756. Things I didn't Think I Would Ever Need Ten Years Ago That I Need A Lot of Now

It's no secret that my ten year reunion is coming up fast (fall 2011 -- class of '01, baby!). And well, that's pretty gnarly I guess, but, like anyone else, I can't help myself from assessing my overall life ten years later as compared to when I was a wee chap of just 17-years-old.

So, anyway, here's my list of things I didn't think I would ever need a lot of, that I need a lot of now. Maybe you'd like to add some items, too?

1. Dollars. Yep, like most of us twenty-somethings, I'm discovering that college costs continue to rise and the opportunities for making as much or more money as our parents, aren't really there anymore. Add onto that a bleak economic outlook and reality, and well, damn -- I really miss those cheap school meals (yum... cafeteria cheese). I'm staying in college so I never have to pay back my loans. That's a good idea, right?

Flashback: anyone else remember when premium gas cost a buck fifty? Gee-bus. Now we get excited about $3.68 regular gas.

2. 15. As in 15 hours of exercise a week -- and that's not even enough to actually lose weight. I just ran a half marathon and I'm still about 20 pounds above my ideal weight(which is 45 pounds over my high school weight!). I miss not doing anything physical for several weeks and only having to do a sit up or two in the morning for a few days to get back in shape. I also miss eating an entire pot of macaroni a day.

Flashback: Gym class. I wish an hour of activity was still mandatory in my day.

3. 23.04 gigabytes of music on my I-tunes. I remember when I used to get high and just go to the Double T Diner and listen to the same three songs over and over again. Not that I ever used drugs much or do at all now, I'm just saying. Moreover, I used to have one mix cassette tape -- the Best of Allman Bros, Skynyrd, and ol' Led Zeppelin -- that I listened to in my '73 Ford Maverick all summer long. Some of you used to make fun of me I bet. I still have the Mav :-) (And no, it doesn't work. Weren't you listening? I'm broke, san. Need an engine. Donations?)



Flashback: Remember finally being able to park in the senior lot instead of Ebenezer?



4. 21, or the average number of gifts I have to buy a year for weddings, house-warming parties, nieces and nephews, other people's kids, master's graduations, etc. I like helping people out and being generous when I can, but my part-time adjunct position that I was rewarded with in exchange for my 60,000 dollars worth of college education, only pays about 14K a year (not complaining, simply stating facts). I don't know how many more crappy poems I can write, frame, and disguise as gifts.

Examples:
Roses are red. Please stop having kids.
Violets are blue. Divorce is expensive; don't get married.

Flashback: When buying your friend some cookies or an ice cream bar from the vending machines meant more than a gift card to Home Depot or a toaster oven.

5. 1,000,000 seconds. The number of seconds thus far I've been doubled-over in laughter when remembering that I graduated from high school with a 1.88 GPA, but now I teach college. Ha ha, suckers. Well, maybe I'm the sucker. I bet you all had fun vacations while I was sitting in summer school.

And here's a photo of my going away party for the Marines in May 2001!!!



(Perry Hall High School Alumni, all.)

755. Best Letter Ever

On May 26th, I talked to high-schoolers. This is some of the feedback I got.

6/2/11

Dear Mr. Dario,

My name is "John Doe" and I'm an alcoholic. Psych, I'm kidding. I was forced to type you a thank you letter by my mean English teacher. Not that I didn't want to because you were funny and informing. By the way, my English teacher picks on me.

You presenting was very informing because you're very inspiring plus I like your beard. And also, my teacher is mean and she beats up on me and makes me cry -- this is all mentally, never physically. Also, you should add me on X-Box live if you play Call of Duty. My name is ... and I'm going into the big leagues.

P.S. You got balls, my friend, for going into the Marines :-)

Love your random audience member,

"John Doe"

754. My Personal Essay for The Washingtonian

This is just a snippet. To read the entire article please click the blog headline! And please consider donating to the Anderson-Snyder memorial which is linked to at the end of the story. Semper Fi.



...On a Wednesday night, I finished my shift at the restaurant a little early. That was good—it meant more time for drinking. I stopped at a coworker’s apartment to toss back shots of Jack Daniel’s. Sufficiently buzzed, I drove to the Treehouse, a bar near where I was living in the Baltimore suburbs.

The bartender stood in an opposite corner of the bar chatting with a pretty girl. On the TV above him, a story flashed about a Marine who had died. I tried to read the captions, but my mind was hazy and my eyes were tired. About a year had passed since I’d come home from Iraq in 2004.

The bartender came over without a newly poured beer. He stared at me, rubbing his palms. “Hey, Dario,” he said. “This woman over here just had her husband killed in Iraq. Could you . . . .” He didn’t need to finish.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

I took the long path toward her, curving around the length of the bar. I stepped beside her and she looked at me, confused. A few of her friends were with her; they watched me, too.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m a lance corporal in the Marines. I heard about your loss. I’m here for you.” She closed her eyes. Then she dropped her head into my chest and hugged me. I had no idea what I should do.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

The Marine Corps is small. There are only a few degrees of separation between any two people who wear the olive-drab green. There was a chance I knew her husband.

“Victoria Anderson,” she said. “My husband was Lance Corporal Norm Anderson...”

753. Ode to the Education Connection Girl

Ode to the Education Connection Girl

You make me want to better myself –
go online, take a test,
sit in PJs in my closed-door room,
trace triangles with Pythagoras,
measure meter and homecoming with Homer.

I’d go to your restaurant with my AA degree
and a million dollars more
*over a lifetime
and tip you well.

Would you sing to me then?
Could we get connected?

I’d use my degree in audio engineering
to turn your siren’s voice into platinum.





All written content ©Dario DiBattista 2011. All posts are for display purposes only and not to be considered published.

752. Answering Hater Mail

I'm not really this petty. But, given that the dude who wrote this comment is a former Gunnery Sergeant, and I don't have to take his crap anymore (now that I'm not in the service anymore), I just had to post this open letter.

From: Anonymous, a comment left on the link to my Washington Post op-ed on the "Marines" official facebook page.

"This story is really disapointing. Did anyone read this before sharing the link? I really expected better from a major publication, let alone someone trained in writing. The story starts with teasers that are not referenced anywhere else... in the story and then rambles on and on. I sure agree with supporting and celebrating the military victory but am disapointed to see a Marine join the ranks of the mainstream media with misdirecting headlines and marginal writing."

RE: Your comments about my article on the "Marines" facebook page.

Hey Gunny, I'm not a member of the mainstream media -- I'm a freelance writer. It's like a being a contractor for the military; you're not in the service you just provide a skill they need. They called me and asked me to write this piece.

Also, for the record, I didn't get to pick the headline.

As far as your "teasers" that you mention not being carried over, you'll notice if you will, that my story begins with big news related to bin Laden (and me listening to it on the AM radio and reacting) and ends with other big news about bin Laden (and me listening to it on the AM radio and reacting). It's called a narrative arc with a circular structure.

But thank you for your feedback. Next article I write, I'll be sure to beat the audience over the head and write more simply so it's easier to understand.

Sorry to disappoint you.

Semper Fi,

Dario "D-Boh" DiBattista
USMCR Corporal 2001 - 2007

751. Check Out My Op-Ed for The Washington Post!

(Click the blog headline to read the entire story!)

...When the news came of bin Laden’s death, I felt numb at first. Rather than exult, I could only mourn my friends and the other Americans who lost their lives. My roommate — my best friend and another Marine veteran — suggested we do a shot to celebrate bin Laden’s killing.

We had only imported alcohol on hand, so we chose a couple of ounces of rum from Puerto Rico instead of French liqueurs or vodkas. We continued watching the news: the slips in verbiage that confused “Obama” and “Osama”; the bold, galvanizing speech of the commander in chief; the crowds gathering on the streets of New York and at the gates of the White House. I knew, despite living in Towson, that I had to be at the president’s home, too.

I raced down I-295 in my Lincoln and scanned the different AM stations. Yes, he is dead. Shot in the head. SEAL Team 6. A good and historic day.

I parked several blocks from the White House and could hear the cheers reverberating. I saw cars zipping through the cross streets, honking their horns, sometimes a passenger’s hand holding the American flag out the window.

The scene outside the White House felt like a big hug. It didn’t matter that I had come alone; I was here with a thousand of my fellow Americans. And we were wild with patriotism, even cheering the cops who were trying to corral us away from the fence...

PHOTO BLOG OF THE SCENE OUTSIDE THE WHITE HOUSE (all photos by me):






















All content ©Dario DiBattista 2011. All posts are for display purposes only and not to be considered published.

750. Watching AMC after Coming Home from Helmand Province, Afghanistan

Watching AMC after Coming Home from Helmand Province, Afghanistan

Travis Bickle, I feel you: deadbeat Marine
just returned from ‘Nam,
can’t sleep because of the dreams,
but you still need a job.

Like you, my parents don’t know my career
is a falsification of time;
37 rejections so far, I’ve sold
not one word of my rhyme.

We policed the third world but scum
lives on our own welcome mats:
pimps and publishers,
drug-dealers and Democrats.

I will pull up and push up,
calligraph and fist pump;
until, like you,
I’m ready, too.






All content ©Dario DiBattista 2011. All posts are for display purposes only and not to be considered published.