I was watching some lame-ass TV show, I don’t remember which one, when I first heard the question, “Do you want to be happy, or do you want to be right?” While I’m not discounting that I may have dreamt the whole thing while in a Jack Daniels induced coma, I’m pretty sure I heard this question posed by some Dr. Philesque type self help guru who makes it his duty to keep happy couples happy. You see, while happy couples do happy things like go to the zoo, go to soccer games, join the PTA, go to church and buy pretty furniture from Restoration Hardware, they also tend to fight over stupid shit like whether or not to ask for directions or whether peanut butter is stored in the fridge or the cupboard (everyone knows it’s the cupboard by the way). Then tempers flair, the screaming begins and before you know it the stinkin’ jar of Skippy is causing these two normally rational, lovey-dovey shitheads to start airing their dirty laundry and throwing it in each other’s faces. That, my friends, is not good. That’s when you really have to stop and ask yourself Dr. Chubs’ (or whoever’s) question, “Do you want to be happy, or do you want to be right?”
I initially had a whole other intent for this note. I was ready to just go balls-out insane on another opinionated rant that was, at the very least, going to make people cry. I was so hell bent on being, “right,” that I didn’t give a shit about if it was the right thing to do.
Then, I don’t know, something happened. I experienced an awakening yesterday. Sometime between doing my homework and answering the phone at work (and talking to an idiot at a paper mill in Maine who doesn’t know the difference between a computer and his ass), I took a good hard look at the road I was roaring and willing to walk down. A road built on conviction and opinions based 30+ years of experiences sure, but a road where at the end would be the utter decimation of the dignity and feelings of people that I love so very much. A road that if I walked down and had written the note I had intended to write, would have won me pride in spades, but at the cost of tears that, so help me God, I hope I’m never the cause of.
So this is me (I am Jack's complete lack of surprise) biting my tongue and realizing that I don’t always have to win. Not when it comes to my family and not when it comes to my friends. Sometimes (dead is better) shutting the hell up and keeping the peace is worth missing out on a few moments of chest pounding glory.

Perhaps in the end what really matters is not so much being right, but doing right.  Right for the family and most of all, right for her.

Today marks day seventeen of my meat free dietary lifestyle choice and so far so good. Since my decision to eat healthier has kicked off without a hitch, this past week I also upped the ante by going back to the gym for the first time in three months. It started off on Monday where I used the university’s gym and it ended with me joining the Gold’s Gym where my gorgeous wife was already a member in good standing. That’s right, my wife and I are now members of the same gym and we exercise together. I ask you, how civilian-chic is that!

Anyhow, my return to body-toning physical activity started with a just ego-smashing return to the gym on Monday, followed on Tuesday with a two-mile neighborhood jog with my 12-years-my-junior sister-in-law and holy crap! talk about sucking wind. All this combined with the heart-wrenching reality that I’ve gained 14 pounds since my discharge from the Navy (now at a whopping 225, thank you very much. My autograph is $20.00; I’ll be here all week) just set off all kinds of bells and whistles that I am a decade or so out from my first massive coronary with out some serious changes. So after five days of steady exercise and nine days on my new diet, this past week I also cut out my absolute favorite vegetable, tobacco. Oh my little mentholated mistress, I do miss her the most. The real test on that one will be this weekend during my really long, really boring, really slow twelve hour shifts at work on both Saturday and Sunday.

Well as long as we’re talking about sucking, now is a good a time as any to bring up everyone’s favorite and much-loved tea and crumpet eating boy wizard, Harry Potter. Or more to the point, how much I really want to shove his flying broomstick in his ass and fly him off into the merry-o sunset in search of golden snitches. That’s right, I hate Harry Potter. I HATE Harry Potter! As much as Tom Cruise supposedly loves Katie Holmes, I hate Harry Potter that much. If I had a web cam you could see me jumping on a sofa just to prove it.

Right now some of you who may know me may be thinking, “Hey wait a minute bro, weren’t you supposedly some kind of Star Trek loving, Dungeons & Dragons playing, comic book reading nerd at some point?” To which my answer is a proud and mighty, “Hells yes!” And yes, I still bear a love and loyalty to my fellow fanboys and geeks of yesterday and today.

But this whole Harry Potter business, I’m sorry. Frak that guy!

There is a reason for my to-the-extreme dislike of this long, drawn out Monty Python skit called the Harry Potter franchise and yes, it is petty. It is my reason, however, and here it is. The reason I am a non-fan of Harry Longshanks is because I am a Star Trek loving, Dungeons & Dragons playing, comic book reading nerd from back in the day.

You see, looking back on the ghost of my adolescent self I’ve come to realize that I’ve grown up a lot. I’m older, wiser, fatter and a heck of a lot louder. One of the other things I’ve come to realize is that all of the movies and television shows like, “The Breakfast Club” and “My So Called Life” are full of crap. Growing up we each lived in our cliques and castes and no matter the circumstances, we couldn’t have given a shit about making pals with anyone outside of it. Even though high school may have seemed like the most trying time in our lives at that moment, in hindsight, it was painfully freakin’ easy. We had friends based on convenience and common interests.

Now, believe it or not, while I did find friends growing up that tolerated my love of comic books, it wasn’t until I joined the Navy that I met other full blown dorks. It was the spirit of our love for fantasy worlds and superheroes that brought us together and separated us from the sports nuts and the motor heads and whatever stereotype and clique you can think of. We could talk about Dune, the last issue of X-Force and how Deep Space Nine wasn’t really Star Trek and be content that we’ve found camaraderie in something no one else can fake or pretend to love.

That is until that rabble rouser Jo Murray Rowling showed up and threw a monkey wrench in a perfectly fine, well-oiled social machine. Now everyone, it seems, suddenly wants to believe in magic and worlds populated by trolls, vampires, wizards and the brave few who have the nerves of steel to stand up to them. What is it about Scarface that suddenly makes fantasy fiction cool and mainstream and not alright to make fun of? Why does everyone chomp at the bit to ensure they’re known as Harry Potter fans? Why is nobody shoving them into lockers or knocking their books out of their hands?

The answer is painfully simple. The masses flock to Harry Potter like they never did to any other aspect of Sci-fi/Fantasy because society deems it necessary. The Machine has dumped hundreds of millions upon billions of Quid on Harry Poppins and his wizarding school for the whitest kids in the universe and it is damned sure it’s going to get a return on its investment. So in the meantime, cue Coca-Cola and Jelly Belly and anyone else with a tie in marketing and media to ensure everyone from soccer moms to heads of state are wearing their quidditch jerseys come opening night cheering on everyone’s favorite boy wonder. But while you’re at it, go ahead and continue to make fun of that World of Warcraft geek. He seriously needs to get a life.

This brings me to the last topic of my vegetable induced rage . . . New Mexico.

A few days back I posted a picture on Facebook of a beer called, “Santa Fe” some junk or another. With it I posted a caption that said I would, “NEVER” drink this beer. Most of you, unless you served with me, probably wouldn't get the joke. Now, my pallies on Facebook that did serve with me, or are married to men who served with me aboard the USS Santa Fe, did understand the tongue-in-cheek nature of my slam against the city that shot Billy the Kid. Some of them even joined me in a good hearted poke in ribs at the good ship 763. However, there were a couple of them who didn’t think it so funny AHwepsandTMCEM. So I'd like to thake this moment to make it abundantly clear that while my last five years in the Navy that I served aboard the Santa Fe may not always have been a party, the crew I served with has always been top notch. To this day I have no doubt that, at any given day from December 2004 to September 2009, I had the privilege and honor to serve with 160 of the greatest Americans ever to be born and enlist in the US Navy. They were my family when I had to separate from mine and I will never, EVER forget them and I will always cherish their friendship and camaraderie. And I will never, ever regret having served a single day with any of them . . . except for one.

There’s really no need to go into details, but he was an angry, bald, Puerto Rican Yankees fan who used his position of absolute authority to intimidate the entire crew. No one could stand up to him, no one would stand up to him and as a result he just kind of walked around the boat screaming random obscenities and kicking walls. I honestly hate the guy. There it is I said it. I hate the guy. Even though he left the boat almost two years before I did, he is the main reason I’m out of the Navy. He’s also the reason why I’ll never drink Santa Fe beer and why if I ever need to take a road trip from San Antonio to San Diego, I’m going to go north via Canada and around and then south again instead of just taking I-10 through New Mexico.
And according to my Friends Suggestion box on Facebook I also know that he to is now on Facebook now with 52 common friends to me. So if I tag enough people in this note, chances are he’s going to read it.

What ever. It’s done, I’m out, I’m back in school and I’m with my family. No regrets. Everything happens for a reason. I guess for that reason I owe Go Yankees a debt of gratitude. Maybe one day, just not today though.

Be excellent to each other my friends and stay warm. Here’s looking at you all from the Alamo City.

These past three months that I’ve been home since my discharge have been a treasure.  My sons have grown so much since I first arrived to the USS Santa Fe in 2004 and I missed all of it.  I have very few years left with them before they go off to make their own way in this world and let me say, I don’t intend to miss another second.  This first Christmas back home and out of the Navy was a very Merry Christmas indeed and it’s the first of many that I plan to spend with my family over the course of the rest of my life.

 

My new life as a civilian (I STILL can’t believe it!) has given me more than a chance to reconnect with my family though.  It has given me perspective.  We've all, no doubt, have heard the adage that, "freedom isn't free".  One thing that I dig about prideme is that for us, it isn't just another saying pasted to a random bumber on our way to the grocery store.  All of us have either served, are still serving, or are married to or directly related to one of the two former.  In the more unfortunate of circumstances, most of us probably have served or know someone who paid the ultimate price for our freedoms.  Yes, my hypothetical friends, we are all intimately familiar with the costs of freedom.

The blog I'm posting below is actually something I wrote almost a year ago.  It was just prior to Christmas 2008 and right before my 8th anniversary.  As is turns out (just as I had planned mind  you), it was going to be my last Christmas on active duty and the last Christmas apart from my wife.

Now that I'm out and living the, "normal life" I now know what it means to walk this country's roads wrapped in the protective warmth of the freedoms made possible by all those men and women who spend their holiday's alone and in far distant and often hostile lands.  I now know the undying gratitude for all those soldiers, airmen, marines and sailors who will make my Christmas merry by making their's another day on the job.

 God bless you guys, where ever you are.