Integrity, as per Wikipedia:
Integrity is a concept of consistency of actions, values, methods, measures, principles, expectations, and outcomes. In ethics, integrity is regarded as the honesty and truthfulness or accuracy of one's actions. Integrity can be regarded as the opposite of hypocrisy,[1] in that it regards internal consistency as a virtue, and suggests that parties holding apparently conflicting values should account for the discrepancy or alter their beliefs.
The word "integrity" stems from the Latin adjective integer (whole, complete).[2] In this context, integrity is the inner sense of "wholeness" deriving from qualities such as honesty and consistency of character. As such, one may judge that others "have integrity" to the extent that they act according to the values, beliefs and principles they claim to hold.
Where I come from, integrity always meant doing the right thing; making the right decisions; being accountable for your actions. There's a USMC ideal that suggests a devildog should be able to leave his wallet sitting in the middle of his rack (bed) in the squad bay and let it sit there all day, and upon his return, find it unscathed and containing the entirety of his beer money. While I rarely tested this notion, being wary of some of the company I kept, particularly early on in my time-in-service, there was a genuine integrity throughout my time in the grunts that was evident in our everyday lives. From the physical training we conducted, to our care and maintenance for our weaponry, to the very way in which we walked, talked and looked out for one another - being a United States Marine...doing the job correctly, was about the upholding of integrity. Will someone please tell me, where in the civilian community does such true integrity exist? I would wager, few places.
My wife and her buddy took the kids to the Camden Aquarium today. It's an awesome place, so awesome that we bought an annual family pass. The aquarium is small enough not to be a logistical ordeal and the weather was sufficiently nasty today to keep the squeamish home, making it a great day to go. But we are talking about Camden, N.J. now friends - a dump among dumps, one of the most poverty-stricken cities in the U.S. Adding insult to injury, the state government decided to include in their recent budget cuts, the shit-canning of many civil servants, among them scores of cops and firefighters. So essentially what you have is the setting of the movie, Escape From NY, complete with drug dealers, thugs and panhandlers - oh, and a pretty decent-looking waterfront, featuring Adventure Aquarium and the Battleship NJ. But, you can't polish a turd - you know?
Getting to my story on integrity, or lack thereof, everyone had a blast at the aquarium and around 3pm they headed for the parking lot in hopes of beating the evening rush. But, the stinking battery was dead...click-click-click - perhaps one of the kids had pressed a light, which had been left on? So children-in-hand, they went over to a bus driver to ask for a jump start. The guy says, "can't chance it, sorry." What? Then they happened upon a maintenance man who worked at the aquarium, who ultimately helped, after making them sign a waiver. What has this world come to, if we can't help out a couple moms who clutch their children in the inclimate weather? This is the shit I'm talking about...integrity is scarce. Adding insult to injury, the predictable derelict walks over to take advantage of these ladies, "excuse me, miss...I'll just stand here (I suppose suggesting himself a non-threat), hey, my car broke down and I've been walking around in the rain for hours...I need bus fare." They give him a couple bucks. "Man...still short about four bucks." Get the $&#@ out of here dude!!! Had I been there, I might have taken all HIS money and dealt him an ass-whooping. All this summoned back to my memory a story I like to call, "83 cents" - and it's a good one:
It was a blustery Saturday night, back in 2007. We had agreed to meet another couple down at a good Mexican joint in East Norriton, PA. The place was called El Cancun, the food was great, fast and cheap - always a good combination. The only problem was, it was in a seedy shopping center located geographically, on the cusp of the haves and the have-nots. My son Samuel was mere months old, nestled in his car-seat in the back of the SUV. We spied our friends upon arrival and parked the vehicle as close as possible to the joint. We gathered our gear, covered up Sam, greeted our pals and hastily made our way to the entrance to the restaurant. The wind was whipping and damn cold, getting indoors was a priority.
As I stepped onto the curb with Sam's seat handle awkwardly positioned in the crook of my elbow, I saw a man approaching fast...there was something in his body language that indicated he intended to interact, which I thought strange, considering the weather. I thought about my son, my family, and how hungry I was for a quesadilla supreme - how completely I would destroy this person if he threatened any of these things. So now we're feet away and the previously determined-looking man changes his demeanor entirely, to one of "pity me, kind sir." He very politely asks, "excuse me sir, I hate to bother you, but...man - all I neeeed is eighty three cents." Well, what the hell does one say to that, so I dug in my pocket and pulled out a dollar. This was followed by, "may God bless you, sir...bless you." We hustle into the restaurant and sit down, a good part of our initial discussions being this bizarre encounter.
We ordered a couple appetizers and sipped a few drinks. Suddenly, Mandy turns to me and says, "shit...I forgot Sam's baby food! If he wakes up he is gonna be inconsolable, Aaron...sorry, can you go get some? I think I saw a supermarket across the way." Reluctantly, the other dude and I head out on a hunt for some baby food - perhaps a little amused by this noble mission; the novelty of being a new daddy. We see an Aldi and head over, "piece of cake," right? Yeah, well Aldi doesn't have shit! If you like boxes strewn all over the place and ZERO baby food, head to Aldi. Scarred by the experience of speed-walking up and down the aisles in this establishment, only to learn that they don't carry the stuff, suffice it to say that I don't shop there. Then, we see a Super K-Mart...and wasn't it super?! Every freak in Pennsyltucky thought it was the place to be on this particular evening, and if there was any baby food there, I couldn't stomach another minute in the place to close the deal.
Frustrated at the thought of a screaming newborn, cold food and ultimately failing in the modest task, which was our charge, we thought hard. "Wait," said Matt. "I think I saw a Shop Right a couple miles down the road." "Let's do it," I said. And behold! There it was...Shop Right, the trusty store that I grew up buying groceries at in NJ, but had seen few of in PA. We made for the entrance and knew it must be victory...and standing there at the entrance was, you guessed it, "83 cents." He peers through the cold, likely poised to spring his pitch and then he sees a familiar sight, in my accusatory gaze. Instead of the sheepish eyes and desperate plead for an odd-enough sum of money to prompt someone to round up, he looked at me, busted, and said, "hey, mannnn." As if to convey, "yeah, I scammed you, and now I'm doing the same thing to these suckers."
I wish I could say that I broke the man down shotgun style, or at least given him a verbal thrashing. But the reality was, I had a mission to complete, family and friends to rejoin, and integrity to mete out. The 'consistency of my actions' would not be in question on this day. I left this imitation bum, who was content to sell his integrity down the river $.83 at a time, out in the stinkin cold! And if he's still there, I won't lose sleep.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
Band of Brothers...and Sisters! THAT is MOTIVATION!
I'm forever talking about the connection among DDIP'ers and this clip is an illustration of the itch I'm trying to scratch in that regard. Being there for another human being, under any circumstances, is a truly special thing! Especially when the chips are down..."it's about the men next to you."
Great work during MOTIVATION WEEK, comrades. Though the theme changes next week to EDUCATION, we remain highly motivated hereafter!
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
DRILLSPEAK BLOG: A Spark to Your Motivational Flame!
DRILLSPEAK BLOG: A Spark to Your Motivational Flame!: "Have you ever tried to start a campfire the old fashioned way, via the bow method or a similar caveman approach? It ain't easy, my friends...."
A Spark to Your Motivational Flame!
Have you ever tried to start a campfire the old fashioned way, via the bow method or a similar caveman approach? It ain't easy, my friends. In fact, there have been many occasions on which I have been out in the woods attempting to start a fire with the aid of an aim-n-flame and stinkin combustibles (kerosine, gasoline, et al) where the conditions simply did not permit. Perhaps there was a wind blowing or the wood was too damn wet - whatever the case, if I genuinely needed to start a fire for survival purposes on those occasions, I likely would have perished, or at least needed a good spooning. Now imagine our ancestors, long ago, actually discovering fire and subsequently, all it's useful applications. How incredible that must have been...how fire changed their lives in so many ways.
After watching the above video, it is easy to see the difficulties involved and the mere patience that is requisite, in order to start a fire. First, you need the correct tools, the wood must be dry, you must be able to apply proper technque to create sufficient friction, and then, once you have a tiny cinder, you need a decent "bird's nest" to nestle it in - fuel for the fire. Check out 1:30ish into the video, when the dude has the nest in his hands and he's blowing carefully on it to bring the flame to life - AMAZING! Finally, once you get the fire going, you had better feed that sucker, or else it's going out!
I say that the process of starting a fire and keeping it alive is a metaphor for our work in DDIP, and really -for our very lives. The latter is beyond the scope of this blog, but suffice it to say the object of the game is to keep the home fires burning, YES, YES? Regarding DDIP, consider that when a new recruit enters this process, they are building that fire...they're trying, often in vain at first, to produce the raw materials and get the friction going. Through hard work and the support of our group, a spark can often be generated, sufficient to catch fire. But the flames must be stoked, my friends...and each successive training day is what keeps it burning. We can never quit!
With the weather forecast for Friday being potentially a couple inches of nastiness, some of you may already be tempted to revisit the snow days fo several months back and hunker down under the covers, but let me tell you, my friend, those covers smother what could be your inferno! THUNDER, LIGHTNING, DRIZZLING RAIN, NOTHING BUT PT INSIDE MY BRAIN! Decide now, that come Friday DDIP, you are gonna be a stinkin BONFIRE! May your flames lick the sky and evaporate that precipitation back from whence it came.
Monday, March 28, 2011
An Off-Color Story on Motivation: "Crumble the Booger"
The phrase "crumble the booger" is frequently used in our ranks but I fear that as the course grows and new participants cycle into DDIP there are many who lack perspective on the origin of the term. Hence, a case is made for once again telling the tale, so here goes...
It is worth mentioning that the majority of the stories I tell have to do with my experiences in the USMC, a mere four-year period, stretching between 1993-1997. Though I many have stories to my credit outside this window, my time served was just action-packed, as I was thrust into the dramatic process of USMC recruit training, followed by MOS (job)-specific training, and finally the meat-and-potatoes of my time-in-service, serving as a rifleman in 1st Battalion, 6th Marines - the Fleet Marine Force. Though the entirety of my service was in peacetime, the training was grueling and often downright painful, there were many sacrifices, and sometimes we hated it. However, looking back, it was a very special time in my life. We called ourselves grunt, devildog, leatherneck, ground-pounder - officially, though in casual interaction we went by our last names, or your choice of expletive.
The below story is inspired by my Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Thomas Foresman, AKA Foresman, H.E. Foresman, "Rookie" or just Tom, if you knew him on that level. My business with the man was conducted on a professional basis, as I was the first squad leader in his platoon...I called him SSgt. Foresman. I'm disclosing his identity because, well, I don't think he would mind me telling this account, as it's very complimentary in a way, and I believe he would approve of it's use as an enabling/learning objective. And talk about story-telling, no person I have ever met is better than Tom Foresman at it; they're the kind of stories that make you roll with laughter, caring not if the story was truthful - they were that good. A captivating, hilarious story was always welcome when laying back on your ruck, waiting for the trucks to pick you up from some training area in the middle of nowhere; it passed the time.
Twenty Nine Palms, California - 1996
29 Palms or "29 Stumps" as we often referred to it, as there is really no vegetation, is a vast Marine Corps Base in the Mojave Desert. We would head out west to train there perhaps every couple years, conducting what is called a Combined Arms Exercise (CAX). Essentially, the open terrain is similar to a lot of the "hot spots" in the world right now, so CAX permits practical and coordinated, live-fire training that allows Marines to "train how they're gonna fight." Simultaneously during CAX, jets are dropping bombs, while artillery is dialed-in, and ground forces are launching their missions.
For me, Twentynine Palms was cool for the first hour or so and then the novelty wore off. During the day, it was sweltering and at night, comparatively freezing. Our equipment was always heavy, with flak jacket, Kevlar (helmet), gas mask, and a full-combat load (lots of ammo) for the live missions. 1/6 Charlie Company was the Amtrak contingent, meaning that we would move from place-to-place in a tracked, amphibious tank. We were jammed in these things like livestock, with all the aforementioned gear...driving around for hours on end and then the back of the vehicle would drop down and we'd have to rush out and conduct whatever attack was ordered. The CAX revolution would last, I dunno, two to three weeks and then we'd head back east to Camp Lejeune. When at CAX they hit us with as much training as possible so any reprieve from the heat and arduous work was welcome. Typically, this would come at the end of the day, where having trained on a particular range all day long, we would perhaps be granted a trip back to the "rear" where we would be afforded hot chow and the shelter of our corrugated steel A-frames.
On this particular day, we had run up and down this hill for hours on end, conducting attacks and being subject to the periodic barrage of tear gas and the scrutiny of the "coyotes," Marines who's job it was to grade us on our performance - "was the mission accomplished?" And the jury was in: we sucked for the most part. This seemed more part of the process than anything, I mean, sure we might have sucked for the first dozen times we ran up that hill, but you'll get good at anything with a little repetition.
Now it was dusk, and we were waiting impatiently on the trucks, who we were convinced, "took their sweet-ass time." Marines would lay back on their packs, some smoking or dipping. We would talk of home...about our girlfriends and families...how long we had left in the Corps etc. And SSgt. Foresman would tell his stories. All stories would inevitably start with, "Hey OB, check this out. True story - no shit!"
On this particular occasion, Rookie was telling the tale of "Mrs. Baltimore, Maryland," or was it a story about the fight that he got into with the Aussies that one time? There are so many stories that Foresman would tell, but Crumble the Booger is not about the details of the tale, but more how he would tell it. Tom got into the story, and Marines would hear him start up with his trademark line, mentioned above, stop what they were doing and meander over to listen in and see it told. You see, Foresman would attack that story with the very same ferocity with which he assaulted the hillside: "so check it out, OB, true story, NO SHIT. I was home on leave right, and..." While telling this story, he stuck his thumb and forefinger deep into one rather sizable nostril and pulled out a crusty, Mojave Desert-dehydrated and gunpowder-laden booger. He then proceeded to tell his story flawlessly, while crumbling the booger and watching it fall to the ground. He was a focused story-teller and often one of the most crude individuals you could ever meet, but he was switched on all the time. I always admired how very focused he could be under duress, mixing rigorous training and the elements beating down with comedy and story-telling. In the thick of it, I always felt that he would be the right guy to have by your side in combat; the type of Marine that would likely keep a unit intact in combat, as well as its spirits high, bolstered by his crude and humorous stories, in the toughest of times.
My point? You gotta stay focused and keep a light heart. Whistle while you work, regardless the task, or if you prefer, Crumble the Booger!
It is worth mentioning that the majority of the stories I tell have to do with my experiences in the USMC, a mere four-year period, stretching between 1993-1997. Though I many have stories to my credit outside this window, my time served was just action-packed, as I was thrust into the dramatic process of USMC recruit training, followed by MOS (job)-specific training, and finally the meat-and-potatoes of my time-in-service, serving as a rifleman in 1st Battalion, 6th Marines - the Fleet Marine Force. Though the entirety of my service was in peacetime, the training was grueling and often downright painful, there were many sacrifices, and sometimes we hated it. However, looking back, it was a very special time in my life. We called ourselves grunt, devildog, leatherneck, ground-pounder - officially, though in casual interaction we went by our last names, or your choice of expletive.
The below story is inspired by my Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Thomas Foresman, AKA Foresman, H.E. Foresman, "Rookie" or just Tom, if you knew him on that level. My business with the man was conducted on a professional basis, as I was the first squad leader in his platoon...I called him SSgt. Foresman. I'm disclosing his identity because, well, I don't think he would mind me telling this account, as it's very complimentary in a way, and I believe he would approve of it's use as an enabling/learning objective. And talk about story-telling, no person I have ever met is better than Tom Foresman at it; they're the kind of stories that make you roll with laughter, caring not if the story was truthful - they were that good. A captivating, hilarious story was always welcome when laying back on your ruck, waiting for the trucks to pick you up from some training area in the middle of nowhere; it passed the time.
Twenty Nine Palms, California - 1996
29 Palms or "29 Stumps" as we often referred to it, as there is really no vegetation, is a vast Marine Corps Base in the Mojave Desert. We would head out west to train there perhaps every couple years, conducting what is called a Combined Arms Exercise (CAX). Essentially, the open terrain is similar to a lot of the "hot spots" in the world right now, so CAX permits practical and coordinated, live-fire training that allows Marines to "train how they're gonna fight." Simultaneously during CAX, jets are dropping bombs, while artillery is dialed-in, and ground forces are launching their missions.
For me, Twentynine Palms was cool for the first hour or so and then the novelty wore off. During the day, it was sweltering and at night, comparatively freezing. Our equipment was always heavy, with flak jacket, Kevlar (helmet), gas mask, and a full-combat load (lots of ammo) for the live missions. 1/6 Charlie Company was the Amtrak contingent, meaning that we would move from place-to-place in a tracked, amphibious tank. We were jammed in these things like livestock, with all the aforementioned gear...driving around for hours on end and then the back of the vehicle would drop down and we'd have to rush out and conduct whatever attack was ordered. The CAX revolution would last, I dunno, two to three weeks and then we'd head back east to Camp Lejeune. When at CAX they hit us with as much training as possible so any reprieve from the heat and arduous work was welcome. Typically, this would come at the end of the day, where having trained on a particular range all day long, we would perhaps be granted a trip back to the "rear" where we would be afforded hot chow and the shelter of our corrugated steel A-frames.
On this particular day, we had run up and down this hill for hours on end, conducting attacks and being subject to the periodic barrage of tear gas and the scrutiny of the "coyotes," Marines who's job it was to grade us on our performance - "was the mission accomplished?" And the jury was in: we sucked for the most part. This seemed more part of the process than anything, I mean, sure we might have sucked for the first dozen times we ran up that hill, but you'll get good at anything with a little repetition.
Now it was dusk, and we were waiting impatiently on the trucks, who we were convinced, "took their sweet-ass time." Marines would lay back on their packs, some smoking or dipping. We would talk of home...about our girlfriends and families...how long we had left in the Corps etc. And SSgt. Foresman would tell his stories. All stories would inevitably start with, "Hey OB, check this out. True story - no shit!"
On this particular occasion, Rookie was telling the tale of "Mrs. Baltimore, Maryland," or was it a story about the fight that he got into with the Aussies that one time? There are so many stories that Foresman would tell, but Crumble the Booger is not about the details of the tale, but more how he would tell it. Tom got into the story, and Marines would hear him start up with his trademark line, mentioned above, stop what they were doing and meander over to listen in and see it told. You see, Foresman would attack that story with the very same ferocity with which he assaulted the hillside: "so check it out, OB, true story, NO SHIT. I was home on leave right, and..." While telling this story, he stuck his thumb and forefinger deep into one rather sizable nostril and pulled out a crusty, Mojave Desert-dehydrated and gunpowder-laden booger. He then proceeded to tell his story flawlessly, while crumbling the booger and watching it fall to the ground. He was a focused story-teller and often one of the most crude individuals you could ever meet, but he was switched on all the time. I always admired how very focused he could be under duress, mixing rigorous training and the elements beating down with comedy and story-telling. In the thick of it, I always felt that he would be the right guy to have by your side in combat; the type of Marine that would likely keep a unit intact in combat, as well as its spirits high, bolstered by his crude and humorous stories, in the toughest of times.
My point? You gotta stay focused and keep a light heart. Whistle while you work, regardless the task, or if you prefer, Crumble the Booger!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
MOTA MOTA GOTTA LOTTA MOTIVATION!
The Motivating Factor
To accomplish any mission in life, one must tap into the motivating factor...the why of your doing something. The "MF’er" can be the prize at the end of the task, IE your goal, or it can merely be something that keeps you going when times get tough, such as family, comrades, unit pride…even a previous accolade. All of us lose our motivation from time to time…we become depressed, lackadaisical and complacent. During these periods, it is crucial that we do whatever possible to retrieve our spirits immediately, or the task at hand - the mission if you will, is not achieved. Oftentimes, a “fake it till you make it” approach is requisite, whereby regardless of your mood or relative apathy you forge onward, and are always glad you did. I term this method, "crumbling the booger (story forthcoming)." Though it will not come easy at first, with discipline and a little practice, false motivation may be readily transferred into the real stinkin' deal.
Ask yourself, "What is my Motivating Factor?" When you've identified it and crumbled the booger enough times in this crazy life, paddling against the current, you will have earned the honorary title, MotivatOR! As in, "man...she's a stinkin' MOTIVATOR!" People will notice your genuine enthusiasm and will be inspired, in turn, to find their MF'er.
Pay-it-forward!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Discipline In Our Ranks
Have you ever really been "a part of the team?" Back in your school days, do you recall what it meant to be a varsity player on a sports team or part of the student government? Today, do you consider yourself to be part of a unified workforce or service organization, with each individual being a cog in the proverbial wheel of a well-oiled machine? It has been my continual observation that if a person ever functioned as part of a cohesive team in their entire life, it has been too long since.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
New PT for Discipline Week
Check out this Conan the Barbarian clip to fully appreciate the proper technique for the DDIP exercise, "The Conan." After the object (rock, weight plate, med ball) is circled closely around the head, it is thrust outward powerfully, as can be seen throughout this clip. During this thrust, the exerciser must fully commit, in the process, bringing both elbows to a semi-locked position. Then return the object the way it went out, circling back around the head and thrusting the other way. Feel free to yell in the same manner as Conan, "AYYYE AYYYE" during the execution of this manuever.
New Physical Training unearthed this evening with the Night Pirates:
- Knee Slap, Ankle Tap, Butt-cheek Clap Squat
- Execute a quarter squat and slap the your distal (end of your) thigh - "1"
- Bend deeper and tap the outside of your ankle - "2"
- Rise up, squeezing your glutes and clapping them for good measure - "3"
- Say "One"
- R knee on deck, L foot planted (as in a kneeling hip flexor stretch)
- Energize your thighs and pivoting on the balls of your feet, reverse your position 180 degrees
- Cadence is standard four-count "1-2-3-1"
- Video clip coming soon on this...it's a bit advanced
- Lying on your back, feet flat on adjacent wall, butt 12-18 inches from the wall (a 90 degree bend in your knees will dictate this distance).
- Perform a glute bridge using the wall (and gravity) as your resistance
- Cadence is standard four-count
- After a good set of these, fully contract your glutes, so that the only part of your body that remains on the ground will be your shoulders. Maintain that contraction while stepping your L foot down, then your R and then back up with each again in turn.
Monday, March 21, 2011
A Story on Discipline: The "Ground Shitter"
Early on in my Marine Corps training, we learned the basics on field etiquette: how to maintain and fire your weapon, how to land navigate, how to cook your Meal, Ready to Eat (MRE), how to patrol the woods in a stealthy manner, leaving no traces for the enemy to discover, as you move from place to place. This last point is the subject of our story on discipline, as where a unit lacks sufficient discipline in policing up their area-of-operations, intel can be gathered by the enemy and ultimately this can lead to your demise.
Shoalwater Bay Training Area, Queensland Australia - 1997
We were conducting live-fire attacks on a hilltop objective, in order to hone our squad and platoon-level techniques. This was peace-time, mind you, but the danger level was still extreme, as we were using real bullets, it was hot as hell and we were dog-tired. The Company Commander was not happy with our performance, so we did the attack again and again, until which time we got it right, which we never did. Then, at dusk, we policed up all our brass, wearily trudging up the hill with our helmets full of 5.56 casings, shooting the shit and rousing one another all the time.
Satisfied with having worked us sufficiently to death, that evening the C.O. made us non-tactical, no more war games...all we were charged with was to post a watch (each man an hour throughout the night) to ensure the Company area was secure. PFC Bnotz (USMC-speak, for the lay-Marine) had fire watch at midnight, and by that time, the entirety of Charlie Company was fast asleep in their hooches (tents). Bnotz put in a fat dip of Copenhagen and sat on a box of MRE's, rifle in hand. It was a warm night, a gentle wind coming across the countryside. Firewatch sucked..."why do they always put me on at midnight...why even bother hit the rack if I got to wake up in a couple hours? Can't wait to get home to Suzy...thirty days and a wake up, man, then I'm on two weeks of block leave. Shit...they'll be lucky if I come back from that!"
The nicotine and other horrific chemicals in the Copenhagen got to stimulating PFC Bnotz' bowels..."man, gotta take a hearty dump now, but I ain't going in that straddle trench...THAT'S ABOUT NASTY!" (a straddle trench is 6" long, 1" wide and 1-2" deep...think about it). So Bnotz decided that he was going to go off into the bush where he could find some privacy. Without getting into the details, as I wasn't present, he wearily trudged off into the woods, leaned his weapon against a tree, did his business and came back to the Company area -WITHOUT HIS WEAPON!
0330: "OK, Charlie Company...wake the (expletive) up! PFC Bnotz has decided to go out into the bush, abandoning his post, took a dump and left his weapon out there. Who's his Squad Leader? Sgt. Oberst, huh...you'll pay me later, Marine. GET ON LINE! " We proceeded to get shoulder to shoulder, in the same way we had earlier that day, picking up our brass. Only now, we were looking for Bnotz's dump, as next to it should be his weapon. You see, Bnotz was what we termed a "ground shitter"...a lazy, undisciplined Marine who does his business on the ground's surface, instead of following proper procedures and digging a "cat hole": 1" X 1" X 1". This is a cardinal sin, but still a far cry from losing one's weapon, which was the equivalent of certain death. On top of all of this, Bnotz had also given away the security of our perimeter and dealt the rest of the unit a premature wake up and corresponding hard time. Bnotz didn't get much respect after he positively identified his dump and the adjacent weapon - because his discipline was out. Everyone paid for that, but in time of war, everyone might have died for that.
So each time you decide to sleep in without a valid excuse, give up or get nasty, know that I consider you a ground-shitter.
We all know what the right thing to do is. The difference between a disciplined person and a non-hacker is that the former does that thing and the latter can't be counted on. Look at the below definition of DISCIPLINE, our week two theme. It's important to note that the same people who glance at the weather forecast and skip Monday's workout - these folks are often repeat offenders, who behave this way not only in DDIP, but in the rest of their life. Life is a balance and none of us are perfect, but on each morning that we wake, we have a fresh opportunity to do the right thing...discipline gets us there. Show up and do the work and you will see results in DDIP, and in life.
Shoalwater Bay Training Area, Queensland Australia - 1997
We were conducting live-fire attacks on a hilltop objective, in order to hone our squad and platoon-level techniques. This was peace-time, mind you, but the danger level was still extreme, as we were using real bullets, it was hot as hell and we were dog-tired. The Company Commander was not happy with our performance, so we did the attack again and again, until which time we got it right, which we never did. Then, at dusk, we policed up all our brass, wearily trudging up the hill with our helmets full of 5.56 casings, shooting the shit and rousing one another all the time.
Satisfied with having worked us sufficiently to death, that evening the C.O. made us non-tactical, no more war games...all we were charged with was to post a watch (each man an hour throughout the night) to ensure the Company area was secure. PFC Bnotz (USMC-speak, for the lay-Marine) had fire watch at midnight, and by that time, the entirety of Charlie Company was fast asleep in their hooches (tents). Bnotz put in a fat dip of Copenhagen and sat on a box of MRE's, rifle in hand. It was a warm night, a gentle wind coming across the countryside. Firewatch sucked..."why do they always put me on at midnight...why even bother hit the rack if I got to wake up in a couple hours? Can't wait to get home to Suzy...thirty days and a wake up, man, then I'm on two weeks of block leave. Shit...they'll be lucky if I come back from that!"
The nicotine and other horrific chemicals in the Copenhagen got to stimulating PFC Bnotz' bowels..."man, gotta take a hearty dump now, but I ain't going in that straddle trench...THAT'S ABOUT NASTY!" (a straddle trench is 6" long, 1" wide and 1-2" deep...think about it). So Bnotz decided that he was going to go off into the bush where he could find some privacy. Without getting into the details, as I wasn't present, he wearily trudged off into the woods, leaned his weapon against a tree, did his business and came back to the Company area -WITHOUT HIS WEAPON!
0330: "OK, Charlie Company...wake the (expletive) up! PFC Bnotz has decided to go out into the bush, abandoning his post, took a dump and left his weapon out there. Who's his Squad Leader? Sgt. Oberst, huh...you'll pay me later, Marine. GET ON LINE! " We proceeded to get shoulder to shoulder, in the same way we had earlier that day, picking up our brass. Only now, we were looking for Bnotz's dump, as next to it should be his weapon. You see, Bnotz was what we termed a "ground shitter"...a lazy, undisciplined Marine who does his business on the ground's surface, instead of following proper procedures and digging a "cat hole": 1" X 1" X 1". This is a cardinal sin, but still a far cry from losing one's weapon, which was the equivalent of certain death. On top of all of this, Bnotz had also given away the security of our perimeter and dealt the rest of the unit a premature wake up and corresponding hard time. Bnotz didn't get much respect after he positively identified his dump and the adjacent weapon - because his discipline was out. Everyone paid for that, but in time of war, everyone might have died for that.
So each time you decide to sleep in without a valid excuse, give up or get nasty, know that I consider you a ground-shitter.
We all know what the right thing to do is. The difference between a disciplined person and a non-hacker is that the former does that thing and the latter can't be counted on. Look at the below definition of DISCIPLINE, our week two theme. It's important to note that the same people who glance at the weather forecast and skip Monday's workout - these folks are often repeat offenders, who behave this way not only in DDIP, but in the rest of their life. Life is a balance and none of us are perfect, but on each morning that we wake, we have a fresh opportunity to do the right thing...discipline gets us there. Show up and do the work and you will see results in DDIP, and in life.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Week Two - Discipline Week
Week 2 - Discipline Week
“SHOW UP AND DO THE WORK”
Discipline defined:
Definition: 1dis·ci·pline
Pronunciation: \ˈdi-sə-plən\
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French & Latin; Anglo-French, from Latin disciplina teaching, learning, from discipulus pupil
Date: 13th century
1 : punishment
2 obsolete : instruction
3 : a field of study
4 : training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character
5 a : control gained by enforcing obedience or order b : orderly or prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior c : self-control
6 : a rule or system of rules governing conduct or activity
2 obsolete : instruction
3 : a field of study
4 : training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character
5 a : control gained by enforcing obedience or order b : orderly or prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior c : self-control
6 : a rule or system of rules governing conduct or activity
"Discipline is the instant willingness and obedience to all orders, respect for authority, self reliance and teamwork. The ability to do the right thing even when no one is watching or suffer the consequences of guilt which produces pain in our bodies, through pain comes discipline." --United States Marine Corps
Week One - "The Indoc"
Look up the term "indoctrinate" in the dictionary and what you read may frighten you! The traditional definitions describe it as, "to instruct in a doctrine, principle, ideology, etc., especially to imbue with a specific partisan or biased belief or point of view." Essentially, to drive something down your throat. While the mission of DDIP is to discipline, motivate, educate and exercise the public to an optimum state-of-health, and we will accomplish this at all costs, we prefer to merely engage the participant in healthy living the DDIP way and it's usually an easy sell - so there is no need to brainwash you. It's hard to argue with results gleaned by your own merit, facilitated by DDIP.
There are two other definitions that may add perspective to the DDIP, Week 1 theme:
Military indoctrination, (as in recruit training): The initial psychological preparation of soldiers during training.
It is important to note that the roots of DDIP are in my experiences in the Marine Corps. The USMC is reknowned for it ablity to produce warriors, through the boot camp experience and mentoring conducted up its ranks. Though DDIP is a civilian pursuit, the Marine Corps Leadership Traits http://www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/usmc/leadership_traits.htm and in fact, most USMC teachings are applicable to civilain life. All warriors pray for peace, but there are different types of enemies out there; for the purposes of DDIP, our foe is disease of the body and mind.
Information security: In the field of information security, indoctrination is the initial briefing and instructions given before a person is granted access to secret information.
Knowledge is POWER, my friends...it is important to understand what you're in for when joining DDIP. For new recruits, there is a very real learning curve, as some of the exercises and commands require you to both think and act, simultaneously. Before long, it will all be muscle-memory. As to veteran participants, it is also important that they re-focus leading up to the next session, so as to avoid becoming stale. Each successive session is a notch in your belt...a new height climbed on the ladder of results.
The bottom line in that with each session, we have many returning veterans and an increasing number of new recruits. Given the shear masses and the diversity within the DDIP formation, it is imperative that we find that common rhythm within our ranks. Everyone has a place at the table, regardless of age, gender, physical prowess or other demographical variable...we all work together, to achieve our personal goals and to facilitate that of our comrades.
DDIP is about YOU and ME! Fill your sails during Indoc Week and stay the course to your goals. The tempo ramps up significantly from here.
There are two other definitions that may add perspective to the DDIP, Week 1 theme:
Military indoctrination, (as in recruit training): The initial psychological preparation of soldiers during training.
It is important to note that the roots of DDIP are in my experiences in the Marine Corps. The USMC is reknowned for it ablity to produce warriors, through the boot camp experience and mentoring conducted up its ranks. Though DDIP is a civilian pursuit, the Marine Corps Leadership Traits http://www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/usmc/leadership_traits.htm and in fact, most USMC teachings are applicable to civilain life. All warriors pray for peace, but there are different types of enemies out there; for the purposes of DDIP, our foe is disease of the body and mind.
Information security: In the field of information security, indoctrination is the initial briefing and instructions given before a person is granted access to secret information.
Knowledge is POWER, my friends...it is important to understand what you're in for when joining DDIP. For new recruits, there is a very real learning curve, as some of the exercises and commands require you to both think and act, simultaneously. Before long, it will all be muscle-memory. As to veteran participants, it is also important that they re-focus leading up to the next session, so as to avoid becoming stale. Each successive session is a notch in your belt...a new height climbed on the ladder of results.
The bottom line in that with each session, we have many returning veterans and an increasing number of new recruits. Given the shear masses and the diversity within the DDIP formation, it is imperative that we find that common rhythm within our ranks. Everyone has a place at the table, regardless of age, gender, physical prowess or other demographical variable...we all work together, to achieve our personal goals and to facilitate that of our comrades.
DDIP is about YOU and ME! Fill your sails during Indoc Week and stay the course to your goals. The tempo ramps up significantly from here.
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