Memoirs of a Fetid Mind.

Turn that dang thing off and go read a book or something!”  As a young mind, my parents always encouraged me to spend time on what they considered constructive activities.  Much to their credit, these activities prepared me both physically and mentally to meet the challenges of adult life.  Nevertheless, television and movies were both equally influential instruments in my upbringing.  Using these sources as a catalyst, my parents would orchestrate opportunities for constructive discussion and debate.  In doing so, there were no formalities, only the enjoyment of a good movie and each other’s company.  After which, we would almost invariably engage in some sort of discussion; on a good night, controversy would lead us to a full-blown debate.  With the messages of the media, my parents significantly influenced my childhood with powerful preparatory experiences that shaped the way I thought as a child, and consequentially the way I act today.

For clarity, the use of the word “media” refers to all forms of television and movies, inclusively. Spanning between 1986 through 1997, a little over a decade, my childhood memories are saturated with speckles of images from over 2000 movies and countless hours of television ranging from Star Trek, to The Simpsons, to a host of animal nature shows.  Well over half of which was time spent with either my mother, during the day, or my father, usually in the evenings or on weekends.  Some of my fondest memories are the times I spent with both my parents and my younger brother Russell watching movies.  Such times afforded us as a family to engage on various theological and philosophical discussions, debates on ethics and morality, and daydreams of future technologies and modes of life.

Born in 1980, the first movie I can remember watching was Poltergeist II, which came out in 1986. That movie scared the hell out of me, but not for the same reasons that kept little boys awake at night.  The impression of Craig T. Nelson swallowing that tequila worm is unforgettable.  Antagonists of the “boob tube” argue that media warps little children’s perception of reality.  What really warped me was that after the movie, my dad told me that people really did drink tequila worms.  Yuck!  At a very young age, my parents helped me understand that not everything in media was true.  On the other hand, they also taught me that movies were an artistic representation or extension of the world we live in and the world we perceive.

Now there is a huge difference between passive and active watching of media.  No one can watch a room full of grown men, moan, groan, shout obscenities, make all manner of gesticulations towards a television for 2 hours, and call it passive.  In America, the NBA finals or the SuperBowl most commonly induces this phenomenon.  In my family, The World Cup Soccer Championships, held every four years, were the catalysts.  It was in these fantastically fanatical instances that I adopted my father’s ability to observe tendencies in performance and behavior, make conclusions, and predict the game’s outcome all in real-time. It was here that my father taught me to avoid being biased in judgment, to speak out against injustice whether it was caused by the opposing team or not.  As an adult, I am more aware of the injustices caused by biased judgment and avoid such in both my personal and business interactions.

Movies like Short Circuit (1986) and Batteries Not Included (1987) opened my family to discussions of what the very definition of what life was.  If something walks, talks, and acts like a duck, then why is it not a duck?  Can artificial intelligence become so sophisticated that God would put a soul into it?  If everything God did was good and He decided to put a soul into a robot then who were we to complain?  My family openly discussed questions like this after just about every movie we watched together.  It did not matter the subject matter or who took what position.  If it the matters were controversial, we would want to talk about it.  This attitude eventually extended beyond the boundaries of the living room and into my daily adult interactions. Like a dog, my ears perk up to the high-pitched whistle of an opposing opinion.

The first time I attempted to watch The Silence of the Lambs (1991) was during my winter vacation in 1992.  It was around Christmas time and all my cousins were playing with their toys in other rooms or outside.  When my grandmother realized what I was watching she was gasped, shocked and appalled.  Screaming as if stumbling upon bloody murder, she called to my father who, for the sake of avoiding trouble asked me to stop watching the movie.  What was in that movie that my Grandmother did not want me to see?  If she could watch it, why could I not?

  A few years later, I watched the movie with my father and learned of the clairvoyant like powers of psychology.  We discussed how there were real people in society who were so disturbed and demented and how they were capable of committing such atrocious acts.  We discussed how warped the minds of individuals can become and debated to what degree they were accountable.  We also discussed how God might judge these individuals. During this time, I was exposed to the frailties of the human psyche.  As I matured in years, I learned to recognize my dark side and that of others.  I knew not judge others so quickly and have compassion even for a homicidal cannibal. 

As a child, I was nurtured in an environment where anything and everything could be questioned.  For my family, it is not enough to go to the doctor’s office and have them fix whatever ailed us. We had to know how and why a remedy worked.  Sometime after the release in 1992, my father introduced me to the movie, Lorenzo's Oil.  Based on a true story, my father was well aware of the controversy of the positive effects of Essential Fatty Acids on neurological degenerative diseases.  My parents helped me understand how this story challenged Western medical philosophies and practices.  In some resulted measure, I am a strong advocate for the benefits of alternative medicine particularly in the area of nutritional healing.  When I go to the doctor’s office, I generally provide the most probable prognosis along with a list of conventional and alternative forms of treatment.  I tell them which one I think is the best and then ask them for their analysis and recommendations.

My parents would always try to encourage their children to participate in a wide variety of enriching activities especially those that stimulated the mind.  Around seven or eight years of age, my father taught me how to play chess.  Many years later however, I thought it odd how my father would avoid playing chess with me as my abilities grew to a more competitive level.  I gained some insight to this when I watched Searching for Bobby Fischer (1993).  To my father chess was sacred.  It was the sport of geniuses.  My father was not the type to let his child win.  If we were to be superior in any way, we had to earn this title.  He also knew that the consequence of either of two outcomes was unacceptable.  If I never beat him, I would become so discouraged that I would give up on chess altogether.  If I beat him, I would rub it in his face forever!  My father did not want to participate in something that might create amenity between us.  He used the story of Bobby Fischer to help me understand this.

For my sixteenth birthday, I decided to break away from the routine of just having family over to celebrate.  I made invitations and gave them to many of my friends from school, to include a few girls that I had interest in at the time.  This was going to be my sweetest party yet!  Well past the appointed hour, no one had come with the exception of a female acquaintance from church.  I felt embarrassed, as I had no other friends there.  It would have almost been better for her not to have come and in hind sight I wonder if her parents made her come.  This was so different from the Brazilian culture that was instilled in me.  In Brazil, people made every effort to come to parties.  My soul was particularly sensitive that night and my family empathized with me.  They were faithfully there for support and to cheer me up my father said, “Hey, I have a great movie that we could watch!  For better or for worse, my family used media cope with the problems of everyday life.

My dad had rented the movie Braveheart (1995) to watch for my birthday.  Aside from the gore of the movie, it was an extremely romantic film.  Encompassing the virtues of childhood love, courtship, marriage, honor, courage, and freedom, these things touched my heavy heart.  How enraged was I when I saw the English soldiers murder the wife of William Wallace?  With each intense scene, goose bumps came and went like the rising tide of the sea.  The very hairs stood on our arms like soldiers at attention, ready for the battle of Armageddon.  I remember looking at my fathers face at one point and seeing goose bumps even on his face! Oh, how we talked about this movie to the wee hours of the morning.  Thereafter, we watched the movie a good ten or more times.  I myself watched it thirty or more times alone.  To this day, it is one of the most powerful movies I watched with my family.  My family taught me to stand up for what was right and, even though it was about a Scottish legend, Braveheart fanned the flame of our patriotism for Brazil.

Who would have thought a janitor to be a mathematical genius?  Looks can be so deceiving.  When I watched Good Will Hunting (1997) in my home my family discussed the potential that others may have, especially our own.  Through therapy, Will Hunting learned to cope with his destructive and self-defeating feelings and build a life of success.  It took years for me to learn to do the same thing and take control of my educational destiny.  For some reason I had developed not a fear of failure but a fear of success.  I identified with the story of Good Will Hunting, which helped my father understand my difficulties in both my junior and senior years of high school.  Having tested completely out of high school and attending college at young age it was hard for him to understand why I avoided taking the SATs and ACTs.  When we watched Good Will Huntingtogether, it opened the floor for my many feelings of inadequacy in high school.  At 25, I am trying to make up for some lost time.

My first words were in Portuguese and soon thereafter; I started learning English along with Portuguese.  My parents encouraged me to learn languages.  I originally watched the Italian film, La Vida Bellaor Life Is Beautiful (1997) when I was in Brazil with my mother.  Then my mother and I watched the movie in Italian with Portuguese subtitles.  By doing this, we learned the differences of Italian and Portuguese and trained our ears to understand Italian better.  Finally, we watched the movie in English with Portuguese sub-titles.  This taught me how grossly mistranslated things can be, which opened discussion of how the bible can be so grossly mistranslated as well.  The message of the movie itself was that life is what one made of it.  For the little boy, World War II was just a game.  Life was all about perception.  The discussion of inaccurate translation further opened my mind to the all the religious confusion in the world today.  The timing of the message of the movie was interesting; in that it helped me realize the both the positive and negative impact, our perceptions can have on us.

Although, watching movies with my family had a great affect on my childhood, television shows such as Star TrekThe Simpsons, and numerous science shows on The Discovery Channel provided countless hours of discussion and debate.  Episodes of Star Trek, both the original and all others that followed, opened discussions for the laws of Physics, contemporary advances in this field, and theoretical physics that supported much of the science that went into making Star Trek.  Star Trek also allowed us to analyze what was considered good leadership.  The Simpsons allowed my family to evaluate cultural norms, discuss gender roles, acceptable and unacceptable child behavior, and question the historical value of satirical references.

Like the food industry, “puritan parents” go to great lengths to make sure what they provide to their children is as fresh as possible.  They sanitize and wash; commercials, television channels, and the contents of shows to make sure they kill every single germ!  Parents want to make sure there kids will not digest anything dirty while they “busy” doing other things.  In numerous countries around the world, consumers can find varying forms of foods that involve the use of bacteria.  Modern science has taught us that not all bacteria are bad.  Yogurt, for example, is essentially spoiled milk.  These days, Yogurt is advertised with the positive health claim the product “contains active cultures.”  Too much media can be like junk food for the mind. Much like yeast though, the leavening power of the media can expand the mind when mixed with the proper ingredients.  However, if watching television really does rot the mind then perhaps I should ask my therapist for a Mental Monistat prescription, if my insurance will cover it.

NMCI: Non-Mission Capable Intranet

Last year, about this same time, I was introduced to a service known as the Navy-Marine Corps Intranet or NMCI.  Peace I have never known since.  The Marine Corps' mission is “First to Fight.”  However, under the NMCI tyranny, the Marine Corps' mission has been reduced to “Fight to print.”  NMCI is not only a hindrance to this mission; it is the most poorly run organization I have ever seen.

 

As an enlisted, prior service, Marine, I had the “First-to-Fight” philosophy indoctrinated and infused into my very soul.  By design, the Marine Corps is the smallest branch of the Uniformed Services.  It enables them to be anywhere in the world, ready to fight, within 24 hours.  When I was sent to Personnel Administration School, this mentality was reinforced into something as simple as filling out a form.  We spent week after week meticulously learning block by block of form after form.  Every word, date, and even punctuation mark was assessed for correct syntax and placement.  This level of “analness” ensured that the form would reach its target, the very first time, without further delays due to administrative error.  In an indirect way proper punctuation saved lives.

 

Presently, I continue to serve the Marine Corps as a federal employee for the Department of Defense as a Budget Technician.  There are many responsibilities placed upon my shoulders to include the extensive keeping of financial records for auditing purposes.  In my office, there stands two, six-foot tall, three-feet wide shelving filled to capacity with a wealth of white, three-inch binders.  Within these binders are hundreds of thousands of pages and pages of source documentation of what was paid for by whom in the past six years and three months.  The preponderance of pages are products of a reputable piece of office equipment known as a printer.

 

When I first started my job nine months ago, I was given an HP 2500L.  It was a beastly looking thing, clunky and slow.  I would often print to the Network Printer across the hallway when I had several jobs that needed to be printed at once.  The plus was that mine printed in color, and I soon became accustomed to having this trusty printer by my side.  Retrospectively I ask, why do things seem to break at the most crucial moment?  When an honest worker’s car battery dies, it is not when he is coming home from work, but when he has to go to work the next morning that the darn thing decides to give out.  My printer was no exception to this rule.  It was as if by whim, my printer started jamming more than a Harlem Globetrotter.

 

Fortunately for me, we have a printer repairman on base.  Aside from the inconvenience of removing all the cables, carrying the printer to my car, putting it in the car, and hauling this contraption over to his office, I knew that I would be well taken care of.  Back in my office I waited.  Much to my satisfaction, I received a call later that day from the repairman who told me I could pick up the printer as he had fixed the problem.  So I drove the mile and a half to his office, hefted the printer back to my car, drove back to my office, and plugged everything back in.  It was here that I become impressed with my repairman’s technical proficiency as I discovered that he had skillfully reconfigured the print test page option to execute a jam with paper function instead.  In my admiration, the flashing red light blinked defiantly at me.

 

Now this is no ordinary case of an amateur who does not know how to un-jam a printer.  I made several expert attempts to resolve my situation both before and after the repairman had serviced it.  This only served to rouse my soul with anguish.  Once again I made my pilgrimage back to the Holy Repair Office, where death hath no claim upon office equipment, and offered up my prayers upon the wailing wall of want.  A hush came over the room as the Printer Prophet approached me with his wisdom, “It will be cheaper to buy a new printer than to fix the one you have.  You must forsake and forget your trusted companion and look onward for a new printer.”

“I’ll need a loaner,” I said discontentedly as I bid adieu to the carcass.  Moments later, I was issued an HP 1320N, and I happily carried this newer, and smaller, model back to my office.  Oh, how I wish things could have ended there!  The HP 1320N was much faster than the 2500L.  At 22 pages per minute I was more productive than ever.  It was like driving a Porsche after having a Pinto for so long.  Sure, it didn’t print color, but on the occasion that I needed such there was a color network printer down the hall.  Besides, with a quick approval from NMCI, I could place the order for a new high-speed color printer.  In a week or so life should have returned to normal. One month later, the approval continued to evade me.  Periodically, I made inquiries upon the status with no replies.  I did not fret too much nonetheless as I had the loaner. Suddenly, the all too familiar sound of a printer jam returned to haunt my weary working days and soon my loaner was another “goner.”

 

It took several months for the approval to go through, an ordeal that would rival many books of the Bible in size were I to describe it.  Suffice it to say that my request was signed.  No, not just signed by any common employee from NMCI.  It was signed by Mr. NMCI himself (at least as far as we, on base, were concerned).  After all, it was the least he could do, right?  It was that same day I placed the order!  The customer service representative informed me that my brand new HP 4250 would be delivered in a week.  Life was good!  Life was worth living again and oh, how I wish it could just leave it at that.

 

With glee I opened the delivered box and—ahh, the smell of new plastic and the sound of squeaky Styrofoam. Like a child on Christmas morning I pulled the printer out of the box and eagerly attached it to my computer.  Windows’ Plug-and-Play recognized my printer instantly and began automatically installing the drivers when on my screen flashed “You are not authorized to install new hardware on this computer.  Please contact your local Administrator.”  Computerus interruptus, I was almost there!  I tried again.  The same message flashed upon my screen.  In vain I tried several more attempts.  Like an addicted gambler at an impious slot-machine, I would pray that God would miraculously let each attempt be the one exception.  I soon came to my senselessness and called the NMCI “Help-less” Desk.

 

The less than talented technician was unsuccessful in resolving my problem.  “This will have to be forwarded to your local NMCI representative,” he stated apathetically.  This was unacceptable.  I had obeyed the message on my screen; I called!  I realized square one status and the light at the end of my tunnel grew dim.  Frustrated, I complied.  Days later, I received an e-mail from one of the local NMCI technicians.  He stated that my printer was not on the NMCI pre-approved list and that I would have to get another printer.  “What do you mean it’s not on the list?  Your boss signed the approval himself,” I said furiously, as I scanned my office for the very document with this man’s signature and all the supplemental paper work.  My cluster bomb of an e-mail went straight to the technician and everyone else I could think of.  I explicitly described the injustice that had occurred.  So well worded was my message that surely I would emerge victorious!  No, not only was I defeated, but my printer became the red-headed step-child of office equipment.

Why did defeat come so suddenly?  Days before, when I had opened the box and removed the pristine printer from its packaging, I had subsequently tossed the box and undesirables into the trash outside.  The trash man since then did his job, which I found to be a novelty.  Having contacted the vendor in attempt to return the printer, I learned that not only is the box required for returns, if it was opened, they would not accept it.  The only exception to this was if the printer was “Dead on Arrival.”  Here I was stuck with a printer that no one wanted and I could not return.

 

This was my struggle.  The Marine Corps signed a contract with NMCI to improve security.  The first stages of this were to have NMCI technicians come and re-image everyone’s hard drive, better known as the NMCI roll-over.  What was next, we would joke around the office, playing dead?  With lacerated pride I looked at my impotent printer and learned my lesson well.  They weren’t playing.

NMCI: Non-Mission Capable Intranet

Last year, about this same time, I was introduced to a product known as the Navy-Marine Corps Intranet or NMCI. Peace I have never known since.  The Marine Corps mission is “First to Fight.” NMCI is not only a hindrance to this mission it is the most poorly run organization I have ever seen.  Under the tyranny of NMCI, the Marine Corps mission has been reduced to “Fight to Print.”

As an enlisted, prior service, Marine, I had the “First-to-Fight” philosophy indoctrinated and infused into my very soul.  The Marine Corps is the smallest branch of the Uniformed Services by design.  It enables them to be anywhere in the world, ready to fight, within 24 hours.  When I was sent to Personnel Administration School, this mentality was reinforced into something as simple as filling out a form.  We spent week after week meticulously learning block by block of form after form. Every word, date, and even punctuation mark was assessed for correct syntax and placement.  This level of “anal-ness” ensured that the form would reach its target, the very first time, without further delays due to administrative error.  It would not be grossly inaccurate to say that in an indirect way proper punctuation saved lives.

Presently, I continue to serve the Marine Corps as a civilian as a Budget Technician for the Department of Defense. There are many responsibilities placed upon my shoulders to include the extensive keeping of financial records for auditing purposes.  In my office, there stands two, six-foot tall, three-feet wide shelves filled to capacity with a plethora of white, three-inch binders.  Within these binders are hundreds of thousands of pages of what was paid for in the past six years and three months, children of a well known piece of office equipment known as a printer. 

When I first started my job nine months ago, I was given an HP 2500L.  It was a beastly looking thing, clunky and slow.  I would often print to the Network Printer across the hallway when I had several jobs that needed to be printed at once. The plus was that it printed in color, and I soon became accustomed to having this printer by my side.  Why is it that things seem to break at the most crucial moment?  When the honest working man’s car battery goes dead, it’s not when he is coming home from work, but when he has to go to work the next morning, that the damn thing decides to give out.  My printer was no exception to this rule.  It was as if by whim, my printer started jamming more than a Harlem Globetrotter.

Fortunately for me, we have a printer repairman on base.  Aside from the inconvenience of removing all the cables, carrying the printer to my car, putting it in the car, and hauling this contraption over to his office, I knew that I would be well taken care of.  Back in my office I waited. That very same day the repairman called me up and told me to come pick up the printer as he had fixed the problem.  Once again, I drove the mile and a half to his office and hefted the printer to my car and back into my office.  Now I am certain that the button that I pushed read “Print test page,” and not “Jam printer with paper,” but sure enough, the flashing red light blinked mockingly at me.

Now this is no ordinary case of an amateur who does not know how to un-jam a printer.  I made several expert attempts to resolve my situation both before and after the repairman had serviced it.  This only proved to kindle my new found hell. Once again I made my pilgrimage back to the Holy repair office where death had no claim upon the office equipment and offered up my prayers to the Computer Angels.  “It will be cheaper to buy a new printer than to fix the one you have.”  The Printer Prophet had spoken!  There was nothing to do but forsake and forget my trusted companion and look onward for a new printer.

“I’ll need a loaner,” I said as I set the carcass down.  Moments later, I was issued an HP 1320N, and I happily carried this newer, and smaller, model back to my office.  Oh, how I wish things could have ended there!  The HP 1320N was much faster than the 2500L.  At 22 pages per minute I was more productive than ever.  It was like driving a Porsche.  Sure, it didn’t print color, but on the occasion that I needed such there was a color network printer down the hall.  Besides, all I needed was approval from NMCI and I could place the order for my new printer. In a week life would return to normal. Weeks went by without approval.  Occasionally, I made inquiries upon the status with no replies.  I did not fret too much though.  I had the loaner.  Suddenly, the all too familiar sound of a printer jam returned to haunt my weary work days and soon my loaner was another “goner.”

It took several months for the approval to go through, an ordeal that would rival many books of the Bible in size were I to describe it.  Suffice it to say that my request was signed.  No, not just signed by any common employee from NMCI.  It was signed by Mr. NMCI himself.  At least as far as we, on base, were concerned.  It was that same day I placed the order!  The customer service representative informed me that my brand new HP 4250 would be delivered in a week.  Life was good!  Oh, how I wish it could have ended there!

With glee I opened the delivered box and—ahh, the smell of new plastic and the sound of squeaky Styrofoam. Like a child on Christmas morning I pulled the printer out of the box and eagerly attached it to my computer.  On my screen flashed “You are not authorized to install new hardware on this computer.  Please contact your local Administrator.”  “Damn,” I thought, “I’m so close!”  I tried again.  The same message flashed upon my screen.  In vain I tried several more attempts.  Like an addicted gambler at an impious slot-machine, I would pray that God would miraculously let each attempt be the one exception.  I soon came to my senses.  I had to call the NMCI “Help-less” Desk.

Years ago Bill Gates introduced a marvelous feature known as plug-and-play through his product Microsoft windows. With this feature, one could effortlessly plug-in one of the tens of thousands of pre-registered devices for which Microsoft had device drivers for.  There was no floppy disk or CD to worry about, no progress indicator window.  All this was automatically taken care of with the plug and play feature.  NMCI has created a barrier to this feature by requiring you to call the HELP DESK and request the device to be installed.

The not-so-talented technician was unsuccessful in resolving my problem.  “This will have to be forwarded to your local NMCI representative,” he stated apathetically.  This was unacceptable.  I obeyed the message.  Yet somehow, I was back at square one.  Frustrated, I complied.  Days later, I received an e-mail from one of the local NMCI technicians.  He stated that my printer was not on the NMCI pre-approved list and that I would have to get another printer.  “What do you mean it’s not on the list?” I thought.  Your boss signed the approval himself.  Furious, I scanned the very document with this man’s signature and all supplemental paper work.  I e-mailed it back to the technician and everyone else I could think of.  I explicitly described the injustice that had occurred.  I thought, so well worded was my e-mail that surely I would win this squabble.  Not only was I defeated, but my printer became the red-headed step-child of office equipment.

Days ago when I had opened the box and removed the pristine printer from its packaging I had subsequently tossed the box and undesirables into the trash outside.  Having contacted the Vendor in attempt to return the printer, I learned that not only is the box required for returns, if it was opened, they would not accept it.  The only exception to this was if the printer was “Dead on Arrival.”  Here I was stuck with a printer that no one wanted and I could not return.

This was my struggle.  The Marine Corps had signed a contract with NMCI to improve security.  The first stages of this were to have NMCI technicians come and re-image everyone’s hard drive.  To them, this was known as an NMCI roll-over. What was next playing dead?  Here I stood defeated with lacerated pride.  I had learned a lesson.  We weren’t playing.