Gettysburg

When I drove to Washington, D.C. last weekend, I passed through Gettysburg, unexpectedly.  By that, I mean that I was on the right route, but I just didn't realize that it passed through Gettysburg.  It was getting late and I had already been stuck in more traffic than planned, so I didn't stop, but I was certainly intrigued.

Oooh, another national park to check off my (rather small, actually) list

On the way back home, since I wasn't in quite as much of a hurry, I decided to check it out.  Also, luckily, it was a beautiful fall morning -- sunny and pleasantly crisp.  Plus, I really like Lincoln.  Let me explain.  At St. Olaf, we were all required to take at least one ethics class as part of the liberal arts requirement.  During the busiest semester I ever had (because of challenging courses, leadership positions, and eight medical school interviews), I took Philosophy/Religion 278: The Ethics of War.  It turned out to be the best class that I ever had.  Professor Santurri's fierce conviction and quiet enthusiasm for the class -- as well as the way he was able to teach a highly charged issue without ever giving any hint of what personal views he held -- made me excited to read and think and write and debate.  One of his favorite topics is Lincoln, and you can be sure that we discussed Lincoln and the ethics of the Civil War from all sorts of different perspectives.  I had never cared much about the topic before that semester, but the class made me realize how much more complicated and interesting the whole era was.

The spot where Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address

So, I have an appreciation for Lincoln.  I still have the Lincoln book we read for class, actually, along with two of the other more interesting books we read.  Last year, one of my medical school friends was perusing my bookshelf, and she asked why I had a book about President Lincoln.  I explained how much the ethics class had meant to me, especially since I had ended up in the military, where I am so thankful to have such a rich background in the ethics of war (something which many people do not have the chance to be formally taught).  My friend had not gone to a liberal arts school and was blown away by how enthusiastic I was about a non-science class.  In that moment, along with several other moments over the past year and a half of being away from college, I realized how lucky I was to have received such a well balanced education.  I also realized that I wanted to let my professor know how much I had learned and taken away from his class.

Demonstration in the fields of Gettysburg

So I wrote him a note and sent it in the mail.  I thanked him for the enthusiastic and thorough teaching, I told him that I was now in medical school (so all those days I skipped class for interviews were actually justified), and I let him know how useful the background had been as I entered the military and began to think more about the ethics of war, which now pertain to me more than they ever did before.  I figured it was the least I could do to.  A few days later, I received a very excited e-mail from him saying that my card had made his day.  In addition to making some very flattering comments about my future success in both medicine and the military, he said that he would share parts of my note with the current ethics of war class he was teaching, just to give them a little extra motivation.

The memorial for the Minnesotans who had died in the Civil War.  Every state had its own monument somewhere throughout the park.

There was really no point in telling that whole story just now, except to justify my comment that I like Lincoln. Yes, I like Lincoln because I had a phenomenal class with a phenomenal professor.  And I got to see Gettysburg on a beautiful fall morning, and walk through the National Cemetery in peace, and think about America and all of the things that I appreciate.  That was meaningful.

For Patriot Dream

Since we had no classes on Monday (yay for going to a Jewish school that gives us Jewish holidays off!), I decided to go to Washington, D.C. for the weekend to visit Caitlin. Since she's relatively new to the city as well, we allowed ourselves to be tourists for the weekend and do all the typical D.C. things. (When I say "all," I of course realize that we didn't even get close to seeing all the city has to offer. No way.)

Getting there in the first place, however, was more eventful than I counted on. I had chosen to take a bus there. Out of my four options, it seemed the best. Riding the train would have been great, but it costs an arm and a leg. Flying, in fact, would have been cheaper than taking the train, but it's still relatively expensive and a hassle. Driving my own car would have been all right, but I wasn't sure I felt ready to take on the East Coast tollways just yet. Plus, I figured that the 4+ hours on a bus each way would give me a chance to do some studying and really take advantage of my limited time for schoolwork over the weekend. The best part? It only costs $20 to catch a bus from New York to D.C. (and vice versa), and it only makes one other stop on the way.

I had not reserved a ticket because I was unsure what time I would be able to get my things together and leave the Bronx. Good thing -- the BxM10 express bus to Manhattan got caught up in rush-hour traffic, and I would have certainly missed the 5:00 bus that I had been eying. So I stood in the standby line at the Megabus station. The 5:30 bus was completely booked, as was the 6:00, but luckily some of the ticketholders were no-shows. I boarded the bus, and we were on our way by 6:15. The rest of the ride was uneventful, but I was damn lucky I got a spot on the 6:00. All the other buses that evening were totally booked as well.

When I arrived in downtown D.C., I found my way to a Metro station. When I arrived at the Medical Center stop (at the NIH, where Caitlin works, and near where she lives), I faced the most impressive escalator I've ever seen. It was actually vertigo-inducing. Caitlin picked me up at the station, and we spent the rest of the night catching up about our adventures since graduation.

Escalators: Both awe-inspiring and terror-inducing

On Saturday, our adventure began. It happened to be the day of the National Book Fair on the Mall, which was filled with tents and lines of people hoping to hear their favorite authors speak and sign books. We did not wait in any lines for authors (they were all hours long), but we did get to meet a friend from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood: Mr. McFeely, a.k.a. the Speedy Delivery man, posed for photos and autographed pictures for all of his fans.

"Speedy Delivery!"

We walked to one end of the Mall to take a look at the Capitol. To avoid the typical "Hey-look-at-me-standing-in-front-of-the-building-and-smiling" pictures, we tried to get some unique poses. For example, Caitlin took photos of me while I did cartwheels with the building as a backdrop. Unfortunately, I do not have copies of these pictures (yet!), so for now, a stately, patriotic-looking photo will have to do.

Looming and impressive amidst the clouds

The other highlight of the day was our visit to the National Air and Space Museum. No, I lied. It was not simply a highlight of the day. It was a highlight of a lifetime. The Air and Space Museum ranks up there with Cape Canaveral in my favorite, most-inspiring places to go. I'm not kidding. If only I could find some way to work around air and spacecraft in my future career...oh wait! I'm in the Air Force. (Could we have perhaps hit on an underlying motive?) Anyway, the museum was great. There were the capsules from Friendship 7, Gemini VI, and Apollo 11; a lunar module, a full-scale Hubble replica, exhibits on the moon missions, aviation during the world wars (which I had some knowledge of because of COT), and a spectacular exhibit of Alan Bean's paintings. We also saw an IMAX film called "Fighter Pilot," which had many little details that brought back memories from COT. I could have spent several more hours there. Unfortunately, the museum closed at 5:30, so we had to brave the rain and go home.

I was excited about the Hubble model (this little one was at the foot of the larger, life-size model), as well as everything else.

On Sunday, we tackled the National Museum of American History. My favorite exhibits were about the U.S. military throughout the nation's history (complete with uniforms from every era), First Ladies' gowns, musical instruments (where Caitlin got to impress me with her incredible knowledge about the Stradivari strings), and the Star Spangled Banner -- the Star Spangled Banner, the 15-striped, 15-starred behemoth of a flag whose rising inspired Francis Scott Key to compose our national anthem.

I also enjoyed seeing C-3PO and Archie Bunker's chair.

Before heading back to Caitlin's house, we walked over to the White House. No, we didn't see anyone important, a.k.a. the President. I did discover, however, that all those years of watching West Wing have prepared me to know what the White House looks like.

Yep, just as I imagined it

Caitlin had to work on Monday, so I spent the morning exploring the monuments on my own. Some highlights:

The Washington Monument: In perfect symmetry, with the flags blowing proudly in the wind

One of the reliefs at the World War II Memorial. Someday I may get to serve as these soldiers did, carrying and caring for their wounded in war.

Lincoln, for whom I have great respect after my Ethics of War class at St. Olaf: "With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right"

The statue of the Three Servicemen at the Vietnam War Memorial

For some reason, I was captured by this statue at the Korean War Memorial: The soldier somehow looked so real to me, and it made me stop and think about the amazing sacrifices that have been made year after year for our country.

Unfortunately, I was not able to see the Iwo Jima Memorial, which I remember being a defining moment of my visit to D.C. 11 years ago. Back then, even though I was so young, I was struck by the valor of the men raising the flag. It was not just a statue to me. It represented brave people doing brave things for our country, to which I had only recently begun to feel my obligation. Even though I was so young, I was patriotic. I felt the call to my country, and I was beginning to become aware of what that might mean. Now, 11 years later, I feel that I have finally begun to act on that patriotism. I am a proud officer of the United States Air Force, and my only wish is that I could be a functional part of that organization even sooner than my medical training will allow. I feel blessed that this weekend, I was given the privilege to revel in the beauty of my country and its capital.

God bless America.

The Next Best Thing after Italy

After my visit to Ground Zero, I made my way toward Mulberry Street, the heart of the Downtown Little Italy. (The Bronx also has its own version of Little Italy; apparently there is a heated debate as to which one is better.) On the way, I passed by some cool-looking buildings. I didn't go into Trinity Church because I didn't realize how historic it was. Whoops. I did, however, stop briefly inside St. Andrew's Church, which is a beautiful little church located right next to the United States Courthouse (now called the Thurgood Marshall U.S. Courthouse, according to Wikipedia) and Foley Square. I also did not realize the importance of any of these places; I was simply attracted to the church because it looked cool. And the rain was picking up. And because I felt pleased with myself for being able to translate the Latin on the frieze.

Beati qui ambulant in lege Domini - always true, but even more appropriate given its location practically on top of a huge courthouse.

Afterwards, I continued my walk to Mulberry Street. Nowadays, Little Italy is being gradually crowded out by Chinatown, which surrounds the old Italian neighborhood. (Sidenote: I want to spend some time in Chinatown at some point, but my mission this week was Italian, so I mostly ignored the Chinese cultural opportunities yesterday. My process did not allow for forays into Asian territory...) This week, however, the Italians are hogging the attention: Next Saturday is the Feast of San Gennaro, the patron saint of Naples, and Little Italy is now in the midst of its annual 10-day celebration of the feast.

Each year, in Naples, the saint's blood turns from solid to liquid on his feast day. Also, prayers to San Gennaro are said to have averted destruction from the nearby Mount Vesuvius in the past.

Mulberry Street was a giant fair. Along the street was stall after stall of vendors, and all of the street's restaurants had set up extra seating in forward tents. Despite the rain, it was crowded with tourists (and locals) who had come for the great food and festal atmosphere.

A festive-looking Mulberry Street with a surly-looking Empire State Building partially covered by clouds in the background

I love all things Italian. I especially love the food. Luckily, I had planned to have a late/large lunch that day because of the timing of traveling to and from Manhattan as well as going to Mass. The only problem was choosing where to eat; what in the world could I base my decision on? Since I knew nothing about the area other than the fact that the festival was happening (clearly, this was one of many instances in which I was not prepared for the day), I had no background knowledge or experience to guide me to the best restaurant. I started glancing at the posted menus as I ambled past the restaurants' tents, and then I hit solid gold: one restaurant was advertising a festival special of $13 for a two-course lunch, and my favorite Italian pasta was listed as one of the choices for a first course.

Penne all'arrabbiata: so simple, but sooo good

Without even knowing the name of the restaurant, I asked to be seated, and I was given a table inside the actual restaurant (not the outdoor tent). I was disappointed at first since I would not be able to people-watch, as I had planned, but it turned out to be a nice break from the crowds. I had excellent bread, penne all'arrabbiata, eggplant parmigiana, a glass of Chianti, and an after-dinner cappuccino. (Sidenote: I took home my extra bread and used it to make French toast this morning. It was delicious.) The indoors location allowed me to relax, enjoy my meal at length, and do a bit of writing.

The cinnamon on the cappuccino was an unexpectedly tasty addition.

With a few hours to spare before Mass began, I wandered through the festival some more, taking my time to browse the shops and simply enjoy the sights, smells, and sounds. At one point, a small band marched past playing "That's Amore."

I especially liked their hats.

I loved the feeling of being surrounded by Italian pride, but it was not simply that. It was Italian-American pride. The descendants of the Italian immigrants who made New York their home beginning in the late 1800s are clearly proud of their heritage, as can be seen in the excellent restaurants, cafes, and shops that still line the Little Italy area. However, I would be willing to bet that most are just as proud of their American heritage and would be unwilling to leave the city. (It's probably a fair assumption, given that most are several generations removed from the original immigrants, at this point.) Case in point:

I haven't counted, but it seems the American and Italian flags are nearly proportional. At any rate, it looks like Christmas.

The vendors were colorful both to the eye and to the ear. Many beckoned the festival-goers to buy their treats: "Get yer sausages!" "We got pina coladas! Free refills!" "Try the cannolis!"

How's this for colorful?

Of course, all of the food looked good, but I was more than full after my abundant lunch. I did consent to a small sample of cannoli, though. How could I not? The last time I had cannoli was in Catania -- in Sicily -- the night I found out I was accepted at Einstein, and it was delicious.

Clearly this shop knows what it's doing when it comes to cannoli.

The last thing that I did before leaving Little Italy -- and Manhattan as a whole -- was go to Mass at the church that claims San Gennaro as its patron. The Most Precious Blood Church was beautiful inside, full of paintings commissioned in memory of neighborhood families with extremely Italian names.

Church of the Most Precious Blood, referring both to Christ and Saint Januarius (as we call him in Anglicized language)

Mass was surprisingly short, only 30 minutes, adding on to my week of really short Masses. I guess that's what you get when there's no homily or music. It ended with a procession to the front to kiss the relic of San Gennaro, which I hadn't known about beforehand. I was moved by the reverance expressed by the crowd who had gathered there to celebrate Mass and the beginning of the saint's feast.

As I walked to the subway, I picked up a whopping pound and a half of nougat, the ubiquitous white treat being sold throughout the streets of the festival. Later that night, my friends and I labored to hack through its surprisingly hard core so that we could enjoy tasty morsels of nuts and sugar that had the taste of marshmallows. This was the perfect supplement to the popcorn that we ate while watching (and making fun of) a ridiculous B movie about genetically engineered killer sheep. It couldn't have been a better day.

A pound and a half of nougat -- that's amore!

9/11

Yesterday was the 8th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. I know we all remember the same images of flame, smoke, and ash on a bright, sunny morning. Even those of us who were nowhere near New York City have those same images burned into our memories. For some, it was only the most recent of several of those age-defining moments, the events in which everyone old enough at the time can remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when it happened. For some of us -- like me -- it was the first of such moments. I wasn't born yet when the Challenger exploded. I was too young to be aware of the beginning of the Gulf War. Likewise, I did not know about the first terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in the early 90s. September 11, 2001, was the first time when I shared a defining moment with the rest of the nation, and that day's images of destruction occurring hundreds of miles away are burned into my consciousness in a way that seems too vivid to be real.

But it was real.

Yesterday looked entirely different than the September 11 of 8 years ago. It was grey and rainy, with blustering wind turning umbrellas inside out. It was cold, too -- many of us wore jackets for the first time since we've been here. In the afternoon, as I gazed out my window at the Bronx, looking hazy in the rain, I reflected on 9/11. I felt compassion, of course, for the people affected by it, and especially the families and friends who lost loved ones, but a part of me wondered why we were still making such a big deal about it. Smaller disasters happen more frequently -- take, for example, the I-35W bridge collapse back in Minnesota -- and on top of that, any family who loses a loved one goes through the same anguish that the 9/11 survivors felt, but these don't receive national news coverage or presidential addresses. 9/11 was certainly a disaster and a tragedy, but why do we agonize over it year after year?


My perspective changed this morning, when I visited Ground Zero. All I could see at first was a vast fence surrounding the area; I was not high enough to see in.


It was another grey day, with rain sprinkling on and off, but I was not the only one there. The ceremonies and speeches happened yesterday, but there were plenty of people there today as well. I soon came upon The Firefighters' Monument, a bronze relief across from Ground Zero. Many people had left flowers and luminaries, and the monument itself was a beautiful tribute to the firefighters who lost their lives trying to save others.



As I walked around the entirety of Ground Zero, I was able to catch a few glimpses through the fence at the construction zone. It looked just like that -- a construction zone. Not a pile of rubble and ash, not the gleaming towers that used to be there, not the reflective memorial that it will be: something in between, something less ordered than a building or monument, something that still strikes the observer as being less than ideal, even undesirable.


But there is still patriotism at work. This is not just any construction project; it has a proud purpose, and we won't forget it.


And along the way, even those who could not help build could still contribute. As the ugly, gaping hole in the city is gradually filled with something shiny and new, those who have come to reflect can fill the stark construction zone with beauty, too.



My final stop was a small museum showcasing the plans for the monument. It looks like it will be a serene, reflective place. I know there has been controversy surrounding the designs for the monument, and I certainly do not know much about it. However, if it is a place of remembrance, reflection, and respect -- as it appears to be from the models -- then I cannot think of anything more appropriate.


That wasn't the only thing at the museum, though. Along the wall, there were pictures and a timeline of the events of 9/11. Seeing those pictures again -- the buildings with thick, black smoke pouring out, the looks of shock, fear, and numbness on the faces of the New Yorkers, all against the backdrop of a perfect blue sky --gave me chills. I was perfectly warm, but I had goosebumps. This is why we still remember, why we "never forget." It's because we unexpectedly experienced a sickening feeling of vulnerability that we've never felt before.

I never saw New York before the attacks. I don't know what it would have looked like if the Twin Towers had still been there. I can't even legitimately call myself a New Yorker (yet). But I can say this: New York is now my city, too. I will never know what it was like before 9/11, but I know what it is now, and what it means to me. I feel a profound connection with this place even with only a short time here so far. As an American, I feel proud of my country, and I hope we will always remember to have faith in it, and especially in its people. And that is why we never forget.

Ribosome Love with LOTS of Sprinkles

"You're not going to be responsible for anything on here except for love," said Dr. Warner, as he advanced the Power Point to a slide showing a 3D molecular view of a ribosome. It was nice to hear 163 medical students laughing together at 8:30 in the morning on the day of their first quiz. The quiz itself, which we took an hour later for histology, went just fine. It must have been because of the love and goodwill toward ribosomes that we all possessed in our hearts. Anyway, I suppose we're real medical students now because we've had our first test of any sort, so it's nice to have passed that particular milestone.

I have a confession to make: I probably haven't been as diligent in studying as I should have been. I certainly haven't been as diligent as I could have been. I just can't type out notes and read books and think about case conferences without needing some breaks, and when I get particularly bored or antsy, I turn to cooking. This week, much to the delight of my roommates and friends, I baked. Kendra's 7 rotting bananas had been tempting me for a while, so on Tuesday, I baked 2 batches of banana bread. It was supremely satisfying to mash 7 bananas to the sweet sounds of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. I half hoped my roommates would walk in and find out just how weird I am. Anyway, the baking was a success, and I ended up with a 3 loaves and 12 muffins of tasty banana-chocolate chip-walnut bread.

They were even more beautiful combined with the aroma...

I spent most of yesterday and today in the city. I know, I probably should have been studying, but it's nice to have a break and a change of scenery. Saturday was spent mostly walking around midtown, going into shops, taking in the busy city life. I also went to church at St. Patrick's Cathedral -- and I loved it! I don't think I would want to go there every week, but it was definitely a cool experience. There were people from all over; I would assume lots of tourists go there for Mass if they're visiting New York over a weekend. I am going to reiterate my somewhat ambitious desire: I would love to attend as many different churches in New York as possible. I don't know if I'd ever be able to make it to all of them, but I can certainly try.

Looking even more splendid in the afternoon sun

Afterwards, I met up with some of my Einstein friends in the Upper West Side for dinner and drinks. We had fantastic Thai food at a place called Land, and then we moseyed over to Crumbs, a cupcake shop. Yes, a cupcake shop. There were at least 2 dozen different kinds to choose from. I went for the Good Guy, a funfetti-inspired creation including cream filling, generous frosting, a white-chocolate drizzle, and LOTS of sprinkles:

How could you not love this?

My main excitement for the weekend, however, was this morning: I ran in the World Trade Center Run to Remember 5K race. This was the first year of the race, so I'm hoping that they'll continue to have it each year. It was on Governor's Island, which is a short ferry ride south of the tip of Manhattan. It was a gorgeous day for a race -- low 70s and sunny skies, with the Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, and Manhattan itself shining in the sun. I (barely) got a PR with a time of 22:06 and was 72nd overall out of over 600 runners. I didn't stay for awards, but I later found out that I won my age category! Cool.

Manhattan gleams in the sunshine.

We were treated to views of Lady Liberty during the race...

...and the stretch coming to the finish line provided another view of Lower Manhattan, the Financial District, where the Twin Towers used to be. If that's not motivation for a 9/11 remembrance run, then I don't know what could be.

After getting back to the mainland, I spent a bit of time walking through Battery Park, which was full of people waiting to board ferries for the Statue of Liberty or Ellis Island. Someday, I must do that as well. I may live here now, but can still be tourist when I feel like it. Some parting shots from today:

These kids took their 100-meter dash REALLY seriously. They were fast!

The older buildings of the Financial District have so much character.

The best part about the race? The bagpipe brigade that played as we ran past. Classic.

First Attempt to Make Up for Failure

Well, my plan to update my blog throughout Air Force training has clearly failed. In my defense, I didn't realize that we would have absolutely no access to those vital things such as commercial e-mail, Facebook, and, of course, blogs from our government computers. Silly me. At any rate, I've had a few days to sort through my numerous e-mails and pictures and am now ready (I think) to recreate my training experience right here on this very blog! Lucky you. Warning: This may take multiple posts. A month of nonstop intensity leads to interesting stories, and I'd like to do justice to as many of them as possible...

Before I begin, let me apologize for what I will call "acronym soup." In the Air Force, everything is abbreviated, and thank goodness for that. Honestly, who wants to call their studying material "Samples of Behavior" every single time you're taking notes? SOBs will do just fine...and will almost certainly lead to confusion for the uninitiated. I'll try to keep the acronyms to a minimum, but this could easily become another failure.

Training began on June 29, officially called TD-0 (Training Day 0). We quickly learned what it meant to stand at attention as well as the consequences of failing to begin every statement with "sir" or "ma'am" -- lots of yelling. In fact, most of my initial memories up through the second week consist of lots of yelling. Don't worry, they only do what they need to do to make you into what they need you to be. And they are damn good at it.

Our wake-up call on TD-1 was one of my more unique experiences. We were all delicately awakened at 0430 by a drill sergeant pounding and kicking our doors yelling, "Get UP! Get OUT IN THE HALLWAY! NOW!" After being allowed approximately 2.5 minutes to dress, brush our teeth, and gather our important paperwork, we were herded to the parade field amidst never-ending yelling to participate in the Blue Line Ceremony, in which we recited the Airman's Creed and stepped over a blue line, representing our crossing into the Air Force. I'm afraid some of the symbolism may have been lost given the early hour, but still, even amidst the yelling and the fog of sleepiness, I felt happy with my decision and excitement for what was to come.

The rest of TD-1 was a blur, what with all the inprocessing paperwork and procedures. We all bought our uniforms that day as well, which was exciting because, to me, the uniform makes it real. I'm really in the Air Force. That night, one of the girls in my flight who had been a prior enlisted helped us learn how to wear the uniform -- how to pin on rank, make the hat stand up straight, tuck our pants into the blousing straps, etc. Without her, I don't know how we would have survived, especially since we had under 10 minutes to get up, get dressed, brush teeth, etc. each morning.

Without Angela, we would have been totally clueless.

Speaking of my flight, I realize that I should explain how we were divided up at COT (Commissioned Officer Training). First off, there were 330 in my class, which is absolutely huge. We were divided into 3 squadrons: Falcons, Guardians, and Griffins. I was in the Griffin Squadron, which was clearly the best squadron. Each squadron was divided into 7 flights with 16 people apiece, and the flights were "numbered" by the phonetic alphabet: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, etc. I was in Sierra Flight, which was clearly the best flight. If there was an award for Awesome and Win, we would have taken it, hands down. As it were, we did not win any awards, but we did win the recognition of the entire class for our attention-getting techniques, boldness in spirit missions, and unique chants. We renamed ourselves the Sidewinder Flight and took care to make use of both the snake and the missile as our "mascots."

Classic Sidewinder decorations incorporating both aspects of our awesome alter-ego. Notice the snake hanging from the top of the missile.

I spent the majority of the month with the other 15 members of my flight. We were together almost constantly, except to sleep, when we were still with our roommates (who were also fellow flight members). Luckily, I had a completely awesome flight. Everyone had unique characteristics, but we worked together to endow the flight with a pervading sense of silliness and fun. I've only been away from COT for 4 days so far, but I already miss my flightmates dearly because of how close we all became.

Sidewindersssssss

I'll talk more about our awesomeness later. Remember that 91-page document I mentioned in a previous post? Well, we had a test on it the first Saturday there, which happened to be the Fourth of July. The rest of the week leading up to that was mostly a blur. We had classes in Boyd Auditorium (a.k.a. the Big Red Bed or the Coma Dome) with all 330 of us as well as smaller classes with just our flight in the flight room. We had uniform inspections and learned that cables -- those little threads that work themselves loose and beg to be cut -- are a no-no on a well groomed uniform. Also, significantly, we met our flight commander, Capt Raley. As terrified of her as we were the first day, we soon came to love her because she was, simply put, awesome. Perhaps it's a sign of affection that even up until the last day, we were calling rooms and hallways to attention when she entered, even after her continual requests to "KEEP YOUR SEATS!" and "BE AT EASE!" If there's one thing Sidewinders are not, it is obedient.

This picture is best described in the words of Capt Olsen: "Classic. Sidewinders desperate for approval."

On the Fourth of July, once we finished the test on the OTSMAN (the 91-page document previously mentioned), we spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how to celebrate the holiday which clearly meant a lot to all of us. Unfortunately, being confined to the OTS (Officer Training School) campus, we had few options. When darkness fell, we marched to the drill pad to "practice drill" and see if we could view the Montgomery fireworks from there. No luck. Instead, we sat in a circle on the blacktop and told our favorite Fourth of July stories. Later, back at the dorms, we discovered that the Montgomery fireworks were actually in the opposite direction than where we had been looking. We caught the end of them, and with the men singing "God Bless America" and most of the Sidewinders crowded into one dorm room, it was certainly a unique Fourth of July. We finished up the night with a game of Phase 10 and went to bed.

From now on, no Fourth of July will be complete without reflective PT gear, reflective belts, camelbaks, and flashlights with detachable cones.

With that, I will end this post and say that as crazy as the first week was, the following weeks continued to become increasingly more exciting. Be forewarned.