“If you are so patriotic, why didn’t you ever show it before? This is the exact, insane opposite of being a fair-weather fan. You only like your football teams when they do well, but only like your country when it’s bombed? You people are nuts!” – NYU Laura

The things you own, end up owning you. Hence, when you stole my car, and burned out in my driveway, the things I owned ended up owning me, causing me to irrationally punch you in the face. The unimportant material objects, mere tools, such as my laptop, become more important than they should, causing me to put a password on them. So if the things I own end up controlling my life, then why should I own them? All I’ve done thus far is punch my best friend, and piss off my brothers. But when I enter a mosh pit, and have nothing to lose but my consciousness, where the clothing I wear I don’t care about, the wallet is empty except for a license, and my keys are clipped onto my pants, then I am free.

A mosh pit is interesting because of the duel nature of the whole affair. The band is blasting music at unbelievable volumes into the crowd, and the pent up anger of a hundred young concert-goers is released in the form of various wrestling moves. But as soon as the hapless soul trips and falls, immediately, a complete reversal of the earlier mood occurs. People who had been trying as hard as possible to inflict pain on those around them stoop and help the fallen gently to their feet and ask them “Hey man, are you OK?” Mosh pits may be about releasing anger, but the anger is not directed at the other concert goers. Instead it is vented into thin air, with anonymous figures taking the brunt. So far it is the only place I have found where you can beat the shit out of someone and become friends because of it.

Comfort is an illusion. A false security bred from familiar things and familiar ways. It narrows the mind, weakens the body and robs the soul of spirit and determination. Comfort is neither welcome nor tolerated . . .

There is only determination. There is only single minded desire. Not one among us is willing to give up. Not one of us would exchange freedom for torment. Finally, I will be a Marine.

But first, a final test will take everything left inside. When this is over, I will stand and reach out with dirty, callused hands to claim the Eagle, the Globe, and the Anchor. And the title United States Marine.

– As an afterward, to the best of my knowledge Sean Murphy was kicked out of the marines several months after enlisting.

When the buildings were struck, I got angry. When I heard Pittsburgh had a crash in it, I got scared for my friends. But when my dad told me that his good friend in college was the pilot of flight 175, the 2nd tower’s plane, it hit me. It was too much, it connected. I retreated to my room, high on caffeine, and turned on Outkast’s “Bombs Over Baghdad” as loud as I could, and just stood there in a daze. My friend Erin J. came to the door and dragged me to a religious service special for the occasion. A combination of a long walk, and Erin keeping my attention up, and the service from a variety of religions pulled me out of any mood I was on the verge of falling into. Thank you Erin.