Ferocity Mill

Thank you all for the wedding wishes! Man, the twists life takes when you least expect it, eh? I still can’t really believe that I’m the same person who peddled Army propaganda for six years. Most people I meet are skeptical, too, by the way. When it comes up that I was once a gun-totin’ member of the armed services, their reactions usually range from surprise to disbelief.

These conversations always happen at the strangest times. Because Eric’s band plays a lot of festivals, it’s not uncommon for most of the fans in attendance to be dressed in some sort of outlandish get-up. As a supportive spouse, I like to get with the spirit of the occasion and dress up, too. I meet dozens of people at a time, some weekends, and when a person I’ve just met at a festival asks me what I do, I usually just say I’m a student. If the conversation goes on for a while, often my military history comes up (it was, after all, six years of my life).

“But … you’re covered in glitter and wearing a tutu,” they say. “What did you do in the Army?”

So I tell them I was a journalist, and there’s a bit more disbelief, followed by the inevitable,  ”Did you go … over there?”

Most people have no idea that the military trains its own journalists to write pro-military articles, so I offer a short explanation of the whole miserable deal to them – still covered in glitter, wearing a tutu, holding a margarita, high on … life – before returning to the party. After these interactions, I often ask myself if I didn’t just make the whole thing up. The person I am now is, I like to think, almost entirely removed from the person I was then.

Believe me, I know I’m one of the lucky ones. Most former soldiers – most people, in general – never get the chance to start life over in their mid-twenties with a bank account full of tax-free combat pay. Not only did I get that chance, but meeting Eric brought my “starting over” plan to a whole new surreal level. For example, at midnight on New Year’s Eve 2007, I was on a shitty base outside Baghdad, sneaking off to have a couple of beers with the British soldiers (since they were allowed to have alcohol). At midnight on New Year’s Eve 2008, I found myself dancing on the stage at the Oriental Theater in Denver, while Eric and his band played “Lovelight” for hundreds of acid-headed fans. If that doesn’t fuck with your sense of reality, I don’t know what will.

Sometimes I feel like everything is happening so fast. My world went from desert camo to sequins and feathers in such a very short time. It’s a big part of the reason I haven’t been blogging much – I’m sort of in a constant state of amazement that this is my life, and I have to savor it, every moment of it. When I was miserable all the time, it was easy to write about it – just hit the “Bitch Mightily” button and you’re there. Now that I’m happy all the time (or, well, most of the time. There was an Experience at the DMV yesterday that I’m still recovering from), I often find myself with writer’s block, unable to focus.

But now it’s time to half-click, center and recompose, as my photographer friend puts it. I’m applying to three schools for next fall – UC Berkeley, San Francisco State and UC Santa Cruz – and all of them are going to require me to get myself some goddamn focus. In the meantime, I’m attempting to plunder my Iraq blog for possible book fodder, and working with a new, local nonprofit group called Veteran Artists, which helps veterans connect with local artists to get free art classes as a way of dealing with PTSD or other combat-related stress issues. On the weekends, I don my sparkliest costumes and head to the show, wherever it is.

In fact, on Halloween night, I’m going to be performing in a drag show benefit for VA (like it? “VA”? We’re taking it back from that silly old Veterans Administration) at a theater in San Francisco. If you’re in the Bay Area and want to come support us, check out the deets:

Oh, life! You are so weird and wonderful. The great doctor said, “Buy the ticket, take the ride.” Well, I’ve got my ticket right here. Let’s go for a spin.