there had always been problems.

"Are you ready?" He asked his driver.

Edwards responded quickly, "I'm ready Sarg."

"Good lets go!"

The two men climbed into a drab and crowded Humvee. Pushing on the giant radio mount between the two seats, Specialist Edwards mumbled, half to himself but loud enough for the sergeant to hear,

"This crap does more harm than good!"

The sergeant tossed a tired look in his direction.

"That's why people don't pay you to think Specialist Edwards. Hand me the log book."

"Huaaah"

Sergeant Jackson quickly noted the time on his watch and recorded it in his book.

"Move out Edwards."

The Humvees moved like a train of speedy camels through the weaving barriers of the gate.

Jackson knew what Edwards was complaining about. The placement of the radio mount blocked their alternate escape route; "Another great example of the army's attention to detail", he thought to himself.

At the end the barriers, where the road began, stood three ragged men wearing blue shirts and shiny badges.

"Do those sons-of-bitches do anything but stand around?" Edwards sneered.

"Just pay attention to the road and lock it up!"

The Iraqi police where notoriously lazy. From the gate soldiers would watch them sleeping in their guard houses; adding to the feeling of trust between the two sides.

As they moved through town the bright colors of the buildings made Jackson feel like he was in a crayon box.

An orange car stopped in front of them.

"Wave him off gunner!" Jackson demanded.

Private Dodd, who was manning the position on top of the Humvee, swung his arms wildly at the driver of the car.

"Move it!"

Throwing his hands into the air, the Iraqi pointed at the red light.

Dodd swung his turret so that the 50 Cal. was aiming into the back window of the tiny Honda.

Quickly, the driver pulled to the side of the road, making a path for the convoy.

Jackson hated having to slow down. That was when things were the most dangerous.

He grabbed the radio's handmike, "This is Bravo One Two, radio check over."

A voice came over the radio, "Bravo One Two, This is Blacklion X-Ray, Roger out."

The convoy moved swiftly along the highway. Trash lay strewn along the roadside; perfect for hiding Sgt Jackson's greatest fear: Roadside bombs. As they moved through traffic, helicopters flew overhead filling the sky with brown dust and loose trash from the streets. The sergeant's eyes quickly scanned the horizon; his eyes traveling from the old man standing by the roadside to the tire conveniently lying on the opposite side of the street. A young woman, dressed in a long black hood, which went down to her ankles, scurried into a nearby building. Jackson's eye's snapped to the roof tops; nothing.

"Clear that tire," he barked at Edwards.

Edwards swung the convoy to the right of the road, hugging the edge of the faded white lines. The old man stepped back from the road, disgruntled by the sudden American intrusion. They had cleared the tire.

Suddenly, there was an explosion behind them. Jackson knew what was coming. The insurgents almost always set up more than one bomb, letting the first vehicle pass and than hitting it after the entire convoy was in the "kill zone."

A flash blinded the sergeant as he looked, wildly for the bomb. The concussion pressed his body armor against his chest. He could feel the side of his door cave in against his leg. Glass from the windows shattered in tiny, hale like fragments, covering everything inside of the Humvee. Edwards shouted as he pressed his foot hard against the gas pedal. The tires were flopping against the pavement; steel rims sent sparks into their wake. The Humvee was still going.

"Dodd! Are you hit?" Jackson bellowed, turning his head to view his soldier's legs.

"Not bad Sarg, Good to go!"

Jackson looked back in his rear view mirror. One of the middle Humvees was flipped onto its roof behind them. He scanned for any insurgents moving in and saw nothing. They hadn't hit him hard enough and they knew it. He grabbed his handmike and shouted for the other vehicles to form a perimeter.

"Turn it around Edwards!" He shouted to the driver.

Edwards swung the vehicle around and sped toward the injured Humvee.

The sergeant grabbed his handmike again, "Blacklion X-ray this is Bravo One Two, we've taken enemy fire at position Lima Alpha Tango in rout to Spiker, standby over!"

The call came back," Roger standing bye over."

Jackson pushed hard on his crumpled door and it opened. He ran to the flipped vehicle and looked inside. The driver of the vehicle was unconscious; the gunner and truck commander were trying to pull him from his seat belt but couldn't reach him because of the radio mount; blood covered the overturned roof of the Humvee. Jackson grabbed his knife and cut threw the seat belt holding the driver up. As he did he could see that some of the blood was coming from a cut across the young man's forehead. Pulling him from the wreckage, Jackson rushed to his own Humvee with the injured soldier on his back. As he threw him into the back seat, against private Dodd's legs, he saw his nametag: Dubois. Other soldiers had already grabbed the two remaining evacuees and were calling over the radio that they were "Good to go".

"Move out!" Jackson yelled.

Edwards let out a quick, "Moving" and began to cut back toward the road.

There was no firing, just silence; it had been quick and cowardly; a hit and run. Two cobra helicopters appeared alongside the convoy as it sped down the road; watching ahead for a possible ambush. Sergeant Jackson could see that the unconscious soldier was starting to move in the back. He grabbed his arm and told him not to.

"Where are you hit?" He asked Dubois.

"I think just on my forehead!"

Jackson squinted his eyes to see threw the wind and saw the entrance to Spiker ahead. Soldiers were rushing to swing the gate open. As he approached the lead guard he flashed his I.D. at him and was pointed toward the awaiting medics. They had made it.

He looked at Edwards and said, "Good job Edwards, we made it."

Edwards nodded and closed his eyes. Pulling out his pen, Sergeant Jackson noted the time of arrival and began to fill out an action report. His hand shook; he had made it.

Theme: Week Two

I will be remembered. That is the voice that echo's in my mind and has since I can remember. I guess that everyone must think the same thing in one way or another. Some may wish only to be remembered by those close to them; while others want the world to know them, and remember what they have done. I find myself drawn to the later group; wishing to leave a mark on the empty slate that is the world.
I was born in October of 1983 to parents in their very early twenty's. My mother tells me that she was watching the movie Excaliber that night, as Morgan Le Fay gave birth to Mordred under the thunder and lightning above. Obviously, i'm hoping this wasn't symbolic of what was to come but as it began to to thunder that evening my mother (Morgen) went into labor. Apparantly, as my mother was giving birth the placenta was blocking the passage and the doctors thought that they would have to cut me out, only to be shocked when I kicked the obstical out of the way and made my entrance in to this world. I grew up in a family of ten, sharing a room with my three younger brothers. When I was five I was dubbed the family devil for having told my very christian aunt that "I liked the devil". I aquired a reputation for being a bit of an adventurer when it came to other people's homes, and frequenly would borrow things that caught my eye from relatives; "hide your crap, he's coming" became the family moto. I began visiting my grandfather, every summer, around the time that I was twelve. He would have me memorize the writings of great authors, and instruct me on the ways of the world; much to my mother's distress. I would come home full of ideas, and questions about history and where I fit in. As the years went by, I began to realize that history was but one man's view. I began to realize that I could write my own history and didn't need to mold myself after those who had come before me. My grandfather used to tell me "the lives of great men all remind us we should make sublime our lives and leave behind us footprints in the sands of time", a statement which I have often remembered in my later years. Up to this point, I don't believe that I had made any imprint on the history of the world; but armed with these ideas I set out. Joining the army after i finished highschool, I worked my way through the ranks and was deployed to Iraq. Now I knew, that many men had made their names in war, and that this may be my only opportunity. I went to Iraq with nothing buy my destiny on my mind only to find a place that was unexpected. I had pictured the battles of Alexander the Great, and of Caeser; yet I found a very different thing. I found a war in which i spent most of my time sitting on my cote, or in a guard tower. The cold truth of the matter was that war is long periods of boredom followed by sudden moments of intensity often from an enemy un identifiable. It was frustrating to me, how was I to test myself in the face of fear if I couldn't see my enemies. I made up for this by applying all of my rage and drive to military knowledge and execution boards. In the end, the only mark that I had made was a small one, I was in the military record books as one of the many NCO's of the Year that my unit had fielded for my division. So far my plan to make a mark on history was not working out very well. It was further aggrevated when I learned that my body was not handling my drive as well as I had expected; I was medically discharged from the military when they discovered a spinal injury I had incured in Iraq and suddenly I was out. I found myself in an unfimiliar and unexpected place with no idea what I was going to do. Since that time I am yet to make my mark on history; i'm working on it though. I'm applying that same drive that I did in the military to my schooling and i'm doing well. I've got one year left and i'll have my bachelors degree. I'm preparing now to make my mark on the economic world rather than the military. I've learned something from all this however, i've become more sensitive since the military and i'm glad. When I started i wanted to make a mark for myself; now I can see that there are greater causes; now I just want to do my part, whatever that may be, to help mankind become better. I want to make history for the generations to come, and if that history starts with my name fine, but if it doesn't and i'm just a small part of that history, i'll be just as happy.

Journal Entry, Week 1

I'm kicking myself in the butt. I looked at gold prices around mid-December and it was going for about $700 per troy ounce; now it's almost $900!. I knew I should have bought; anytime the stock market is going down, gold goes up. It's one the most constant things i've ever come across. What really blows my mind is that gold used to be held at a federal rate of around $30 an ounce until the 80's. Can you even imagine if you had bought into it than($30-$900 an ounce)? Oh well, it's not like I could have bought that many ounces anyway; it takes money to make money.

Journal Entry, Week 1

I woke up this morning to the bad news that CNN was projecting for the economy! At the moment the Dow is down 287 points. I certainly makes me glad that I don't own any stocks. The Fed just cut interest rates almost a point to 4.5 yesterday and their anticipating another cut shortly. I've been waiting to buy a house for a while now, it this might just be the right moment. I'll have to keep an eye on the rates and try to get in while they're low.

Journel Entry, Week 1

Well its back to the grinding block for me. I've actually been surprised thus far at how eager I still am to come to school. I've been taking 7 courses a semester and classes in the summer and winter now for two years and i'm surprised that i'm still going at the pace that I am. It really makes me grateful for that blind step I took the first semester, when everyone else told me that 7 would be to many. I probably would have stuck with the number that I was used to, and I certainly wouldn't be finishing a bachelors degree almost a year early. Its always interested me how human beings self impose limitations on themeselves and assume that they can't do things that they actually can. I've actually found that 7 classes is well within the realm of possibility. I've actually been looking for an 8th class to pick up but can't find anything to suit my degree program. I guess the only thing I may be missing out on by taking so many classes is the depth that I might be taking from each class. Devoting so much time to so many things does take away a bit from each individual task. I think that all in all, my development as a multitasker will be just as beneficial for me however.

Journal Entry, week 1

They did it! The Patriots are going to the superbowl! What a satisfying culmination for a dedicated fan. I've been watching them all year, even went to a game, and now they've rewarded me by winning their way to the superbowl. Ah, the life of a fan; you don't matter, but you think that your willpower must help them win so you send it all their way. Its turning out to be a great year for Boston fans; aside from the NHL, but I don't really follow hockey anyway. This is the first year that i've really followed basketball and it's really starting to catch my interest. The sad part of this whole thing is that I know my football year will soon be coming to an end. They've got a pretty good cycle going, however, in that the only real dead spot is a small segment of time between basketball season and baseball season.

Week One, Journel Entry

I'm preparing to go to my biology class and find myself rather excited. The reason for this is that in the last class we talked about a new concept to me; metacognition. Apparantly, this term discribes the act of thinking about how we think. To be honest I find this very interesting as just this last semester a fellow student was asking me to help them in a class (by basically asking me how I manage to do well in all of the various classes that I take; usually seven per semester) and I found myself telling them that they needed to change the way that they looked at each course. In general, I wanted them to simply identify what it was that the professor wanted for that particular course, and do it; that would get them the A. It sounds simple, but in my experiences with people i've found that there are alot more students out there who go to class with a chip on their shoulder than you might expect. They have an idea of whats reasonable and whats bullcrap and that defines how they will do in that course, dependant upon where the teacher falls into those guidelines. I've found rather, that to be a good student you must be fluid and willing to learn in whatever way an individual teacher may desire. Fluidity that can be defined as changing how you learn at times. This concept of metacognition basically says that you need to identify three things when planning to learn something, or think about something. One, know your personal variable. Two, Know the task variable; or what the task at hand requires. Three, Know the strategic variables; that is to say know how your going to go about doing this thing. I can't wait for class so that I can learn more about this particular concept.

Autobiography:

First Person:

I've always been an avid student. Growing up, my mother's first love was always language, writing, and reading. She made me read anything and everything you can imagine. I home schooled until high school, and that mainly consisted of me reading whatever I wanted, so long as it wasn't junk (my mother's definition of a comic book.) I consider myself to be a fairly good writer, but I’m also fully aware that I need work when it comes to grammar and punctuation; this is something I’m hoping to get from this class. Though I’m still not sure exactly how to use them, you’ll find that semi-colons are one of my favorite things to utilize. As far as my reasons for wanting to improve my writing: I want to go to law school (my grandfather tells me that writing is the key to success there), and I firmly believe that being able to write well can get you far in life.

Second Person:

You have this idea in your head, of what success is, and you want to achieve that. You know that you don't like to see people pushed around, that you don't like to see others abuse their power and use it to harm people who can do nothing to defend themselves. You've seen this before, growing up in a poor family; you saw the smug looks from others, the cold shoulders, and the ignorant societal abuses that come with poverty. In your family, there has always been one rock, one who could always rise above the fray, one who no one ever messed with; your grandfather, he's a lawyer, and a damn good one and people respect him, and when he walks into a room people rush to help him first. When he speaks others are silent. He's taught you much of what he knows, and you understand that knowing the law, and understanding contracts is the only way to secure your true freedom. For this reason, you want to be a lawyer, so that no one can push you around and so that you can protect your family and friends.

Third Person:

He grew up in the shadow of two men; His step-father, and his grandfather. Both had served in the military honorably. When he graduated high school, the only thing that he knew was that he wanted to qualify himself in their eyes by joining the military. His step-father had made it to corporal the first rank of a Non-Commissioned Officer. His grandfather had been a Sergeant. As he started basic training, his mind was filled with doubt; would he make it, would he have what it takes. Quickly, those doubts would leave; however, as he soon realized that he was starting to look behind him at his peers as he ran. He was surprised to hear his name called at the distinguished honor graduate in basic training. Standing there in front of 4,000 people at the graduation ceremony, he stood straight, as a soldier should, feeling cold steel of the General's congratulatory coin in his hand. In Advanced Individual Training, he again won the top spot as distinguished honor graduate, and his confidence grew. He was assigned to duty in Germany, and was able to visit over seventeen countries while he was in Europe. During his second year of service, he was deployed to Iraq for thirteen months. It was a time great boredom, and sudden excitement. He worked hard, was promoted to Sergeant, and won the Non-Commission Officer of the Year award for his service in Iraq. Shortly following Iraq, he got out of the army after having served for four years. He had accomplished his goals, he had excelled in the military and his mentors where proud of him, and he was proud of himself.