OMG Tel Aviv

As someone who has never been, the words, “you are going to Israel” evoked a few emotions. Excitement, anticipation, curiosity and yes, maybe even a little in trepidation. The latter being so slight it was practically non-existent…….until I arrived at the Philadelphia airport.

Having already been through security once, I was completely put off at the site of my exit gate bound for Israel. Normally open, the entire gate was enclosed by a 12-foot wall, and encased in an opaque plastic. Entrance to the gate required another security check and large signs leading to the check-point warned in English, Hebrew and Arabic, that once inside, there were no bathrooms and no leaving. The security guards were Israel Defense Forces (IDF), well armed and surprisingly pleasant.

After clearing the second checkpoint, the sight of armed guards patrolling the outside of the aircraft made that little anxiety grow that much more. What had I gotten into? Although I knew not to judge anything based on the media, having been to Dubai and having my media created perceptions completely demolished, I could not help but race through all of the PLO and Gaza strip newsreels in my mind.

The flight was great! Yes, it was 12 hours straight, but, US Airways has some new planes and I had my own personal TV in the headrest with streaming movies, TV, games, music, even shopping! Technology is amazing!


Shortly after arriving at the airport, all of my fears were gone. While the conflict is an absolute reality, with very serious allegations on both sides including ethnic cleansing and ongoing oppression charges, the city itself seems far removed. Tel Aviv has been described as a city of ”half Iran” and ”half California”; it’s something like a synagogue which meets a sushi bar. A hip city
where a thousand year old building has a funky coffee shop downstairs and a museum upstairs. Tel Aviv has some of the cleanest and most easily accessible urban beaches in the world and it is amazing! The newly refurbished pier area is breathtaking with boutique shops and eateries where the outside seating offers spectacular views of the Mediterranean at no extra charge. Something about breathing in the salt and breeze from the waters I used to navigate made this old sailor’s heart swell. I felt grounded and happy in that place.

I stayed at the Sheraton Towers in Ramat Gan. While the hotel was everything a Sheraton

should be on the outside, in the lobby, at the pool, in the spa, and at breakfast (YUM, more on that later), it breaks my heart that I CANNOT recommend them. The hotel does not meet my three criteria: “clean, clean and clean”. At first, I thought that maybe housekeeping just missed me, so I gave it a day. On the second day, my bed was made, the trash was gone, but it was not “cleaned” you know, spray cleaner, scrub, scrub, scrub everything, sweep and mop, you know, clean. This “surface clean” was something I noticed throughout my entire stay from the hotel to restaurants to businesses. Nothing was “deep clean”. Considering this, I am not sure that any hotel would match my requirements, so I guess in some ways I do recommend the Sheraton Towers by default.

So, the food. OMG the food! Israel is a vegetarians’ dream come true. Well…lacto-ovo vegetarians’ anyway. The hotel breakfast buffet seemed to go on forever. An almost never-ending assortment of breads, pastries, quiches and casseroles. Fresh fruit, local cheeses, strong coffee. A vast variety of fish (yes for breakfast) cereals, boiled eggs and even an omelet maker. It just went on and on and on. Everything was local, fresh and divine. As you may know I LOVE breakfast and almost ate myself into a coma!

The Israeli culture is very akin to my own German culture, food equals love. So here I am, full as a tick and the customer wants to go out to lunch. Lunch on the first day was Hummus and Ful. Everything is served with an assortment of “salads”, olives, pickled vegetables, falafel, pita bread, rice, it just goes on and on, but it is all so delicious. The room temperature humus is spread around the inside of the bowl and the hot ful is scooped in the middle. Olive oil and lemon juice are poured on top with various spices. It was so much food, I told my host we should share, to which he replied “Israeli men don’t share” lol.

The second day lunch was Shakshuka. Shakshuka is a dish consisting of poached or fried eggs cooked in a sauce of tomatoes, peppers, onions, and spices including cumin, turmeric, and chilies.

My host said there were two varieties, regular and spicy. Pointing to the spicy version he said, “That is not for you” lol, so I had the regular. The meal was delicious and again, huge by itself, but then they brought us each a loaf of fresh bread, a bowl of olives, and all the “salads” that come with the meal. After this meal, my host graciously asked if I would like to have Italian or Chinese food tomorrow. He assumed that I was not enjoying the meals, since I was not finishing them. I assured him that they were delicious, and despite being fat, I could simply not eat any more!

By the third day, I was eating a much smaller breakfast to avoid offending my host. On this day we enjoyed Kabobs. I had joked about the meal sizes with my host so he was kind enough to only order me two types Beef and Chicken. They were delicious and I actually enjoyed the chicken more, a first for me! They were both savory and the chicken had a real kick from the spices. I was feeling confident that I could finish this meal, but then the waitress began bringing all of the extras out, hummus, bread, pitas, olives, rice, etc, etc. I actually started laughing out loud as my host explained that this was a “small” meal and that hummus was not considered a “side”, but rather a dip, kind of like olive oil at an Italian restaurant. Again, everything was delicious and I was painfully full and pleased.

For days four and five, I skipped breakfast all together. I had not been able to eat dinner, since I was so full after lunch. By skipping these two meals, I was almost able to finish my lunch on Thursday and Friday! I thought for sure I had gained 20 pounds with the way I felt, but to my surprise upon returning home, I had LOST 4 pounds! I guess Old Testament eating has some health benefits. Maybe that is why Jesus was so ripped!? Lol

So, you may be asking, “Thomas, it was all good?” and saying, “I don’t believe it” well, up until the day I flew out it was indeed all good. Here is the big warning sticker, they will not let you leave without a fight! It is true. I’m not sure what the motivation is, but Tel Aviv airport is the stupidest cluster fu#* of an airport that simultaneously destroys the concept of intelligent design and frustrates you into considering if it might be easier to join the IDF and make a new living in Israel.

I left for the airport three and a half hours early. Not by choice mind you, that is just the way my time at the customer ended and I figured I should just get to the airport since I had my bags with me. At the end of my ordeal, I had only 15 minutes to catch my flight! WARNING: READING THE FOLLOWING WILL MAKE YOU QUESTION THE VERY EXISTENCE OF INTELLIGENT BEINGS.

Ok. I had a great trip. Great food, great people, I even had a great conversation with the taxi driver on the way to the airport and we exchanged contact info for my next trip I plan to make with the family. I wish him happy Hanukah, he wishes me a merry Christmas and I step lively into the seventh ring of hell, cleverly disguised as sliding glass doors.
As you enter the airport, there is a large sign at the back of the airport that reads “Departures” in seven different languages. “Oh, this will be easy” I think as I saunter happily into my first line which is guarded by a woman checking passports and tickets, behind her I can see the security area with metal detectors and the whole bit. I wait patiently for my turn as the line snakes around for about 15 minutes. When my turn arrives, I happily hand my passport and tickets to the woman who looks it over and asks, “Do you have any other identification?” “ahhhh, what do you need?”, I ask. “There is supposed to be a security sticker on here”. “But that is security over there; I am trying to get there”. “No, there is a security sticker you need before here. Go to the information desk and ask where to go.”

Ooook, no problem, I have time. I walk over to the information desk on the other side of the airport and the woman there says I have to go to the US Airways counter and check in, other side of the airport, level G. I walk to the elevator with bags in tow and go to level G. On the elevator is a woman with a US Airways badge and she says she will be taking us to the counter. GREAT! Things are looking up. As we exit the elevator, we go around a few roped lines that have a huge number of people waiting. These roped areas lead to a security scanner, but then the line goes right back out into the public area where I am. Very odd. I follow the representative to the US Airways counters and stand in line again. This area would be kind of like the ticket check in area in the US. I wait patiently for my turn as the line snakes around for about 15 minutes. When my turn arrives, I hand my passport and tickets to the woman who looks it over and asks if I have been through security. “No, security sent me down here”, she looks puzzled and points to the area behind me. “You have to go through security before you can come here”. I didn’t even bother to tell her that the representative brought us all here and that the security is idiotic because it just dumps me right back here and this whole area is protected by the same ropes that banks use to keep people from walking up to the tellers.

I grab my bags, duck under the rope and go get in the massive line for “security”. . I wait for my turn as the line snakes around for about 35 minutes. When my turn arrives, I hand over my passport and tickets to the woman who looks it over, asks me a series of questions and then takes my passport of to, who knows where. Anyway, I will fast forward here; my bags go through a scanner, into another line where I have to unpack my bag in front of them. A word of caution here ladies, they take EVERYTHING out of your bag that requires batteries….that’s right…..anything that requires batteries….the woman in front of me was about embarrassed enough to die on the spot, enough said.
All this security puts me right back where I was at the ticket counter, still in possession of my bags. . I wait for my turn as the line snakes around for about 15 minutes. When my turn arrives, I hand my passport and tickets to the woman who looks it over and sends me…..you guessed it, back upstairs to the original line!! So you know what happened next? I go back upstairs, I wait for my turn as the line snakes around for about 15 minutes. When my turn arrives, I give my passport and tickets to the woman who looks it over and sends me through to the security line lol. If this part of the story is frustrating you, try living it!

So things are looking up now right? I am finally in a real security line which must lead into the airport right? At the very least, this security check should be valid enough so I don’t have to do another one, right? Well, you guessed it, I wait for my turn as the line snakes around for about 25 minutes. I take off my shoes, my belt, empty my pockets, pretty much get naked, and damn if I don’t beep. What does it mean if you beep in Israel? There is a lot of yelling, a wand, loud noises, rubber gloves and really, really mean female soldiers. You also get to unpack your bag again.

All told, I finally made it to the gate with only 15 minutes to spare!

Would I go again? In a heartbeat!

If you go to Toronto, go gay

I recently went to Toronto to do a product install for an international banking company. Since the customer’s building was right in the center of downtown Toronto, I did not want to rent a car and have to deal with traffic, parking and all the stress and expense, which goes along with driving in a city. As a result, I began investigating hotels near the customer’s location. To my chagrin, all the affordable hotels in walking distance were booked due to a conference.

Being an international man of mystery, I did not let this thwart my plans. Instead, I began looking along the Toronto Metro line and eventually found a nice little hotel named “The Wellesley Manor Boutique Hotel” right across the street from the Wellesley Metro Station, a mere four stops and two blocks from the customer’s building. With free high-speed internet and at only 120 CAD a night, this seemed too good to be true!

When I arrived at the Toronto Airport, YYZ, I paid 60 CAD to take a limo to the hotel. The driver had a very hard time finding the place and we stopped in front of the Opseu Sefpo building. I first figured something was queer when I saw the huge rainbow flags covering the windows of the Opseu building. Indeed, it was such a gaudy distraction that I barely noticed the delightful little house tucked away between it and the Fox and Fiddle Pub.

The lobby of the hotel was a small side room with fine furnishings and obviously decorated to appeal to an Aberzombie & Bitch clientele. Having just left a position where my boss constantly “dropped a hair pin” with his stereotypical and overtly homosexual mannerisms and appreciation of fine furnishings and all things feminine, I was able to spot this decorating style instantly. I will point out that it looks fabulous, but it is distinctly different than how a woman designs. A beautiful Middle Eastern woman checked me in and ushered me to my room.

The room was perfect. Crown molding, pedestal sink, fine soaps, no detail was over looked and it met my biggest requirements, Clean, Clean and Clean! The room was just a bed and bath, no desk, no closet, no couch, but everything I needed for a business trip. Although my window opened to the side of the Opseu building, I mentioned earlier, the window actually OPENED for fresh air and since I was at the customer’s location for 9-10 hours a day, the view from the hotel was inconsequential. Ask for room 23.

So, a beautiful, clean and great hotel room with easy transportation to downtown Toronto, what more of a reason do you need to go gay? The FOOD!

In my experience, the brownie queens know art and as you SHOULD know, good food is an art. One important piece of advice, when you leave the hotel make a right toward Church Street, NOT a left toward Yonge Street. Church Street is the gay village of Toronto and has approximately 375 Ab Fab intimate restaurants, pastry shops, tapas bars, specialty cheese shops, chocolatiers and bakeries (I personally recommend Café California, Sambucas, and Ill Fornello.) Yonge Street is more like a dirtier version of Ho Chi Minh City, brimming with boy bars and dirty holes in the wall, with an overall health and sanitation ratings somewhere around a high “F” and a low “D”.

Therefore, when in Toronto, for the location, food, atmosphere, service and accommodations, you just cannot beat going gay.

50 Life Lessons

This list was originally created by Regina Brett for ‘The Plain Dealer’ in Cleveland, Ohio. It’s simply a great read, even if you don’t believe in God, family or money.

1. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.

2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.

3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.

4. Don’t take yourself so seriously. No one else does.

5. Pay off your credit cards every month.

6. You don’t have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.

7. Cry with someone. It’s more healing than crying alone.

8. It’s OK to get angry with God. He can take it.

9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.

10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.

11. Make peace with your past so it won’t screw up the present.

12. It’s OK to let your children see you cry.

13. Don’t compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.

14 If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn’t be in it.

15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don’t worry; God never blinks.

16. Life is too short for long pity parties. Get busy living , or get busy dying.

17. You can get through anything if you stay put in today.

18. A writer writes. If you want to be a writer, write.

19. It’s never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.

20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don’t take no for an answer.

21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, wear the fancy lingerie. Don’t save it for a special occasion. Today is special.

22. Over prepare, then go with the flow.

23. Be eccentric now. Don’t wait for old age to wear purple.

24. The most important sex organ is the brain.

25. No one is in charge of your happiness except you.

26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words: “In five years, will this matter?”

27. Always choose life.

28. Forgive everyone everything.

29. What other people think of you is none of your business.

30. Time heals almost everything. Give time time.

31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.

32. Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your friends will. Stay in touch.

33. Believe in miracles.

34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn’t do.

35. Whatever doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger.

36. Growing old beats the alternative — dying young.

37. Your children get only one childhood. Make it memorable.

38. Read the Psalms. They cover every human emotion.

39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.

40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else’s, we’d grab ours back.

41. Don’t audit life. Show up and make the most of it now.

42. Get rid of anything that isn’t useful, beautiful or joyful.

43. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.

44. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.

45. The best is yet to come.

46. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.

47. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

48. If you don’t ask, you don’t get.

49. Yield.

50. Life isn’t tied with a bow, but it’s still a gift.

Why BULLS**T is worth 103%

I do not usually give this type of humor credence by repeating it, but my logical nature loved this explanation for something that normally eludes reasoning and defies rationalization.

I received this via email today:

A LOGICAL SOLUTION.

Here is a problem that finally has a formula for getting to the bottom of an age old problem.

From a strictly mathematical viewpoint it goes like this:

What Makes 100%? What does it mean to give MORE than 100%?

Ever wonder about those people who say they are giving 110%?

How about achieving 120%?

Here’s a little mathematical formula that might help you answer these questions:

If:
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z is represented as:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26.

Then:
H-A-R-D-W-O-R-K
8+1+18+4+23+15+18+11 = 98%

And,
K-N-O-W-L-E-D-G-E
11+14+15+23+12+5+4+7+5 = 96%

But,
A-T-T-I-T-U-D-E
1+20+20+9+20+21+4+5 = 100%

Therefore,
B-U-L-L-S-*-*-T
2+21+12+12+19+8+9+20 = 103%

AND, look how far a good ** kissing will take you.
A-*-*-K-I-S-S-I-N-G
1+19+19+11+9+19+19+9+14+7 = 118%

So…
One can conclude with mathematical certainty that while hard work and knowledge will get you close, and attitude will get you there, it’s the Bulls**t and A** Kissing that will put you over the top.

Watch out working world, I finally have the formula for success!

How the Government Plans to Kill Me

Rant. To write in a noisy, excited or declamatory manner. To scold vehemently. To utter in a bombastic declamatory fashion.

I joined the Navy as a wide eyed, insolvent adolescent. Fairly early in my career, I had to make the difficult decision of whether or not to contribute 25% of my paycheck to pay into the Montgomery GI Bill. As an E-1 serving my Country in the finest Navy in the world, my paychecks came to $250.00 every two weeks, so a 25% hit was not something to be decided without all due and very careful consideration. I believed then, as I do now, that the GI Bill is one of the best programs ever developed by Military minds. By contributing $100 a month of your pay for 12 months (and risking life and limb for God, Country and the Citizens of these United States) you are (upon honorable discharge and at least three years of service) eligible for a good amount of tuition reimbursement at the accredited school of your choice (within 10 years after your honorable discharge and depending on tuition costs)! (Boy, there sure are a lot of these parentheses, huh?)

Fast forward to 2009; having left the Navy in 2002, I need to use my benefit or I will lose the unused portion on February 10, 2012. After some gentle and loving persuasion from my beautiful and ever supportive wife, I enrolled in Greensboro College.

Now, to start receiving your benefit, you will need to complete and submit a 22-1990, your DD-214 and have the school verify your enrollment. Your 22-1990 and DD-214 must be received and processed by the correct regional office before verification occurs or the verification will be sent to the lost records department. I assume the lost records department is exactly what you imagine, a huge warehouse full of stakes and stakes of papers, piles of unopened letters and a small framed, mousey older gentleman sitting at an aluminum table in a hard aluminum chair slowly sorting through the ever mounting heaps.

Shortly after submitting my 22-1990, I decided to instead finish my degree at Excelsior College (my alma mater) since they would accept all of my prior credits allowing me to finish sooner. The school also offered an online degree program which gives me the flexibility I need. Having had the benefit of growing up in the military and serving for 10 years active duty, I had the foresight to research the forms required to make this change and I dutifully filled out and submitted a 22-1995, three months before starting school, again, because I know how unhurriedly the Government operates.

I have been in school now for two months and have not received a dime. Since I am taking accelerated courses I need to enroll for the next semester. After calling the VA representative at my school, she directs me to a 1-800 number and I speak to the first of what will be several happy, pleasant, competent and socially skilled Government workers. Since the Buffalo VA never processed my 20-1995 and the school submitted my claim, my claim was now in sub-basement 35F with Grandpa Stanley in the (scary music) lost records department (screams and horror music)! The school cannot re-submit my claim since the VA system does show the claim as "pending" but they estimate at least 6 weeks for Grandpa Stan to even find it.

Long story short, after much back and forth over the last 5 months, I was told yesterday that I would need to contact my SENATOR or GOVERNOR to get some movement on this!

Let me end by making this relevant to current events. Replace the GI-Bill money above with Cancer Treatment, Heart Surgery, Painful Hip Replacement or any other “elective” (not immediately life threatening is defined as elective in the Canadian and German national health plans) condition. This is what happens when the Government runs anything outside what they are constituently directed to do: bureaucracy, forms, incompetence and apathy.

The Founding Fathers understood that they faced the question of developing a government for humans, who are, as James Madison put it, "prone absolutely to selfishness, jealousy, laziness, weakness of character and, no matter how disguised, a war of all against all." As a result, they gave the Government only four roles:

1) Protect the individual's right to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.

2) Raise an army, when necessary.

3) Regulate interstate commerce.

4) Protect the people from the government.

As modern Americans, we collectively believe that somehow we are above the things that are ingrained in our nature and that we transcend these human weaknesses and fallacies. So, obviously, pride and arrogance are as real and as relevant as they were in 1787, perhaps even more so given our inability to recognize or acknowledge it.

I end this post to begin my letter to my Governor, perhaps she can get the VA to do their job?

The Honorable Beverly Perdue
Governor of North Carolina
State Capitol Building
Office of the Governor
20301 Mail Service Center

Dear Governor:

Icebreaker

I have started Toastmasters and recently did my icebreaker speech. I found the exercise really interesting since it gave me an opportunity to chronicle my early childhood. It is amazing how much of our experiences we forget until we make a concentrated effort to remember and document our past. Please excuse any misspellings or grammatical errors (especially in German) as I wrote this as notes for my speech instead for print quality!

If someone wrote a book about your life, would you read it?
If someone made a movie about you, would you see it?


Madam Toastmaster, ladies and gentleman, distinguished guests.

The following is an excerpt from my First book Titled:

Air Force Four Reporting for Duty.


Chapter One Ich bin ein Americana. I am an American.

I will never forget that I am an American fighting in the forces that guard my country and our way of life, I am prepared to give my life in their defense.

I was born as Airman Basic Thomas Van Dalsen on February 21, 1974 on Keesler Airforce Base in Biloxi Mississippi. Son of Staff Sergeant Danny Van Dalsen (Air Force One) and German Foreign National Monica Van Dalsen (Air Force Two).

In 1976, knowing that my assignments would send me overseas for years at a time, I was enrolled in a rigorous German language immersion program called Oma’s house, or Grandma’s house. Air Force One was required to fulfill two years of remote duty in Alaska so Air Force Two moved the troops to Grafenwohr Germany where we were trained in the art of foreign linguistics, bed making, using utensils and potty training.

It is important to point out here that the linguistic program was full immersion! Deutch war meine erste sprache, ich konnte nur deutsch sprechen und dan musten wier weider im dein staten vohnenen! Now I was moving back to the States and I could ONLY speak German.

Chapter Two Never surrender

I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist.

In 1978, after Air Force One fulfilled his remote assignment the troops were moved to March AFB California, a strange land of fruits and nuts where children spoke in foreign tongues. Air Force One attended California Polytechnic, pursuing his degree while completing Officer Cadet school and training between California and Lackland Texas. As an operational requirement I would play with the locals and soon leaned the phrase “what did he say”. I would hear this over and over again as I tried to mingle and gather intel (intelligence) on strange phenomenon like Star Wars, Saturday Morning Cartoons and someone called Captain Crunch.

Army One and Army Two (Grandma and Grandpa) quickly learned the phrase “Wo sind dine hosen” which means “where are your pants”. Yeah, don’t ask. Army One was a giant of a man, always quick with a joke and about 5 pounds heavy on the left side where he carried shrapnel from a WWII bomb blast. He had been told that the safest place to be during a bombing raid was in a blast hole, since the chance of a bomb hitting the same place twice where slim to none. My Grandfather always beat the odds.

March Airforce Base was my first experience with death. My dog delivered a litter of puppies still born, which we buried on a hill by our house. My childish innocence wanted to know how the puppies would make it home and it was inconceivable to me that they would not be coming home. March Air Force Base was also the site of the Thunderbird crash; four pilots were killed in the line of duty. I learn that death and sacrifice and danger are a reality of Military life so are honor and glory.

Chapter Three Continue to Resist

If I am captured I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.

In 1979 moral was low and dissent was brewing. Air Force One refused to take me and my sister (Air Force 3) to a movie at the local drive in, so the troops conferred and hatched a scheme to go AWOL (Absent without Leave). I packed all of my belongings and made sure to slam the door on my way out only to return 20 minutes later since I was not allowed to cross the street. I learn that dissension among the troops is simply not tolerated and none of the troops ever went AWOL again.

As news of our squadron’s capabilities spread throughout the military and we continued to train together and build military bearing and discipline, our missions came hard and fast. Spangdalehm AFB near Bitburg Germany in 1980, where we lose our next door neighbor in a tragic fighter crash during a training operation. Our family squadron remains intact, another lesson in the high price and the meaning of community. A year at Wright Patterson AFB in Ohio in 1983. Then back to Germany in 1984 to Ramstein Air Base.

Chapter Four Prisoner of War

If I become a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information or take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior, I will take command. If not, I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me and will back them up in every way.

Should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, service number, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies.

Ramestein AFB in 1986 has a profound impact on me. I finally receive my ID Card, a ticket that allows me to enter the bowling alley, gym and arcade without parental escort! Unfortunately, the headquarters is bombed that same year and I am unable to exercise that new freedom. While stationed on Ramstein I watch as the Italian Tri Color team accidentally crashes into the crowd during an airshow and kill 67 people and injures 346 others, including a school mate of mine who is burned over 80% of his body and requires skin graphs on his face, legs and torso.

In 1989, Airforce 3, Christina Van Dalsen transfers to Elmira College in New York where she will begin her career as a doctor.


Chapter Five Dedicated to the Principles

I will never forget that I am an American fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.

North Carolina 1989. I am stationed on Pope Airforce Base and attached to EE Smith High School. My primary mission is to obtain a degree. However, halfway through I make the command decision to pursue a local hottie who would later become Navy 2 to my Navy 1. Tricia Van Dalsen, my beautiful wife and mother of Navy 3 Christianna Van Dalsen. A school shooting in 1991 forces me to change schools and I actually complete my mission at Pinecrest High School graduating in 1992.

Chapter 6 Anchors Away

In 1992 we are shipped to Maxwell AirForce Base in Montgomery Alabama while AirForce One attends war college. I join the Navy, changing my call sign to Navy 1.

This story continues in my next three books Anchors Away, Navy Blue to Corporate Gray and Computers Byte; they includes danger, adventure, passion, mishaps, mayhem, drunken debauchery and travel to strange and exotic lands. Unfortunately, this is all the time we have and I would like to end the way I opened:

If someone where to write a book about your life. Would you read it?

Write your story!

Thank you.

Brat

While trying to figure out what searches will hit my page, I came across this really neat post. All my fellow brats will appreciate this!

@http://mommymotivation.blogspot.com/2009/07/military-brat.html

You know you are a military brat if you.....

…all your former very best friends are as long gone as your last move.
…always wish you were back at the last place you were stationed even 20 years later.
…are able to imitate others’ speech patterns easily.
…are amazed at people who have never left their hometown.
…are asked “where did you learn to speak English so well”.
…are brought to tears by military music.
…are initially confused when asked where you are from, but quickly respond everywhere.
…at 22 you are trying to find someone in the military to marry so you can get a new I.D. card.
…can call up actual memories of a country while you’re in Geography class.
…can not speak the language of the country in which you were born.
…didn’t save things so you wouldn’t go over the weight allowance of the next move.
…don’t feel quite right seeing military personnel younger than you.
…every room you’ve ever had was stark white and you couldn’t put nail holes in the walls.
…feel like you should be visiting the states rather than living in them.
…find that you can easily amuse yourself for hours at airports, train or bus stations.
…get nostalgic when seeing O.D. Green.
…get the itch to move every 3-4 years and forever feel like the outsider in the civilian world.
…give someone a break because they are in the military.
…went into culture shock upon returning to the states.
…have been asked just where APO, AE was.
…have USAA as your insurance company.
…know exactly how horrible AFN commercials are.
…knew the rank and name of the kid next door’s father before meeting the kid next door.
…left school frequently for bomb scares.
…munched hot brötchen & gummies on the way to school.
…name schools in three countries on two continents when asked what high school you attended.
…played American Football at the schwim bad to impress the german girls.
…polished your fathers boots and brass for his upcoming inspection.
…remember being able to watch the Super Bowl or World Series live on TV at 2 am.
…start a major portion of your conversations with “when I was in…”
…stand up and recite the national anthem at the start of movies.
…talk to someone with an accent and pick it up yourself.
…tell everyone you are from a town that you haven’t lived in since you were 4 years old.
…try to take out your ID card when you enter a grocery store.
…went to school in a converted POW camp.
…know transfer meant pack your toys and say see ya later.

Solace in Chaos

I have often wondered why I find so much comfort in change, so much solace in chaos. Often times, to my own chagrin and to the discomfort of those around me, I become driven to change something, anything. Sometimes it manifests itself (as it has this year) by going back to school, starting a new workout routine or learning to play guitar. Other times it is packing up the whole family for a new State, a new house and a new job.

By luck, or if you prefer, by blessing, these changes have all proven to be very positive, profitable and beneficial for everyone I am connected to, albeit realized somewhat late, after the shock has worn off and the dust has settled; more to the point, after the boxes are unpacked.

Two years is my magic number. Every two years I get "the itch". I start looking around, anticipating that change is coming and if it does not, I am compelled to force it. There is a frustration and anxiety that grows inside of me until I create that change, that chaos to interrupt my routine life and force the things that spur growth and offer a physical, spiritual or mental challenge. This year I am pursuing my Masters in Information Systems Management and starting Crossfit.

What will it be in two years time?