I like it. Well, I learned to like it. You have made me crazier, more angry, more dependent on Red Bull, and jaded. I wake up some days debating on going in or just to continue to lay in bed. But I still show up. It’s not the possible jail time that makes me continue if I were to abandon you. But because I think someone, somewhere possibly depends on me. I don’t always make the right call, I don’t always do the right thing, I make more enemies than I do friends. But I still show up. Angry, bitter, hopped up on a caffeine product that will most likely shorten my life span, but in the hopes that it gets better and strive to try and make it better. That I will make the right call, do the right thing, and make more friends than enemies.

I’ve met people that made me remember who I was, saw situations that made me remember why I gladly escaped similar circumstances years before. People who I wanted to be, and insipred me to where I wanted to go. But, there is something there that leaves me bitter, lingering for something that you haven’t given me, or I haven’t found. Maybe my next location will be different, maybe that someone who told me it’d be different and that despite the same bullshit I deal with could be there. That I would enjoy it. I hope that person is in fact, right. I know I have a back up plan, one that I thought I have given up on, that at one point I called, “a useless institution that wasted four years of your life that left you broke, paying off loans for too long, leaving you in a career you would never like”.

I don’t know. I have taken a chance on you, like the same chance you gave me. I’ll still continue to try, I can’t let myself give up or give in.

But it still doesn’t change the fact that you are not for me.

Yours Truly,
Ian

PS – Silly string has made it bit a more bearable, please issue a national stock number for it so we can get more on order.

I love a good user interface, and I’ve loved Macs for so long because it’s a good, solid UI. It’s pretty much been the same since 19huzabuzah, and it works. I think the iPhone OS UI is too simplistic. Black background, 4×5 block of apps, and that’s it. To be honest, the HTC Evo home screen is pretty much what I expect a smartphone home page to be, it’s what I hoped the iPhone OS interface could be. However, even with OS 4 coming out in the Fall, it’s still going to be the same. The same bleak, bland interface, but with backgrounds. It should be the date and time being taking the upper fourth, the current weather underneath, and maybe 4 to 8 eight of your most used apps. And then the following pages of apps after, would be the 4×5 block of blandness, all the while getting the Johnny Ive touch.
I have yet to decide if I will buy a 4G iPhone when it comes out, or buy out my AT&T contract and jump ship. Android seems to get better and better, while my lovely little iPhone just goes, “Hey, I’m here. I’m still behind the game but if it were 4 years ago, I’d be awesome!”
Is this the start of me jumping off the HMS Apple? Not so much, it is me however, craving that Apple-formula that’s worked so well in other products. My advice to everyone else, look at the iPhone, and look at the latest HTC offerings. Either way you probably wont be disappointed, but play with both handsets, make your choice, and you will not be disappointed. Smartphones are the future, and the future is gonna rock.

I’m still editing about a hundred-and-fifty photos, and each one is taking me around thirty minutes to complete. At least, my new iMac can keep up with it all. I’ve been toying with the idea of buying a new iMac since I saw the new 27″ model debut. So when my 24″ model finally bit the bucket (it couldn’t take the heat of being on for almost three years straight!), I took the dive after my ”inner-voice” convinced me it was a good idea.

“Hey Ian, buy that iMac. It’s a good idea. Yeah Ian! It’s a good idea, you’ve been eye-fucking that iMac for two months now!”

Goddamned inner-voice.

But now that I’m slowly catching up, other little foibles show up. The stress is annoying, but it’s tolerable. I mean, if you let it get to you, they win. And we just can’t have them winning, can we?

via facebook.com

Posted via web from ianmunroe’s posterous

I like it, I really do. And despite what you think, you’ll like it too. Just get your hands on one and you’ll realize that this something you’ve been wanting for the longest time.

To my new 32gb iPad, Issac. The name was inspired from the old Apple Newton.

The Year Of No Media – I spent 2009 with the goal of acquiring no physical media of any kind. No CDs, no DVDs, no books, no magazines, no newspapers, no comics, no nothin’. It turned out to be a comprehensive report card on the transition from physical to digital media. What kinds of physical media can you do without? And which forms of information and entertainment have been completely passed by?

The rules I’m going to abide by are pretty simple.

• Can not, will not buy/trade any physical, tangible source of media. This includes newspapers, magazines, books, compact disc, digital video disc, video games. Note: This does not restrict my use of buying camera/Apple gear, etc.
• If I wish to procure any kind of media, it has to be completely digital and be from a digital source (iTunes, iBooks, AppStore, Amazon/Kindle store, Netflix, Mac|Life/magazine pdf subscription, etc.). It can not come on a disc to be transferred to my computer.

This isn’t that hard to figure out, but if you talk to anyone who knows me will say that the hardest challenge in this is going to be the procurement of video games. I could just jailbreak my PS3, or my XBox 360 and torrently download pirated copies of the latest and greatest games. But that’s just not legal, and let’s face it, I wont be  able to survive prison.
So will I be able to make it? *shrugs* It should be fun to try. Maybe, maybe if I’m good about this, I’ll actually post updates. (I’m horribly bad at that )

This is going to be a two part post. First part is of ten (10) things that make me happy with no explanation. Then, following some time, I’ll follow up the post with an explanation as to why the item makes/made me happy. Why they make me happy is not really important, some/most are a release for me, while others co-inside with each other and then lead to some of the better memories I have.  But that’s gonna come later, for now though, just the list.

a. Standing behind my camera.
b. A good piece of music, preferably classical or ’92 to ’94 Rock Alternative.
c. A good, long drive.
d. An interesting book.
e. A warm night, a clear sky and a half moon.
f. Legos.
g. A real conversation.
h. A B-movie, whether it be kung-fu, sci-fi, horror, or a combination of all three.
i. Baseball.
j. Being able to write.

March 1st, it becomes official. I enter the NCO tier. Staff Sergeant or Bust. Wooo…. *twirls fingers*

One of the last few snapshots of my Uncle Norman that I took.

With billions of people on the planet, you can without a doubt that maybe 70 to 80 percent of them will say that they are the greatest. Of that range, maybe only 10 precent are truly the greatest. However, that leaves 2o to 30 percent of the original population of the planet. I’d like to think that of those people, a small percentage of maybe 3 to 5 are actually great but they don’t say it, and they don’t have to. There’s a quiet dignity to that, you may not think you’re great. You may not achieve the popular thinking of what being great is. But setting the example, living life to the fullest, having a loving family, being able to tell a good story , you don’t have to say you’re great, or hell, even know you’re great. To do just what you do so well, I think that’s the measure of greatness. Wether you believe you are or not. I believe Norman Zinn was one of these people.
I never knew the difference between a dirt and gravel road, and to be honest, I never really cared to know the difference. Gravel roads have dirt in them, right? So in a way it’s a dirt road. When I took a picture outside my Aunt and Uncle’s house and titled it, “Dirt Road”. Norman thought I needed to be educated on the differences between gravel roads and dirt roads, and he did so in a eloquently written email that was topped by a personal story.

Once after a heavy rain my parents decided we’d go visit my Uncle John and Aunt Norah Rodecap.  They lived at the top of a hill, but my dad was a very good driver, so he thought he’d give it a try.  (Aunt Norah was an excellent cook; perhaps if it had been someone else, we’d have stayed home.)  We made it to the bottom of the hill without too many frightening skids and started up.  About three-fourths of the way up it becamse apparent Dad could not get enough traction to make it all the way to the top and Uncle John’s driveway.  Dad backed down carefully as far as he could go, revved up the motor and took another shot at it.  Mom and we kids were truly scared, imagining ourselves in a ditch bruised and bleeding; again Dad’s skill kept us in the road, but we got only a foot or two further on this attempt.  Driving in reverse again back down the hill, Dad maintained his determination.  We took another hair raising shot at it and had to back down the hill a third time.  But Dad wouldn’t give up.  When we got back to the bottom of the hill the third time, he turned the car around and we started up the hill backwards.  Reverse was better geared for slick surfaces than the forward gears, and this time we made it.

I have always had this admiration for Norman, I would tell his stories, not as my own, but to share my enthusiasm. Every story he told me, and even sent me, it was his own unique voice. You could imagine him in his coveralls with a red shirt underneath, at the hearts table, drinking his Red Delicious (Budweiser to everyone else), telling the story in his own deep, welcoming voice. Or at least that’s how I imagined him. And then as he would play his hand at hearts, he would tell the story. It would almost be like a conductor directing his symphony, with the tone and enthusiasm he told the story.
The Concerto of Norman in the key of F Sharp.
And I’m sure anyone who ever read his book, Half n’ Half, heard his stories, or even read his emailed memories series, could attest to this.
We would email back and forth, comparing our military experiences with both of ours taking place overseas. His in the more exotic France, and mine taking place in the Idaho of Europe… Germany. And even in two different branches as well, him in World War Two era US Army, and mine in the Global War on Terror era US Air Force. But it’s amazing that in between the years, how similar both of our experiences have been. So many years can go by, millions of things can change, but the fundamental experiences are the same. To this day, it still blows my mind.
One of the earlier conversations we shared via email, lasted from 18 September 2006 to 27 September 2006, always holds a special place to me. The emails were pretty much a game of catch up for us, I was closing in on my one year date at Ramstein, and I already had one year under my Air Force belt. But, it started off innocently enough with us talking about the food from the regions where we were stationed, and loved. Comparing pay, which for a year before he entered, he had received 15 dollars for a 63 hour week, and I had received 1,705.20 dollars for two weeks regardless the amount of hours I worked. With the food, he would dine in what now are some of the fanciest restaurants in Paris, off the Champs Elysses. However, the cooks were still GIs, as was the food. My experience at that point was the only chow hall on base, and for the time we had to share it with the German Bundeswehr (and more often than not they didn’t shower or wore deodorant).

A propos of food, how is the dining in civilian restaurants?  Anything special?  When Judie and I went to Paris, she was afraid she’d starve because she wouldn’t be able to find anything she wouldn’t be afraid to eat.  I kept telling her there were McDonalds and Pizza Huts all over the place, but she still had a lot of trepidation until I took her to a cafeteria I had patronized when I had been in Paris a few years earlier.  She was most relived when she found she could get pot roast, mashed potatoes, carrots etc.  .  She was good sport enough to try French restaurants, and by the time we left she was  ordering magret de canard (that’s rare duck breast) and things like that.  She especially enjoyed the bakery shops.  You can’t find anything as good in Omaha.

We also talked about sex, but to keep this PG-13 rated, I’ll simply quote one line from the reply on 22 September:

To continue our discussion of sex.  After 81 years and a variety of partners.
I have only one regret.  I never got enough.

That line still makes me smile and laugh a little bit, because I have feeling at that age I’ll be giving the same line to my grandkids or grand nephews/nieces should the same conversation ever develop.
I never thought my 100th blog post would be a sort of eulogy/remembrance post. But if there is someone I would want to feature on my centurial post, it would be Norman Zinn. The man who would give me countless advice, refine my writing and photography crafts, and tell stories to amuse/relate/improve my moods. I’ll end this from an email he sent me 15 June, 2009. He had come down from Omaha to visit me and Kendra. I had taken leave after my first deployment, and Norman and I agreed that we’d go to Kansas and visit each other and swap stories and such. Sadly, I wasn’t able to spend enough time with him as I wanted too.

I guess one thing I would have said to you on parting is that I am proud of you.  One who serves his country honorably will always feel that he has gone beyond just the requirements of being a member of a society, and that deserves the respect of his fellow citizens.
One thing you can be proud of is the maturity you have achieved.  I could wish you a little more vocal, but I know we didn’t really have too much opportunity for sincere conversation.  You have grown into such a fine young man, as contrasted with the somewhat spoiled brat you were before your enlistment, that you cannot but command my admiration.

He will forever be my hero. I love you, Stormin’ Norman.