The Navy's Blue Jacket Manual gives proper procedure upon entering the quarterdeck.
Come to attention, salute the ensign properly (the United States Flag), and showing your ID say "Permission to come aboard."

The air is cold and dry out here and I was on the way back to pick up some chapstick from the exchange. It's about a quarter to half-mile walk away.
"Permission to come aboard?" I stated to the watch personnel.
"Permission granted." He looked at me closely. "What the hell is all over your face?"
This rash thing has gotten worse. I think the cold air made it flame up. My hands are so swollen that I have no feeling aside from a tingling sensation. The same kind of numbness that comes from sitting on your hands all day. My knuckles are also disappearing, and I cannot remove my ring. It kind of hurts. All over my body, it feels like poison ivy. So I went to the hospital.
After fumbling around with my blood pressure, it was repeatedly high like 180 something over like 90 or 100. The machine was broke. It only took four of these test and a question of weather or not High blood pressure ran in my family, where I had to explain that the opposite was true, that they decided to try it manually.
"There we go," he said jotting down more notes on a clipboard. "That’s much better."
I had to strip to my skivvies and gown in the hospital's height of fashion before the doctor would see me.
"Wow! That is all over!" he reassured me. "Well it's definitely hives."
Hives are still a scary thing to me. But at the same time a relief that it wasn't ring or hook worm or scabies, or even contagious.
I was given five steroid pills, (Prednisone Fifty MG Tab *54343*) to take every day until they run out.
I was also given Diphenhydramine 25 Mg Cap *e648* to take as needed every four hours for the itching.
I was told it wasn't serious enough to need a shot, yet but if it continues or gets worse I'll need to come back.
The Doctor asked me if I had tried anything new in the past few days, food, soap, detergent. I told him no and that I thought it was due to the sheetless mattress that I had woken up on two nights prior.
"Oh it couldn't be that." he insisted, but then again he hasn't seen my fifty year old skin soaked, scabies infested bed.
The duty driver and I talked about this and he said it's happened before and it was in fact the mattress, and told me to change it out and what the 'good' one to get was.
On the topside with my hands looking the way they do it dwarfs my swollen ankles to a normal state.

The day after I left my son started to crawl.
Today I hear he just said 'da da'
The only thing that saves me from the guilt of not being there, is knowing that my sacrifice, our sacrifice will guarantee us a better life than I could possibly have in Detroit. Better than any one else who thinks they know more about what to do with my life as well.

"You have an AT&T collect call from...'Corey'...Do you wish to accept the charges?"
-click-
...
ring

This is how I call my wife. She denies the charges and then immediately calls me back at the pay phone from her cellular which goes into free unlimited long distance at 10pmest.
Long into the conversation the call is dropped.
We're are able to fly a man to the moon, nuke the world into oblivion, and yet a simple cell is hard to hold onto. I suppose the general public is still getting used to 'dial tone'
We are that stupid believe me.
NAVY. FIGHTING FOR YOUR RIGHT OF STUPIDITY
But at least they have microwave white castle burgers.
I remember my sister sometime in middle school having to use the rotary phone at my grandmother's. She pressed and pressed the numbers in those little plastic rings, but for some reason couldn't get the phone to dial. In reward, my parents sent her to college.
I pulled out the 15-minute calling card I got free at the USO yesterday to call my wife back.
Somewhere along the way I accidentally hit '4' instead of the -1- as the third digit of the phone number.

"Hello Leah?"
"No. Who is this?" she said "Corey?"
I was stunned, the voice sounded familiar. All women’s voices sound the same over pay phones. "Ya who is this?"
"Who are you trying to call?"
"Leah, do I have the wrong number?"
"How did you get this number?"
"Who is this?"
"Sally." The pay phone next to mine rang. I picked it up. "Hello?"
"Hi baby."
"Leah let me call you back."
"What!? How?"
"Let me call you back” We fumbled with this for a moment.
-click-
"Hello?" I said into the first phone. "Sally who?"
"Well it used to be fritz. How did you get this number? Who are you trying to call?"
"My wife. What number is this?"
"294-****"
" I dialed the wrong number this is so weird." And the conversation went on for almost ten minutes.

Sally Fritz was a girl I dated in High School my sophomore year. She was my first girl friend in high school actually and by the time I built up the courage to hold her hand, her dad took her away to Virginia or something.
Semper Fi.
It is an odd thing to have my wife’s parent's phone number one digit off from hers. From what I gather she and her husband just bought a house in Taylor. "I'm a homeowner she said." Now when someone tells you that they just bought a house you can immediately assume many things. To know what they are you have to read Generation X by Douglas Coupland.

It turns out that Siobahn; Matthew's old girlfriend was over so we talked for a bit. I never really liked her. In grade eight she wrote in my yearbook that I smelled.
The whole cosmic event reminded me of one of my last nights at home when I ran into Teresa.

Teresa was a girl that I met my freshman year in high school at my first real job. The Allen Park Dollar Theater. I was fourteen.
Her and her friends were my first group that I knew outside of High School. They went to Aquinas and I was a Jaguar. I have stayed in touch with her for all of these seven years. We decided in a half ass email sort of way to get together on the Friday before I left.

Matthew came over and my folks watched Cameron. The three of us L,M, and I headed off into the night.
All I knew was that they go to some bar I remember it was Nics something or the clover or something. It was in downriver. After that they went to J Dubbs.
Not knowing anything other than that about the first bar we drove up and down the lower suburbs. We actually found it. I went in to check and immediately came out smelling as if I had just smoked a carton of cigarettes. It was a Pipestone show waiting to happen. We then headed to Riverview, a city with no view of the river aside from the huge steel plant that occupies it. I waited in line to hearing this week’s local band 'rocking the mix' there was a cover and I hated that scene. We decided not to go.

We set out to drink an hour and a half-ago by this point and with the night still young, or what used to be young we set out to reach our goals. Unfortunately the better bars are on the North Side or at least downtown. I didn't have the time, energy, or the gas. So we opted for a hotel bar. It seemed like a good idea until we found out it was closed. The Red Robin was a few blocks down and we settled to go into there, although none of us really wanted to. A six pack of beer and sitting in a dilapidated farm house in ecorse came reminiscing. We walked into the restaurant to see Teresa and her gang settling down for some drinks. A lot of weird six degrees of separation type stuff happened that I soon left into my scotch on the rocks.
The night ended and we headed home. Other than the train station, and that final night with my wife, these are my last memories of home.

It's really boring here.
I wonder if prison is anymore exciting. At least you’re occupied with having to watch your back. Here though... today, the day after thanksgiving I cashed my cheque, picked up some things I needed from the Exchange, played some pool while half heartily watching a Clint Eastwood marathon on TV. After that I went to the USO again to play a little guitar where I met Glaab's bizarro Mexican other half. Came back here and wasted my afternoon watching more movies. I honestly don't remember what they were. My only escape was calling my wife, which by the way, the weirdest thing happened.
Let me tell you all about it.

Not a pleasant way to wake up.
This morning when I got out of the shower and I was looking into the mirror I saw what appeared to be the letters H O in a rash form on the skin between my eyebrow and lid. To me it really looked like ringworm or hookworm or some other terrifying disgusting ailment. By mid morning it had faded to a soft red spot. The air is really dry here, and it whitens the skin. I went to the NEX to pick up a few things I needed, shampoo (RIP), cotton swabs on a stick (non q-tip brand), shoe polish, juice, and mouthwash. On the walk back my skin began to irritate me. I thought it was only dry skin. When I got back I went to my room to inspect it further. I don't know what the hell slept with me in my bed last night, but on my feet I have two nickel size what look like spider bites. Along my thighs, back of the leg and but are probably around a hundred little tiny bites...that itch like hell. They look like ant bites but less than half the size. I of course scratched them for a good five minutes, which I now regret. Sick call is open on Monday, until then I would have to go to the emergency room. "Building 200H" I was told. I'd like to hope I'll wait until tomorrow to see if it gets any worse. But honestly it feels like sun poisoning, as if bugs were crawling all about me as we speak.
I'll keep you posted.
.

The USO.
When I think of the USO I am reminded of Bing Crosby and Judy Garland...Judy Garland Mostly singing for those off killing the Nazis. In later years it was Bob Hope, recently I read that the new spokesperson for the USO will be none other than Coolio.
Right.... so take that however you want. It's too easy for me.

Thanksgiving.
A time celebrated by the people of America in remembrance of the hundreds of thousands of people we have slaughtered to stretch suburbia from coast to coast, and thousands of strip malls in between. I never really liked Thanksgiving. I didn't like turkey until my young-adult life. And I never enjoy spending forced time with my family and expanding out into the suburban family. Somewhere in Douglas Coupland's Generation X it explains that when the family unit is created people from all over the polar spectrums are thrown together. Thrown together and forced to get along. I have nothing in common with any one in my family, especially in later years. It's not to say I hate them or anything, just the time I have to spend with them. Then there is my extended family, more people thrown together who have nothing in common with my family pushing us that much further apart.
I go out of my way to avoid people I once knew in lieu of evading small talk. Maybe I am a border line sociopath. It's this same small talk that I am forced to spend passing the evening with in the company of my family. I don't care who won the football game, the weather is the same year after year. Sometimes it snows, sometimes it doesn't. I understand that Detroit was once a nice place to live, I've heard all of those stories already. Please pass the potatoes. Sitting in a room usually left dark, at a table reserved for seasonal occasions, using silverware and place setting I've never seen. Faking smiles to avoid being the 'bad guy'. It hasn't been the same since my grandfather died, and probably never will be. I used to like looking at the old photo albums, listening to his old stories. He told of lands before our time, an existence before our family, a world in black and white, and how wonderful things were. My grandmother on the other hand, when she tells us stories of her life before the war, it's always how poor they were, and how we should count our blessings and feel sorry for her. My sister gets dolled up in whatever these months attire is, and prances around through the rooms effortlessly making smiles with everyone. And everyone as fake as her hair.
I suppose my family is no different than yours or anyone else for that matter.
I love them all. But aside from my wife and son I don't miss them at all. It feels nice not to have to spend time with them.

The USO here on base is nothing like what I expected. Actually I'll start earlier.
My uniform along with everything else is in the wash...which reminds me; it's been sitting in the drier for about ten hours now. There were to be high-ranking officers present at the Galley for the big Thanksgiving lunch. It was imperative that you wore your uniform. So I didn't go.
Don't fret I still got my turkey.
The pier club was giving out free dinner. Served in a Salvation Army fashion, although it was still very good. Besides, There were far fewer people. After that this guy and I headed over to the USO. They have guitars, a drum-kit (sans cymbals), bass, electric, and acoustic guitars. We figured we go over and try a little drum and base. Using the worst equipment I used in Napkin, a band I was in my sophomore year just to play at the High School Band Fest. We played until more people came in. It was actually going pretty nice aside from the fact than any note played in the first octave and a half were distorting. So now we sat in a room of eclectic diversity. Everyone with their own taste holding an instrument signed out to them by the USO. They all seemed to follow my lead when I traded the bass for a guitar. I played some Wally Pear without singing, and they seemed to like it. Especially Reverie. I had to leave when some of them started showing me that they could play Iron Maden, and asking me if I knew any System of a Down.

That was my Thanksgiving.
How was yours?

I am so fucking bored.
I have a four-hour watch coming up in a half-hour.
There is nothing to do processing wise until Monday.
I get paid Friday.
They're watching japanamation (non-English) in the day room.
I have no music.

At least I don't have to be home for thanksgiving.
At least I'm not working any of the numerous jobs I have before.

This is my great escape.
It will be easier when I can liberate my wife and son from Detroit.
I miss you too.