I think my truck is possessed...or maybe I'm just not that good of a driver. The "Red Dragon" and I ended up in a fender bender this morning. I own a 2005 Toyota Tacoma Pre-Runner and it's the best truck I have ever owned, but damn if we haven't had problems over the years with other cars.
Including today's blunder, I have been in 5 altercations since driving it off the dealership back in October of '05. None of which have been my fault except this most recent mishap. There was the incident where I had my own consulting job, providing environmental compliance inspections for work sites, where the roadway gave way and I slid into a huge boulder...it scrapped the side pretty good but no real damage. Then I was "hit & run" on opening night after the Canes won the Stanley Cup in '06. Some asshole, excuse my language, backs into me and drives off...I was parked underneath a street lamp that had a security camera...which wasn't functioning. Then I was sideswiped in my assigned parking lot by the guy next to me. He was nice enough to find me in my office and tell me what happened...but guess what? That's right...he didn't have any insurance! Two months after that little experience I'm heading home on NC 401 in rush hour traffic; I hear screeching brakes behind me and look up just in time to see a Honda Civic neatly try and park itself under my rear bumper. It suffered the brunt of the impact and I only had to replace my bumper. I have come to the disappointing conclusion, that, where vehicles are involved I don't have a damn "Lucky Irish" bone in my body.
So what happened in this most recent accident? I hate running behind, but I found myself doing it this morning and that tends to make me "press the envelope" more than I should. Although, in this particular incident, I was stopped at an intersection waiting for the green light on Jones St. downtown Raleigh and I noticed another car in my rear view mirror coming through the previous intersection...and pretty damn fast. My light turns green and I proceed through the light. Mind you, the turn into the parking lot was just past this intersection on the right hand side across form the Governor's mansion...you literally have to slow down or brake like I did ,just to make the turn. It was apparent that the guy behind me was in a bigger hurry than me and was annoyed that he had to slow for some guy "Driving Miss Daisy" around. He completely distracted me to the point that I cut short my turn into the lot. I had seen this Chevrolet parked on the side near the entrance and thought I was going to clear it and initially, when I felt the car brush up against the other car, I thought it was just the curb...not the usual "metal on metal" sound you normally get. It just didn't feel right and I cleared the entrance and pulled over. I walked around to my side and sure enough, there was a crease of white paint on my back passenger door panel.
"Whew...," I sort of breathed a sigh of relief knowing that I could live with the slight damage. After all, it is a truck and a ding like this will just give it a little character. I then walked the 75 feet to the other car and was in total shock to the damage I caused. I couldn't believe that such a "lite" collision could be so destructive...seriously, at the time I wasn't even sure I had hit the car. What the hell are these new automobiles made of...Lego blocks? The driver side bumper was peeled back...it was the only true damage that I could tell...but it was far enough exposed that as I leaned in closer for a better view and I could see STYROFOAM between the PLASTIC bumper and the actual car body. My mind instantly raced back to the movie, EVERY WHICH WAY BUT LOOSE with Clint Eastwood and that Orangutan. Eastwood has a line in it, "Scrap the caddy Clyde" where he instructs the ape to tear apart the gangsters Cadillac. I'm thinking an eight year old child with one arm tied behind his back could have done the same damage to that car before I hit it.
I could have driven away...I guess...it didn't cross my mind til the police officer thanked me for NOT DRIVING AWAY!! I've been through this...the "hit and run" thing and it sucks when your on the end that gets the proverbial shaft. Besides I have a TEXAS sized conscience and I knew that this car belonged to some old lady who probably didn't have a dime to her name. Sure enough, after calling the cops and their dispatcher tracking down the owner, out from the Archives Building from across the other side of the Governor's mansion walks up this lady. She had to be in her late fifties or early sixties...and has her arms crossed in that little old lady manner and looks at me...knowing that I'm the "rat bastard" that has ruined her day. She walks around her car and surveys the damage and I can tell she is also astounded to the damage that I caused and frustratingly asks, "How did you hit my parked car?" I was at a loss for words and the only thing I could tell her was, "sorry, it was an accident."
She had every right to be mad or angry...after all it was my fault...I'm thinking she thought that I was going to admit to something like "texting" while driving or that I was an incorrigible drunk that finally got caught. She eventually realized that I wasn't this horrible monster after the police officer explained to her that I had actually called them and she also verified to her that I had insurance. We exchanged info and I said "sorry" fifty more times and the police officer gave us a copy of the accident report. The lady walked back to her car and just starred at the damage. I left, shaking my head, and wondering why some people have "shitty" luck.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
Karaoke Mule Days
I'm a LAUGISCH in name and fiercely proud of it, but what courses through my veins mostly, is Harnett County, PAGE blood. If I had to pick one animal that typifies the PAGE men, it would be the MULE! Somewhere in our lineage, there has to be a family crest with this beast of burden firmly affixed upon it. I know the first thing most folks will think of when it comes to this notoriously under-valued animal is it's well deserved reputation for being stubborn. It goes without saying that the first observable characteristic of a PAGE man is his stubbornness...Lord, we were either blessed or cursed with this affliction and it has driven many a woman married to our kind, out of their damn minds.
Before we further tarnish the reputation of this animal in comparison to PAGE men, let's get some facts straight for the non-farming types in my readership. A mule is a cross between a male (Jackass) donkey and your standard horse mare. Strangely, a mule can't reproduce because it has an odd number of chromosomes. No, I did not know that before making this entry but I figured because you have been such a keen audience, I would throw in a little "Did you know" to go along with my typical wit and wisdom. You can thank me later. The prized characteristic of this animal was it's ability to work...basically haul and pull stuff...all damn day. Farmers further came to appreciate the Mule because it was a lower maintenance animal than most horses and could tolerate extreme weather conditions better. We Page men are that way... we can work all day if necessary and some of us have stayed out in the sun too long but give us a pack of nabs and a cold bottle of Mountain Dew and we're good to go. Now, don't go thinking that Page men could build the Egyptian Pyramids if that notion crossed our minds....no, it doesn't mean we all work smart, fast or efficient...it just means we're a hard working lot!
So, who's the King Mule of the Page Dynasty? Most people living in the Raven Rock community would probably come to the conclusion that my grandfather, the late, great Laurie James Page would be at the top of that list, but he runs a distant second to another Page man: Brother Fred. Frederick Karl Laugisch is the King Mule in our family and it's not even close. Oh, he's had a couple of challenges for that distinction from the likes of Grandpa, Uncle Roger and myself, but each and every time after the dust settled, there sat Fred basking in the glory of all his orneriness.
I'll give him his due, as a brother I should because he is the most caring of us all and would give you his last dime...and shirt if it called for it. What makes him so damn stubborn? Who the hell knows...but he will attempt to "dive deeper, swim farther and come up drier" at the whisper of a dare... naturally, with mixed results. When he latches onto a notion or thought, your going to play hell trying to prove him otherwise. Take for example, Karaoke. He graduated from college a few years back and the family loaded up a van and drove to Ohio for the ceremony. He reserved a large meeting room in the hotel for the graduation party, complete with a Karaoke machine.
A man has got to know his limitations and I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I'm any good at it...I'm not...and usually it takes a lot of prodding and "liquid courage" for me to grab the mike. I have come to learn that when your not a good Karaoke singer, like me, the respectable thing to do for your audience is to find a nice, short, song that you're familiar with and shouldn't butcher too bad. My "go to" song when I'm up on the stage making an ass of myself is "King of the Road," by Roger Miller. It's about 3 minutes long, the words and verses are easy to remember and everybody walks away with their hearing intact.
I was a huge fan of the Eagles for the majority of my teenage years and adult life. That all came to a sudden and frightening ending when Fred grabbed the mike that night to sing "Hotel California." It's got a great melody and the words are fairly easy to understand, "what's the problem, Mark?" It's 7 minutes long folks. Rinse and repeat...It's 7 FRIGGIN MINUTES LONG!! Lord, it was erie to think that the sound coming from Fred was akin to a "Mule" braying away at the night but that is exactly what it sounded like. The problem was, you found yourself sitting there thinking, "Wow, he is really terrible." Then it hits you, as you realize at first, "Oh, he's singing the Eagles..." then your heart pounds and your mind races as you see the death of Rock & Roll before you, "Oh Mother of God!!..It's Hotel California...IT'S 7 FRIGGIN MINUTES LONG!!" We all sat there with contorted faces and mixed emotions, "could this be the worse sound ever emitted from a human?
Mind you now, Fred had "thrown back" quite a few beers before embarking upon his quest to destroy this song and because he had to stare down at the monitor to read the words he had no clue to what effect this had upon his audience. After he finishes, he literally looks around at us and asks, "How was that, pretty good, Uh?" Seriously, he thought he had won a Grammy or something and started to work the room to get some feedback. This is where he earns his money for being stubborn. Criticism does not affect him in the least as he was bound and determined to find that one person who thought his version was better than anything Don Henley could ever muster.
Sadly, my story doesn't end there. In retrospect, we all collectively, as an audience , should have given him a standing ovation as he now torments us at every opportunity to prove beyond a doubt that he is the "Master" of that damn song. He is like a Shark in the water whenever we have family gatherings and if there is somehow a Karaoke machine around he circles it in anticipation and waits like the stubborn mule that he is, til we drop our guard...and like poison we hear, "On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair..." Keep on Rockin in the Free world brother...we still love you.
Before we further tarnish the reputation of this animal in comparison to PAGE men, let's get some facts straight for the non-farming types in my readership. A mule is a cross between a male (Jackass) donkey and your standard horse mare. Strangely, a mule can't reproduce because it has an odd number of chromosomes. No, I did not know that before making this entry but I figured because you have been such a keen audience, I would throw in a little "Did you know" to go along with my typical wit and wisdom. You can thank me later. The prized characteristic of this animal was it's ability to work...basically haul and pull stuff...all damn day. Farmers further came to appreciate the Mule because it was a lower maintenance animal than most horses and could tolerate extreme weather conditions better. We Page men are that way... we can work all day if necessary and some of us have stayed out in the sun too long but give us a pack of nabs and a cold bottle of Mountain Dew and we're good to go. Now, don't go thinking that Page men could build the Egyptian Pyramids if that notion crossed our minds....no, it doesn't mean we all work smart, fast or efficient...it just means we're a hard working lot!
So, who's the King Mule of the Page Dynasty? Most people living in the Raven Rock community would probably come to the conclusion that my grandfather, the late, great Laurie James Page would be at the top of that list, but he runs a distant second to another Page man: Brother Fred. Frederick Karl Laugisch is the King Mule in our family and it's not even close. Oh, he's had a couple of challenges for that distinction from the likes of Grandpa, Uncle Roger and myself, but each and every time after the dust settled, there sat Fred basking in the glory of all his orneriness.
I'll give him his due, as a brother I should because he is the most caring of us all and would give you his last dime...and shirt if it called for it. What makes him so damn stubborn? Who the hell knows...but he will attempt to "dive deeper, swim farther and come up drier" at the whisper of a dare... naturally, with mixed results. When he latches onto a notion or thought, your going to play hell trying to prove him otherwise. Take for example, Karaoke. He graduated from college a few years back and the family loaded up a van and drove to Ohio for the ceremony. He reserved a large meeting room in the hotel for the graduation party, complete with a Karaoke machine.
A man has got to know his limitations and I'm not going to sit here and tell you that I'm any good at it...I'm not...and usually it takes a lot of prodding and "liquid courage" for me to grab the mike. I have come to learn that when your not a good Karaoke singer, like me, the respectable thing to do for your audience is to find a nice, short, song that you're familiar with and shouldn't butcher too bad. My "go to" song when I'm up on the stage making an ass of myself is "King of the Road," by Roger Miller. It's about 3 minutes long, the words and verses are easy to remember and everybody walks away with their hearing intact.
I was a huge fan of the Eagles for the majority of my teenage years and adult life. That all came to a sudden and frightening ending when Fred grabbed the mike that night to sing "Hotel California." It's got a great melody and the words are fairly easy to understand, "what's the problem, Mark?" It's 7 minutes long folks. Rinse and repeat...It's 7 FRIGGIN MINUTES LONG!! Lord, it was erie to think that the sound coming from Fred was akin to a "Mule" braying away at the night but that is exactly what it sounded like. The problem was, you found yourself sitting there thinking, "Wow, he is really terrible." Then it hits you, as you realize at first, "Oh, he's singing the Eagles..." then your heart pounds and your mind races as you see the death of Rock & Roll before you, "Oh Mother of God!!..It's Hotel California...IT'S 7 FRIGGIN MINUTES LONG!!" We all sat there with contorted faces and mixed emotions, "could this be the worse sound ever emitted from a human?
Mind you now, Fred had "thrown back" quite a few beers before embarking upon his quest to destroy this song and because he had to stare down at the monitor to read the words he had no clue to what effect this had upon his audience. After he finishes, he literally looks around at us and asks, "How was that, pretty good, Uh?" Seriously, he thought he had won a Grammy or something and started to work the room to get some feedback. This is where he earns his money for being stubborn. Criticism does not affect him in the least as he was bound and determined to find that one person who thought his version was better than anything Don Henley could ever muster.
Sadly, my story doesn't end there. In retrospect, we all collectively, as an audience , should have given him a standing ovation as he now torments us at every opportunity to prove beyond a doubt that he is the "Master" of that damn song. He is like a Shark in the water whenever we have family gatherings and if there is somehow a Karaoke machine around he circles it in anticipation and waits like the stubborn mule that he is, til we drop our guard...and like poison we hear, "On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair..." Keep on Rockin in the Free world brother...we still love you.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Listen to the Music
What the hell happend? I know, and I appologize. My intention was for this to be a every week blog, but "Life" sort of took over. I had to work and pay the bills. I won't guarantee a weekly entry, but I'll try. Here's my latest attempt in sobriety.
I've learned one thing from this whole weight loss ordeal I'm putting myself through: Everybody's a damn expert, then again, I think that qualifies for most things in life. You buy a car or a laptop, invariably someone is going to tell you that you should have done this or should have bought that. No different with exercise. Man, I can't begin to tell you how many "gurus" have told me the proper technique for walking running, and even stretching. Who knew??
Anyways, I was searching for something to motivate me when I first started running as I hadn't quite perfected my little breathing technique. The best advice came from an unlikely source. I went so far as to get the nice running shoes...and associated running socks. I wasn't aware there was such a categorization for them. You've got crew socks, ankle socks and yes...running socks. Hey, a man has got to look good when he's sweating his ass off, if you know what I mean. I got all that and even those nice "wick" breathing shirts that don't hold as much sweat as your regular garden variety, cotten T's...but I was lacking something.
I typically mope around the house when I get frustrated, or as Claudia would tell you, "whine like a little girl" when something doesn't go my way. After about 2 weeks of this she had finally had enough and hands me her IPOD that I had gotten her for Valentine's Day. She said, "Take this and load it with your stupid music, go running and quit bothering me with your sniveling!!" She has this way of making you feel infinitesimal on these occasions, she is a teacher after all, and you instantly realize how moronic you've been.
It was an eye opener. It has become the one piece of exercise equipment that I just cant live without and was the "missing link" to my motivation; to this day I would be lost without it and I didn't need an expert to tell me what to get or what kind of music to put on it. Had I been allowed to have one when I was in the Army, whew...I dare say my PT test runs would have been a little faster. I just think having a little music when you work makes it a lot easier to handle.
I have always said that the U.S. Army was the perfect social Utopia where all walks of life could come together and generally get along. Simply put, everyone was green or "camo" or today, "digital." In eleven years of service I shared rooms with rednecks, Porta Ricans, Mexicans, blacks, real New Yorkers, a few "Southies,"(not rebels...Boston Irish) some Asian dude...I think he was actually Korean...and my first ever roommate was a Mandan Souix Indian from Nebraska that loved some Country Music. Now, don't go getting crazy on me if your're somehow offended by my use of the word "brothers" in lieu of Blacks or African Americans( and as I review this, the "Asian dude" comment could be misconstrued also). Seriously, how stupid do you sound when someone asks, "where have you been?" If your response was I was hanging out in the barracks with the "Blacks" or the "African Americans," then your an idiot. "I was hanging out with the Brothers in the barracks!" which sounds more appropiate. I'm not trying to ruffle any feathers, just telling a story.
So what did I learn form the Brothers in the Barracks? They have a certain smoothness that white people can't replicate. Sorry, it's just a fact of life and it is more so in the music I heard in the barracks. Not this new stuff "Hip Hop" or "rap." I'm talking about the old school R&B and Soul artists such as Marvin Gaye, Al Green, Teddy Pendergrass, Stevie Wonder, Big 'Ole Barry White, Stylistics, Manhattans, Earth, Wind & Fire and Freddy Jackson. I would throw Prince in there as R&B, but quite a few Brothers just didn't know how to categorize him and his music...if you know what I mean. My wife, the self appointed "Queen of Soul" in our relationship, can be considered a "Motown" afficionado." More on the lines of Aretha Franklin and Diana Ross and whenever we clean house and put the satellite music on the TV, it is the Motown Sound that we end up scrubbing floors to. My all time favorite Motown song is "Papa was a Rolling Stone" by the Temptations and just happens to be the best song to do an exercise warm-up...it's about 6 minutes long.
Now, when I get to running I need something a little more up tempo and I usually revert to my Southern Rock & Roll roots. I'm a self confessed Allman Brothers Junkie, but they are not "running" music. A 20 minute version of "Tie Me to the Whipping Post" is great for getting stuck in traffic but very annoying when the rubber meets the road. I average about 30 minutes to run 3 miles, and somedays I do 4 miles, so that takes about 50 minutes with a cool down. Without further ado, here is my top 10 favorite running songs that get me through a workout:
Fool in the Rain-Led Zepplin
Can't you Hear me Knocking-Rolling Stones
I ain't Got Nobody(That I can depend on...)-Santana
Eminence Front-The Who
Man in the Box-Alice in Chains
Jane Says-Jane's Addiction(Steel Drum Version)
Shoot the Thrill-AC/DC
Alone in the Dark-John Hiatt
Champagne Jam-Atlanta Rythm Section
Boom, Boom...Out got the Lights-Pat Travers
As an honorable mention, because I do use it most often when I cool down, is Stevie Ray Vaughn's "Little Wing. Oh!...I love that song. Now, as much as I would like to debate everyone over my selection, it is not open to interpretation...remember, it's my blog and I'm the expert on my music. That's it for this week, keep on truck'in and make sure your IPOD is loaded and fully charged.
I've learned one thing from this whole weight loss ordeal I'm putting myself through: Everybody's a damn expert, then again, I think that qualifies for most things in life. You buy a car or a laptop, invariably someone is going to tell you that you should have done this or should have bought that. No different with exercise. Man, I can't begin to tell you how many "gurus" have told me the proper technique for walking running, and even stretching. Who knew??
Anyways, I was searching for something to motivate me when I first started running as I hadn't quite perfected my little breathing technique. The best advice came from an unlikely source. I went so far as to get the nice running shoes...and associated running socks. I wasn't aware there was such a categorization for them. You've got crew socks, ankle socks and yes...running socks. Hey, a man has got to look good when he's sweating his ass off, if you know what I mean. I got all that and even those nice "wick" breathing shirts that don't hold as much sweat as your regular garden variety, cotten T's...but I was lacking something.
I typically mope around the house when I get frustrated, or as Claudia would tell you, "whine like a little girl" when something doesn't go my way. After about 2 weeks of this she had finally had enough and hands me her IPOD that I had gotten her for Valentine's Day. She said, "Take this and load it with your stupid music, go running and quit bothering me with your sniveling!!" She has this way of making you feel infinitesimal on these occasions, she is a teacher after all, and you instantly realize how moronic you've been.
It was an eye opener. It has become the one piece of exercise equipment that I just cant live without and was the "missing link" to my motivation; to this day I would be lost without it and I didn't need an expert to tell me what to get or what kind of music to put on it. Had I been allowed to have one when I was in the Army, whew...I dare say my PT test runs would have been a little faster. I just think having a little music when you work makes it a lot easier to handle.
I have always said that the U.S. Army was the perfect social Utopia where all walks of life could come together and generally get along. Simply put, everyone was green or "camo" or today, "digital." In eleven years of service I shared rooms with rednecks, Porta Ricans, Mexicans, blacks, real New Yorkers, a few "Southies,"(not rebels...Boston Irish) some Asian dude...I think he was actually Korean...and my first ever roommate was a Mandan Souix Indian from Nebraska that loved some Country Music. Now, don't go getting crazy on me if your're somehow offended by my use of the word "brothers" in lieu of Blacks or African Americans( and as I review this, the "Asian dude" comment could be misconstrued also). Seriously, how stupid do you sound when someone asks, "where have you been?" If your response was I was hanging out in the barracks with the "Blacks" or the "African Americans," then your an idiot. "I was hanging out with the Brothers in the barracks!" which sounds more appropiate. I'm not trying to ruffle any feathers, just telling a story.
So what did I learn form the Brothers in the Barracks? They have a certain smoothness that white people can't replicate. Sorry, it's just a fact of life and it is more so in the music I heard in the barracks. Not this new stuff "Hip Hop" or "rap." I'm talking about the old school R&B and Soul artists such as Marvin Gaye, Al Green, Teddy Pendergrass, Stevie Wonder, Big 'Ole Barry White, Stylistics, Manhattans, Earth, Wind & Fire and Freddy Jackson. I would throw Prince in there as R&B, but quite a few Brothers just didn't know how to categorize him and his music...if you know what I mean. My wife, the self appointed "Queen of Soul" in our relationship, can be considered a "Motown" afficionado." More on the lines of Aretha Franklin and Diana Ross and whenever we clean house and put the satellite music on the TV, it is the Motown Sound that we end up scrubbing floors to. My all time favorite Motown song is "Papa was a Rolling Stone" by the Temptations and just happens to be the best song to do an exercise warm-up...it's about 6 minutes long.
Now, when I get to running I need something a little more up tempo and I usually revert to my Southern Rock & Roll roots. I'm a self confessed Allman Brothers Junkie, but they are not "running" music. A 20 minute version of "Tie Me to the Whipping Post" is great for getting stuck in traffic but very annoying when the rubber meets the road. I average about 30 minutes to run 3 miles, and somedays I do 4 miles, so that takes about 50 minutes with a cool down. Without further ado, here is my top 10 favorite running songs that get me through a workout:
Fool in the Rain-Led Zepplin
Can't you Hear me Knocking-Rolling Stones
I ain't Got Nobody(That I can depend on...)-Santana
Eminence Front-The Who
Man in the Box-Alice in Chains
Jane Says-Jane's Addiction(Steel Drum Version)
Shoot the Thrill-AC/DC
Alone in the Dark-John Hiatt
Champagne Jam-Atlanta Rythm Section
Boom, Boom...Out got the Lights-Pat Travers
As an honorable mention, because I do use it most often when I cool down, is Stevie Ray Vaughn's "Little Wing. Oh!...I love that song. Now, as much as I would like to debate everyone over my selection, it is not open to interpretation...remember, it's my blog and I'm the expert on my music. That's it for this week, keep on truck'in and make sure your IPOD is loaded and fully charged.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Big Daddy Baker
I run now and for some strange reason I enjoy it. Yeah, it is a crazy world, I even braved the freezing temperatures a couple of weeks ago and completed my third 5k event. It was a combination 5k/Polar Plunge being held on the hallowed grounds of my beloved NC STATE University. No, I did not do the deed and take the plunge...that is for a younger and more chemically altered crowd. I fared well, 28:35 considering it was a stupid grand prix event that I totally ignored when I registered. I was looking for a nice little fun run to challenge myself but I ended up on a "race" course where the other 600 participants were there to "rub paint," and I'll go ahead and accuse the organizers of conspiring to have 3/4 of the course uphill! Least wise, it felt that way. Anyways, the overall winner clocked in at just under 16:08. That's 16 minutes and 8 seconds to run 3.15 miles! That dude was moving out. I'll just give you a little perspective for those not familar with running: That's a 5:12 per mile pace. The famed British runner Roger Bannister was the first person to break the sub 4 minute mile barrier back in 1953. I'm willing to bet that Forest Gump could have been a great Olypmic Mile runner.
There was one thing in the Army besides freezing my ass off in Graffenwohr, Germany, that I absolutely despised: Running. I know, your saying, "Mark, Running is as much a part of the Army as Cholesterol is to the Hardee's Hamburger chain." Yes, I am well aware of a soldier's need to be able to run, but the Army never showed me how to run, they just told me to run.
I was horribily cursed in the Fall of 1981 to have as my Drill Sergeant for US ARMY Basic Training at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma, one SSG Cecil Baker. Ok, it's not like I went straight form the country club righ into wearing Army fatigues, on the contrary I was well versed on how the Army was going to be...as I have so eloquently stated in one of my previous posts I was blessed to have as a father, none other than SFC Henry C. Laugisch. An Airborne Jump Master and veteran of that little conflict our country has a hard time coming to grips with, Vietnam. I once saw a commedian talk about his days growing up in an Army family, he stated, "Never sneak up on a Vietnam Veteran trying to take a nap." Words to live by my friends.
I'm thinking that Drill Sergeant Baker and I didn't get along very well because he couldn't pronounce my name. His dislike for me usually occurred at Mail Call as he attempted to pronounce my fine Prussian title. Moreso than anything Drill Sergeant Baker was more embarrassed at his inability to command the English language and decided to make an example of yours truly by having me do pushups until he pronounced it correctly. I learned real quick that regardless of what configuration of "LAUGISCH" that came out of his mouth and him asking, "is that how you say it?" My response was always, "Yes, Drill Sergeant." There I was for eight weeks answering to "Lanquish," "Longish" or "Lugnish." I've been dealing with that my entire life, except now I had "Rambo's Hell Spawn Father" threatening me with bodily harm.
His nickname amongst the other Drill Sergeants was "Big Daddy Baker" and they too, were a little wary of this guy. If I had to point to what was wrong with the man, I would suggest that during his tenure in 'nam he got to close to the areas where they were spraying Agent Orange and it affected him mentally...he was that unstable...perfect for being a Drill Sergeant.
One particular morning while we were having PT, Drill Sergeant Baker decided he wanted to test the mettle of our platoon and have an extended run...a 5 mile run to be exact. Now, for all of his psychotic mannerisms, Baker could flat out run. It was the damnest thing to see this guy smoke 5 or 6 cigarettes and drink 4 or 5 cups of java and proceed to run the majority of us 18-20 year olds into the Oklahoma ground. On this morning he adds a caveat to our adventure: "Anyone who falls out of the run will suffer severe consequences." I had visions of being strung up in the laundry room by this crazed Vietnam Vet and having my toenails pulled from my body. We start running and I'm feeling good up to about the 4 mile point. My disdain for running in the Army stems from the fact that your always running at someone else's pace. Who's brilliant idea was it to have the 6' 4" former cross-country star at the front of the formation? Not to mention, while we're trying to keep up with this gazelle, Drill Sergeant Baker is keeping us in running fromation with cadence songs. How it works is that he'll call out a verse and we repeat it back...only thing was that when this man sang cadence he sounded like a drunken sailor making his way back from liberty...I had no idea what he was singing at times.
Here I am running at someone elses pace and trying to keep up with Drill Sergeant Baker's sing along and then it happens...disaster, my impending doom...whatever you want to call it...we had almost finshed the run with our barracks compound a mere 500 yards away but the guy behind me inadvertly trips me. I try to right myself by falling into the guy in front of me and turned my ankle in the process. I pulled myself out of the formation and rolled into the grass on the side of the trail clutching at my ankle, which was already starting to swell...I could tell it was sprained.
Each Basic Training platoon is assigned several Drill Instructors and on this occasion all of ours were present for this run. Drill Sergeant Baker instructed one of the others to take over and he proceeded to make his way towards me. Have you ever starred into a pair of eyes that intended to kick the ever living crap out of you? I can honestly say that I was physically afraid of that man...at that moment. He leaned over me and put his palms on his knees like a football coach and calmly said, "What can I do to motivate you to finish this run, son?" I really didn't know how to take his calmness as it was down right frightful, I said, "I don't know Drill Sergeant, I was tripped in formation and turned my ankle real bad. I just don't think I can finish the run." There is a specific language that Drill Sergeants use to inspire individuals in the Army and most of it is unsuitable for all you fine folks reading this blog. let me paraphrase his response, which by the way was still a very calm, even tone which made him even scarier, "Well, son, I saw you fall and I know it hurts, but if you don't get up and catch the platoon before they reach the barracks compound, I'm going to insert my foot in your rectum so far that you'll be wearing your glutius maximus for a hat!"
I could smell my own fear lingering in the air. I knew that if I didn't get up off the ground in the next few seconds that this man was going kill me. I wasn't quite at the age or the rank to openly challenge anyone and knowing that he already had a particular disdain for me I quickly made it to my feet and started to limp-run to the compound. I assumed he was just wanting me to start moving...he wasn't joking about catching the platoon and he screamed in my ear, "I said catch up to the platoon LUNGISH!!" I took off into a sprint and the pain in my foot subsided only because this friggin lunatic was running stride for stride with me and I could smell the coffee and cigarettes as he exhaled. I made it to the platoon as the other Drill Sergeant who was in charge ordered "Quick Time...March!!" which signaled an end to the run. I have never felt so relieved as to hear those words.
I knew that wasn't going to be the end of my ordeal, it was a Friday and that evening everyone in the platoon was awarded off-post passes except yours truly, sadly I was restricted to post and given extra duty by "Big Daddy Baker" to paint the laundry room. To be quite honest I was in no mood to go downtown with my foot; I avoided going to sick-call only because I knew it would take a about a week in a soft cast to recover. That meant one thing: Recycle my training. I wasn't about to take that chance and potentially endure the madness of being in Drill Seageant Baker's platoon again.
I think about that nightmare all the time as I struggled with the runs and PT tests...lets just say I was able to pass them but I could have done a whole lot better. I later discovered what was really hindering me was my inability to control my breathing. Remember, I said the Army told me to run, so I decided when I began this weight loss program that I was going to figure out this whole running and breathing thing. The internet is an amazing tool and I found a breathing technique that really works for me. There are a hundred different methods to use and I could write about it forever. My advice is to find one, try it and see if it is for you. As for myself, I have come to grips with my past running failures and now, truly enjoy the experience. Hope to see you all out there running...except "Big Daddy Baker."
There was one thing in the Army besides freezing my ass off in Graffenwohr, Germany, that I absolutely despised: Running. I know, your saying, "Mark, Running is as much a part of the Army as Cholesterol is to the Hardee's Hamburger chain." Yes, I am well aware of a soldier's need to be able to run, but the Army never showed me how to run, they just told me to run.
I was horribily cursed in the Fall of 1981 to have as my Drill Sergeant for US ARMY Basic Training at Ft. Sill, Oklahoma, one SSG Cecil Baker. Ok, it's not like I went straight form the country club righ into wearing Army fatigues, on the contrary I was well versed on how the Army was going to be...as I have so eloquently stated in one of my previous posts I was blessed to have as a father, none other than SFC Henry C. Laugisch. An Airborne Jump Master and veteran of that little conflict our country has a hard time coming to grips with, Vietnam. I once saw a commedian talk about his days growing up in an Army family, he stated, "Never sneak up on a Vietnam Veteran trying to take a nap." Words to live by my friends.
I'm thinking that Drill Sergeant Baker and I didn't get along very well because he couldn't pronounce my name. His dislike for me usually occurred at Mail Call as he attempted to pronounce my fine Prussian title. Moreso than anything Drill Sergeant Baker was more embarrassed at his inability to command the English language and decided to make an example of yours truly by having me do pushups until he pronounced it correctly. I learned real quick that regardless of what configuration of "LAUGISCH" that came out of his mouth and him asking, "is that how you say it?" My response was always, "Yes, Drill Sergeant." There I was for eight weeks answering to "Lanquish," "Longish" or "Lugnish." I've been dealing with that my entire life, except now I had "Rambo's Hell Spawn Father" threatening me with bodily harm.
His nickname amongst the other Drill Sergeants was "Big Daddy Baker" and they too, were a little wary of this guy. If I had to point to what was wrong with the man, I would suggest that during his tenure in 'nam he got to close to the areas where they were spraying Agent Orange and it affected him mentally...he was that unstable...perfect for being a Drill Sergeant.
One particular morning while we were having PT, Drill Sergeant Baker decided he wanted to test the mettle of our platoon and have an extended run...a 5 mile run to be exact. Now, for all of his psychotic mannerisms, Baker could flat out run. It was the damnest thing to see this guy smoke 5 or 6 cigarettes and drink 4 or 5 cups of java and proceed to run the majority of us 18-20 year olds into the Oklahoma ground. On this morning he adds a caveat to our adventure: "Anyone who falls out of the run will suffer severe consequences." I had visions of being strung up in the laundry room by this crazed Vietnam Vet and having my toenails pulled from my body. We start running and I'm feeling good up to about the 4 mile point. My disdain for running in the Army stems from the fact that your always running at someone else's pace. Who's brilliant idea was it to have the 6' 4" former cross-country star at the front of the formation? Not to mention, while we're trying to keep up with this gazelle, Drill Sergeant Baker is keeping us in running fromation with cadence songs. How it works is that he'll call out a verse and we repeat it back...only thing was that when this man sang cadence he sounded like a drunken sailor making his way back from liberty...I had no idea what he was singing at times.
Here I am running at someone elses pace and trying to keep up with Drill Sergeant Baker's sing along and then it happens...disaster, my impending doom...whatever you want to call it...we had almost finshed the run with our barracks compound a mere 500 yards away but the guy behind me inadvertly trips me. I try to right myself by falling into the guy in front of me and turned my ankle in the process. I pulled myself out of the formation and rolled into the grass on the side of the trail clutching at my ankle, which was already starting to swell...I could tell it was sprained.
Each Basic Training platoon is assigned several Drill Instructors and on this occasion all of ours were present for this run. Drill Sergeant Baker instructed one of the others to take over and he proceeded to make his way towards me. Have you ever starred into a pair of eyes that intended to kick the ever living crap out of you? I can honestly say that I was physically afraid of that man...at that moment. He leaned over me and put his palms on his knees like a football coach and calmly said, "What can I do to motivate you to finish this run, son?" I really didn't know how to take his calmness as it was down right frightful, I said, "I don't know Drill Sergeant, I was tripped in formation and turned my ankle real bad. I just don't think I can finish the run." There is a specific language that Drill Sergeants use to inspire individuals in the Army and most of it is unsuitable for all you fine folks reading this blog. let me paraphrase his response, which by the way was still a very calm, even tone which made him even scarier, "Well, son, I saw you fall and I know it hurts, but if you don't get up and catch the platoon before they reach the barracks compound, I'm going to insert my foot in your rectum so far that you'll be wearing your glutius maximus for a hat!"
I could smell my own fear lingering in the air. I knew that if I didn't get up off the ground in the next few seconds that this man was going kill me. I wasn't quite at the age or the rank to openly challenge anyone and knowing that he already had a particular disdain for me I quickly made it to my feet and started to limp-run to the compound. I assumed he was just wanting me to start moving...he wasn't joking about catching the platoon and he screamed in my ear, "I said catch up to the platoon LUNGISH!!" I took off into a sprint and the pain in my foot subsided only because this friggin lunatic was running stride for stride with me and I could smell the coffee and cigarettes as he exhaled. I made it to the platoon as the other Drill Sergeant who was in charge ordered "Quick Time...March!!" which signaled an end to the run. I have never felt so relieved as to hear those words.
I knew that wasn't going to be the end of my ordeal, it was a Friday and that evening everyone in the platoon was awarded off-post passes except yours truly, sadly I was restricted to post and given extra duty by "Big Daddy Baker" to paint the laundry room. To be quite honest I was in no mood to go downtown with my foot; I avoided going to sick-call only because I knew it would take a about a week in a soft cast to recover. That meant one thing: Recycle my training. I wasn't about to take that chance and potentially endure the madness of being in Drill Seageant Baker's platoon again.
I think about that nightmare all the time as I struggled with the runs and PT tests...lets just say I was able to pass them but I could have done a whole lot better. I later discovered what was really hindering me was my inability to control my breathing. Remember, I said the Army told me to run, so I decided when I began this weight loss program that I was going to figure out this whole running and breathing thing. The internet is an amazing tool and I found a breathing technique that really works for me. There are a hundred different methods to use and I could write about it forever. My advice is to find one, try it and see if it is for you. As for myself, I have come to grips with my past running failures and now, truly enjoy the experience. Hope to see you all out there running...except "Big Daddy Baker."
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