the log: throwback mad mids

TheLOG Volume 89, Issue 8I-day 2012Yeah, we’re shameless.

MIDS

Of The United States Naval Academy

The Throwback Issue

Volume 90, Issue 3 | Age of Enlightenment, 2013

TheLOG

The LOg | The age Of ReasOn


Staff

Editor-in-ChiEfKatie Davidson ‘13

Salty SamSalty Sam ‘13

right hand hEnChmEnMel Sluzewicz ‘13Kyle Hatcher ‘13

layout Editor Mike Ebeling ‘15

BuSinESS managErLindsay Boyd ‘14 ChiEf mEdiCal tESt SuBjECt hannah BoBBEll ‘15

rESidEnt artiStSjoShua mokraCEk ‘16matthEw Brook ‘15

offiCEr rEprESEntativECDR Huey

The LOG magazine is a 28 page, monthly publication produced by and for Midshipmen. Found within is a satirical compilation of real and exaggerated news articles, editorials, advertisements, cartoons, and more. It provides an outlet for your creativity, artistic ability, comedic talent, and (maybe) critical-thinking. The opinions expressed herein are those of LOG staff members, and in no way reflect those of the Department of the Navy, the Department of Defense, the National Security Council, or the President of the United States. We do not intend to undermine the Mission of the United States Naval Academy, or by extension, the Constitution of the United States. Our goal is to reveal Academy life as observed by Midshipmen, and to deliver a publication that is truly their own.

Principles of The LOG

ContEntS

4 From the top

6 Salty Sam

8 Yesterday

9 Great Moments in USNA History

11 Back To the Future

12 1,000 Words

14 Rickover’s Inferno

18 Les Restrictables 22 Military-Land

Visit us online at www.usna.edu/thelog or

email us at [email protected]


TopThe

From

Hello again Brigade, In light of the new changes of USNA, The LOG staff decided to provide a glimpse to the past. I’m a big enthusiast of history and learning from one’s mistakes and successes in the constant pursuit of improve-ment. In order to provide to you, the Brigade, with some laughs as well as put into perspective how far we have (or haven’t) come since 1911, the year of the inception of this fabulous publication. Why the Throwback Issue, you ask? Are you simply living in the past, Ms. Davidson? Perhaps. However, in order to improve, one must constantly re-examine the past. I do not believe that history repeats itself. However, it does tend to rhyme. Mark Twain said that. I like to consider him a fairly intelligent human being with at least some insight to the human condition. But I digress. In my time here, I have found that USNA (or at least its student body) tends to be very opposed to change, no mat-ter what it may be. And that makes me sad when I really think about it. I think we can all agree that we are a fairly set-in-our-ways species as Midshipmen. We figure out a system that works, and we stick with it because it usually leads to success. But when that system is interrupted by either positive or negative innovation, we gawk, reject, complain, and then ultimately and begrudgingly accept. I’m not going to lie, the new watches are kinda annoying. I’m still waiting to see what the construction will reveal in Rickover, and there’s a new route everyday. When will the area in front of 8th wing be finished? Why must we have rolling tray in the morning? We’ve seen quite a bit of shifts in our daily routines. I’ve recently added 0530 tours to mine, and I’ll be honest, it’s certainly not the most convenient thing in the world. But damn it, I’m going to graduate. And what is really so bad about meeting new people at meal? I think it’s safe to say, that maybe we all need to smile a little bit more. Happiness is a choice. So is success. And laughter. So Why not choose all of the above? I present to you, Mids from 1st to 8th wing, a blast from the past! *Explosions of fireworks and happiness and joy!*

MIDN Katie Davidson Editor-in-Chief


eTTers

ediTorTo TheL

Dear Editor, Why can’t we call it the Dark Ages?

-2/C Confused at Dant’s Call

Dear 2/C Confused at Dant’s Call, Presumably, each winter will now be referred to by a famous epoch in history. Next year should be the Age of Aquarius, which if my latest dance-of-the-planets email is correct, means Venus will move into its second wind and the Plebes will chop backwards.

- Editor in Chief

Dear Editor, Why all the watches all of a sudden. Can’t plebes and youngsters take care of the deck?

-2/C Jaded

Dear 2/C Jaded, Plebes and youngsters are extremely irresponsible. I mean, we can’t even trust them with water boilers, and I’m fairly certain most of them haven’t signed their 2-for-7’s. -Editor in Chief

Dear Editor, Why did last year’s Brigade feedback so often re-semble this letters to the editor section?

-3/C Anonymous

FROM THE LOG EDITOR: Please police yourself.

-Editor in Chief

Dear Editor,

Why the groovy retro issue?

3/C Living in the Past

Dear Livinginthepast,

In a series of unfortunate events, the Log Staff was held hos-tage by hipsters from St. John’s and forced to endure hours of vinyl records of indie folk soft-rock. This fulfills but one of their many demands...

-Editor in Chief

Dear Editor,

Are Seal pins authorized for liberty attire?

-4/C Pinnipeds

Dear 4/C Pinnipeds, Yes, a 4 x 6 inch insignia of fur seals frolicking in the tundra is now allowed for wear on SDB’s.

-Editor in Chief

Dear Editor, Is the goat still old and gnarly?

- 4/C Singalong

Dear 4/C Singalong,Yes, although he was attending school at ITT tech in D.C. when he spotted a lady with oats. Unfortunately, he followed this lady to a central median near the Pentagon, where he was found.

-Editor in Chief


“YOU SHALL NOT PASS”

Welcome back, as always, to that period affectionately ref-ferred to as the Dar... I mean Age of Enlightenment. Is that what we call it now? Or is it Dark Ages of Enlightenment? That one has the most words so we’ll go with that. At any rate, it’s January, the sun is shining, it’s 80 degrees outside, the birds are chirping and fun is in the air. Oh, wait, that’s the forecast from the last time my Iphone had service enough to update the weather last August. Well, at the very least we should look at the few silver linings we have. And it’s probably good to look at them now before we go over the Fiscal Cliff and have to sell them. (That’s an econ joke, don’t say we didn’t do anything for you, Group 3 majors). Silver lining numero uno? Smoke Park is about half done

and looks pretty nice. It sure will be nice for the class of 2013 to enjoy saundering around the inner courtyards of Bancroft when they finish it just in time for graduation. Silver lining number 2? New squads full of new people to get to know. Luckily during the chaos of the morning there’s a time to sit back, relax knowing you have your own seat and enjoy warm conversation with your squadmates. Speaking of which, we’re now all encouraged to invite aca-demic professors to King Hall, presumably because they’ve wanted an excuse to eat the food we’ve all been raving about. I’m not sure how this will play out to be honest. I mean, it’s awkward enough running into most of your pro-fessors in the hallway or, worse yet, while out on liberty. (By the way, please send us as many awkward stories about run-ning into teachers as possible. Ex. “I ran into Professor X at Hot Topic in the Annapolis Mall and we were purchas-

ing the same Twilight Hoodie, you know the one with the glittery vampire? Yeah, it was awkward. Signed, MIDN Y.” Also, pictures are encouraged, particularly because they’ll make the situation more awkward). I’m also not quite sure the logistics of bringing teachers to King Hall. After all, don’t they live in whatever classroom in which I have their class? I was also under the impression that Bancroft was a kind of Mordor to them guarded by CMODs. “YOU SHALL NOT PASS without a general examination of your identifi-cation documents.” It’s not all bad, though. Afterall, you could leverage a few brownie-points out of it, by which I mean bribe him or her with Oreo brownies. If that doesn’t work (highly unlikely), I’m sure it will at least be a test of your conversational skills. Try playing the game “Don’t talk about anything relating to class” ( a fun derivative of “Don’t talk about the Academy” that is all too uncommonly played while on leave). After sitting in silence for a while, next try to ask them about their private life, with questions such as “How much do they pay you?”, “Is that for teaching, babysitting Mids, or both?”, “Ok, be honest, that one guy in the back row annoys you too?”, and “What was the worst Midshipman you had and what kind of Admiral is he now?” And all the inevitable briefs aren’t so bad. After all, our good friend and administrator of NASA is coming back for his fourth (or fifth lecture) in the last year or so. I think this one’s entitled, “ER-MEH-GERD ASTRONAUTS!!!” or something like that. We welcome you back Sir, because if

Or is it Dark Ages of Enlightenment?


“ER-MEH-GERD ASTRONAUTS”

Pray to St. Maverick, Patron Saint of the Broviators

the Academy were SNL, you would be our Alec Baldwin. Though if the Academy were SNL, this would prob-ably be that period when all the funny people left and the Log was made up of 10,000 plebes typing on 10,000 keyboards. Only because of the general disregard for their curfew, they’re able to put out issues in a little over a year. Which is why this Log was written in 2011. This brings up an issue I need to address. Unfortunate-ly, we survived the apocalypse. Our experts consulted the Log oracle (Mr. Chuckles, the anthropomorphic clock) and were almost positive that the end was near. Afterall, class was canceled for TWO DAYS. THAT NEVER HAPPENS. This did bring up the unfortunate situation for which our pre-apocalyptic editors had not prepared: namely, we have nothing creative or funny to contribute in the year 2013. So contained in these hollowed pages is our past hal-lowed content. The good stuff, written back when Mids had folksy things like attention spans, intellect, wit, and fedoras that weren’t simply the indication of being European or a hipster. Things weren’t all that different, though, despite the general cynicism which was thank-fully stamped out years ago. And I’d love to go on about this, but I’m afraid I must get back to improving my Aviation Order of Merit, as all the rest of you wannabe TOP GUNS should. I mean, when I heard the senior Naval aviator on the yard (and resident astronaut, (HE WENT TO SPACE!!!)) was also going to be the department chair of the Aerospace Engineering Department, I thought, “great, that’ll make Aerospace Engineering more, shall

we say, fun.” And I was right. Now, all those painstaking hours of finding the drag coefficient pay off as being an Aero major not only counts for your Aviation Order of Merit, but the department chair of your very major sits on your SAR Board. Which is why it’s a good thing Aero Majors don’t play favorites. But, poor Poli-sci-and-flyers, don’t be alarmed. So long as you do ground school, become a part of VT-NA, do well in all your technical courses but don’t do so well that the invisible iron fist of naval reactors grabs you, apply for some summer training opportunities, pray to St. Maver-

ick, patron saint of the broviators, you too can fly! More importantly for Plebes and Youngsters, it means it’s time to jump ship and go Aero, even if you don’t really want to fly. Service selection isn’t until firstie year, but you have to get

yourself on track TO-DAY. None of this “Well, I might want to go aviation.” Pick a community, put down all your other friends and only hang out with like-community-minded individuals. You’ll not only go far, your friends will tell you how much fur-ther than far you’ve gone. I do like this idea of having more orders of merit. Why should we be limited to an overall order of merit, an academic order of merit and a military order of merit? Clearly what this school needs is more orders of merit(s). Want to go nuke? Nuclear order of merit. Use the gym? Swoll order of merit. And what if you want to go SWO? Swodivation order of merit, naturally, which will be calculated by the pounds of coffee and donuts you consume, divided by the number of times you thought about working out. You too can rule the SWOrld! I’m SWO excited for you. And always remember, you can be my wingman anytime, so long as you’ve shown a vital interest in being an aviator since the first of the no less than 300 times you’ve seen TOP GUN. -Salty ‘13


From October 28, 1938


The LOG Staff presents:

GREAT MOMENTS IN USNA HISTORY1911: The Immaculate Conception- The Log was born, a needed morale boost after the administration forced 2/c to park their carriages at the polo fields.

1921: D&B is created- It is initially an organization for musically talented Midshipmen. The requirement was later dropped, and Mids were eternally awakened from their sports period naps.

1935: The inception of Salty- It’s humor within humor. A man can be corrupted, but a symbol stands for some-thing great.

1941: On a day which will live in infamy. The brigade was promised Buffalo Chicken Sandwiches. Alas, they did not recieve B.C.S.

1962: The Brigade, and presumably most of the free world, waits with bated breath for news of whether the parade was canceled.

1979: In what becomes known as the Forrestal Hostage Crisis, the Brigade is held captive for over 3 hours until the new Commandant takes over.

1980-1988: The Reagan years. See inception of croquet, women, diversity, booming economy. One dark spot on this pax annapoliscus, as the first calculus course was taught because of administration-forced integration. Separation by parts still remains in some classes.

1986- Top Gun comes out.

1990 - Though Mids tried, they were unable to bring down the great wall dividing them from the civilian free world. The Bronze Curtain reigns forever.

1991 - Commandant declares “This aggression will not stand” as grunge styles invade USNA.

2000 - Y2K causes massive panic in the rest of the world. Ward Hall fears it may actually cause the internet to work and moves to prevent such a catastrophe.

2012- World Ends

The LOg | The age Of ReasOn From February, 1939


Some Things Never Change...1923 2 0 1 3

1. Bancroft was overdue for repairs

2. The land where rickover is was haunted

3. Cross country coach was rookie coach of the year

4. food was great

5. Severn was clean

6. everyone wore male covers

7. last real plebe summer

8. Ragtime Style

9. MIds complain

10. The log didn’t come out on time

1. bancroft is really overdue for repairs

2. rickover’s haunted

3. same coach...still here

4. food’s still great...

5. severn was clean, by 1922 standards

6. everyone wears male covers

7. last real plebe summer

8. gangnam style

9. mids complain (online)

10. the log still doesn’t come out on time

From February, 1939


1,000 Words

Really Guys?

Back in the good ol’ days, kids, CAT 5 was as easy as pressing 1-2-3-D

Meanwhile, at the Brigade Sports Complex...


1,000 Words (Note: word Inflation is out of hand today)

Silly Civilians, Sleep is for Mids.

The upright sleeper from Skymall. A must-have for the upcoming Forrestal season

Sadly, no longer at the protein table


Rickover’s InfernoBy: Hannah Bobell ‘15

After descending the stairs, there I was; alone, lost, and really ready for lunch. (Though not that Philly cheesesteak stuff. That is the supreme epitome of nasty.) Hostilities barred me at every turn; every room and door looked the same. Though the whole place seemed to be lit, it was dreadfully cold. From down the way, I could hear unintelligible grunts and moans, as if there were a pack of dying beasts close by. “Where in the hell am I?” I thought to myself. “You mean where in my hell are you,” said a voice. I spun around and there, before me, stood a translucent being with a sporty mustache. “You’re in the inferno. My inferno. ” “O, good sir,” I pleaded. “Spirit or fiend or whatever you are… Please, tell me who or what you are.” “Why, I am Albert Michelson!” he boomed in a voice that echoed with eternity. “Discoverer of light’s true speed! I have been sent by such ethereal professors of the third group to help guide and navigate you through this basement of horrors. How-ever, you must witness all levels of this eternal pit of torture. Your heart must be stout and your mind braced.”“Lead on,” I replied gravely. “I am not afraid.”“Not yet you aren’t,” he smirked. “Here, gentle English major.

Hop onto my Nobel Prize!” With his words, a large, shiny medal appeared out of thin air and there it hovered like some sort of LCAC. The ghost climbed onto the prize and motioned for me to join him on his vehicle. I too took a seat on the golden disk and away we floated. “Feast your eyes upon the eternal punishments,” Michelson told me. That was when I saw the first of them. They looked human, yes… But something told me that this was not so. They moved lethargically, as if undead, eyes brimmed with red and lines of fatigue crossing their once youthful and carefree faces. They shuffled with heavy loaded sacks on their backs, moving in and down an endless corridor of red doors, white walls, and blind-ingly pale lights. All of them carried a black can of some sort, which they would each take sips of periodically, shuttering as they swallowed.“Albert,” I asked. “Who be these poor, wretched souls doomed to wander with such heavy loads? And what vile gall are they consuming?” “These be the transitory walkers,” he explained. “Neither living nor dead they have only but ten minutes to cross the abyss to their next torture. The liquids you see in their hands are energy drinks, poisonous draughts that are both financially draining and addicting.” “Torture?” I squeaked skeptically. “You don’t mean…” “Observe,” my guide demanded tersely. As we hovered by one of the rooms with open doors, I saw a group of these aforementioned “walkers”. These were much more keenly alert, however—they had to be. They all sat by giant computer screens, their faces pale and wan in the bilious glow of the machines. Endlessly, they typed a code—a pattern of some sort. “011011101110101111000...” one muttered to himself. “000010101—AAARRRGGG!” The final number resulted in a swift electric shock from the machine. “Entry is incorrect,” said a sterile, mechanical voice over a 1MC. The victim, breathing hard, hands shaking, started again. “0110111…” “These are the electrical engineers,” Michelson explained. “Electricity is the fate they chose. Thus, it is their torment. Every time they type in a piece of incorrect code, they pay dearly.” I said nothing in reply as we moved on to the next room. In it, victims were all flipped upside down so that they were stand-ing on their heads, their faces as red as a beetroot as the blood


drained from their legs. At the front of the room, a man in a khaki suit drew strange demonic symbols upon the board while jabbering in a language that had been lost to mankind for centuries. I was afraid to ask, but my curiosity overcame my hesitancy. “And…these?”“Aeronautical and aerospace engineers,” my guide replied. “What you see on the board are formulas, ancient runes that have lost their pragmatic mean-ing for ages. These souls, in order to achieve the skill of orientation, must do all memorization and calculations eternally on their heads so that as their brains expand they are slowly being crushed as their arms weaken.” I let out a low whistle. “Not all are as prosperous as you, Eng-lish major,” the ghost said. The next room we passed went deep and dark into the cavern-ous dungeon. In the middle was an endless black lake, tumultu-ous and frenzied with crashing waves. “AHOY!” someone called. Then I saw that a small craft was out in the middle of the gale—such a small structure that one could only call it a piece of glorified driftwood. Clinging to it for dear life were a group of soaked, cold, and miserable souls. “HELP US!” one called. “PLEASE! SOS! SAVE OUR SOULS!” “Teacher!” I cried. “We must execute a Williamson turn at once and save them!” “No… This is not possible,” Michelson sighed sadly. “These souls battered by wind and weather have chosen their fate in this dark, damp room. They are the NAVARCs and ocean engineers. ‘O hear us when we cry to thee, for those in peril on the sea…’”The journey continued. I suddenly felt weak and short of breath. “Teacher,” I gasped. “I do not think I can bear seeing any more of this suffering. Please, make me look upon them no more!” “Have heart, child.” Michelson’s face was placid and peace-ful. “Stay strong. For now we descend into the deepest pit of Rickover… The mechanical engineers.” As we went down deeper into the building, it began to get hotter—much hotter. From up ahead, I could hear shouts and blood-curdling screams: “GET ‘EM! FINISH HIM OFF!” From the distance, I could see the ominous glow of a red light. “Albert,” I gasped, “could it be…?” “Yes,” he replied. “The arena.” And an arena it was. Like the gladiators of old, the room was filled with warriors going tooth and claw after one another. Un-

like the ancient Roman times, however, there seemed to be no spectators. It was all against all—no rules, no mercy. Some rode in battle cars while others commanded battle bots, all franti-cally trying to program, rewire, or fend off an attacking foe. The battle was raging; no winner was to be seen. It was all just a giant arena of chaos as one engineer used his or her machinery to rip apart another. “Teacher!” I cried. “They are tearing each other apart!” “Yes, my child,” he replied sadly. “But they will rejuvenate themselves to fight another battle. That is the nature of these creatures. They must all be defeated, respawn, and then build another machine to fight another day.” I looked upon the horror before me, a tangle of blood, wires, and metal scraps. “But then the battle is never-ending!” His face was stone. “Till the Judgment or Graduation. Come. Thou hast seen enough.” The Nobel Prize went further into the blackness until the red hue of the arena was a distant memory. I had no idea where I was. “Albert,” I began to say, “where are we…” And then, a flash of light! Suddenly, I could see before me the ornate carvings, large windows, and coffee bar of Mahan’s Hart Room. Never before have I been so happy to see its ornate rugs and comfortable couches! The smell of fresh roasted cappuc-cinos warmed my soul; the group three majors were loitering, some curled up for naps while others put their feet up while delving into Milton. I began to step into the light, but then looked back into the darkness, realizing my guide was not moving forward with me. “I can venture no further,” he moaned. “This is my chain for all eternity. Farewell, gentle English major. Remember what you have seen and have compassion on these suffering spirits. I must now leave you.” Before I could say another word, Michelson had dissolved into the blackness without a single glint or trace of the Nobel Prize.


Why I love Rolling Tray for Breakfast

1. I really hate my squad, and seeing them less is a good change of pace.

2. As a squad leader, it gives me a chance to act like a slob, instead of feeling obli-gated to uphold “manners.” 3. The less food I get makes it seem like they made better food, instead of just serving the same portions of the same food.

4. The added exercise from walking all the way to the anchor may just make up for the chocolate-chip muffin I eat every day.

5. I’ve yet to lose any limbs to the bagel slicer, though it’s a constant fear in my mind.

6. It feels like I’m participating in a giant flash mob in King Hall when the other 3,999 Mids go down right after formation.

7. I really like the flash mob aspect.

8. I don’t know what I’ve been doing all these years without watching Fox & Friends. Hahaha the pre-written banter cracks me up.

9. Lots of new people to stare at in silence.

10. Because we are a school of warriors, and nothing gets me ready for martial arts class like eye-gouging plebes to get a seat.

By: Firstie McSquadleader ‘13


You come to me and you say - “LT, Put me on the weekend list”

But you donít ask with respect. You donít ask how Iím doing. You donít even think to call me Sir. Instead, you come into my office on this, the start of the three-day

weekend, and you ask me to give you a weekend.

Comic by Mike Ebeling ‘15 Illustrated by Josh Mokracek ‘16


Les Restrictables As I alluded to in my previous Letter to the Editor, I find myself in a compromising position, here, walking around in squares in Smoke Hall. In front of the Dept Dant’s po-dium. Wincing. In the splash zone. Not pleasant. However, once I got over the inital “OH CRAP!” mo-ment and life slowed down and the adjudication process was complete, I found some time to sit down and really think about things. One of my punishments along with my 60 days of tours and 95 demerits was to write a paper on the Bathsheba complex. Like all studious and intellectually curious students, I went to the place with all the answers: Google. One of the first hits was something to the extent of “The Bathsheba Syndrome Explains the Fall of Petraeus.” That’s something to make one re-examine their life choices. Those of you religious people will know that Bathsheba is a Biblical character and can perhaps explain the story better than myself. Skip to the end: the moral is the “psychologi-cal impact of gaining power, despite many positive effects, also may unleash a dark side: the belief that one is too big to fail, that the normal rules do not apply. Thus, even a leader of high moral character may succumb to the temptations that accompany the acquisition of power.” I realize that you’re reading this right now, Sir. I figured I’d write something a bit more public that per-haps can do some good. I have been very lucky in my time at USNA. I would be lying to myself if I were to claim that I had followed every rule ever, much as I imagine the primary portion of the Brigade feels as well. While I may not be the most humble person, I am at least cognizant that modesty is a far more desirable trait to have than blatant self-puffery. Because at the end of the day, I am like everyone else. And I think that I may have forgotten that for a brief mo-ment. I would not say that my head got “too big to fail” or that my ship was “unsinkable.”

By: Katie Davidson ‘13

I do not pretend to be that grandiose. However, no one plans to get on restriction. No one plans to get adjudicated by the Dep Dant. And no one WANTS to stand 60 days of restriction. If you do, you’re crazy, and please visit me and let me dissuade you. According to the specifics of Bathsheba complex (or at least Google’s depiction of it), the leader in question usually believes that they are untouchable and inca-pable of failure. I disagree with that. Intellectually, I knew how far I had to fall. Everyone hears the stories (or what have actually turned out to be rumors) about kids doing bad things and getting in trouble. And for whatever reason, the masses like to look at restriction musters like the MOOW is calling out the Lepers. Restriction is not a disease. It’s not communicable. And while we may not necessarily deserve leniency or even sympathy, we do deserve to be treated like hu-mans. I like to think that I was never a particularly mean MOOW. However, when I ran musters, I would wish for the power to manipulate time and space so that I could hurry up and get the tours over and done with. What I’ve seen is that most restrictees are pretty great people. They are not convicts. They are nice. And accepting, no matter who you are. And those of you that have spent extensive time on restriction know this. Why is that, you ask? Because they have mastered a concept that it took me nearly my entire time here to comprehend. No one is immune to momentary acts of idiocy. But at the end of the day, I’m still human. I’m not going to make the bold claim to say that everyone should spend time on restriction. On the contrary, I encourage you not to. It sucks. But ironically enough, I’ve met some of the most optimistic and, dare I say, fun people on restriction. Because when you’re walking around in a box for 45


minutes, or standing in your fifth formation of the day in SDBs, or on a working party picking up trash or shoveling snow or what have you, I have somehow always laughed. Granted, it may be riddled with a bit of sarcasm. But for the most part, it seems to be genuine. It is only when you fall, really really fall, that you get the chance to look around at how far up the ladder you were and how much you should have appreciated what you had. Long and short of it is I ate a huge slice of humble pie. I fell considerably far. I went from living on Striper Alley to making the trek from 8-3 to the Rotunda at around 0520. I’ve traded my sword for a rifle and my rack for a pair of leathers that are so shiny I can see myself. If I have learned anything through this whole thing, it is that humility will take you a long way. And that is not just in the Dep Dant’s office when you are at your adjudica-tion. For about a week and a half, I didn’t really show my face out of company. It was embarrassing, and I could only imagine what someone like David Petraeus felt as the me-

dia followed him around digging up dirt on his personal life. Making a mistake is not like catching leprosy. On the contrary, we do not disintegrate or have our skin fall off our face. Doing something stupid is natural law. It will happen. But acting like it won’t or that you are some-how better than everyone is an insult to humanity itself. I made a mistake. I didn’t think. I mis-stepped my bounds And that is my bad. I wouldn’t go so far as to thank the Dep-Dant for this gift of epiphany. But I can certainly appreciate where he is coming from. I apologize if I am being too preachy or retrospective, but from one trouble-maker to a Brigade filled with potential troublemakers, I encourage you to reconsider pushing certain boundaries. But when/if you do, it is not the end of your world and existence. It will keep turning. The sun will rise. And most importantly, you will learn.


LOST

ENGLISH MAJOR

LAST SEEN IN BASEMENT OF RICKOVERLOOKS CONFUSED, WELL RESTED

WILL HAVE A SMILE AND GENERALLY POSI-TIVE OUTLOOK ON LIFE

WILL PROBABLY SAY, “HELLO!”LAST SEEN, 1/18/2013

If Found Please Contact LOG Staff


WHO READS THE LOG?

Innovative CMOOWs read the LOG


WELCOME TO MILITARYLAND The Happiest Place on the Yard*

FANTASYLAND

FrontierLand

Main Street USNA

The DisneylanD

hoTel

TOMORROWLANDFANTASYLAND

AdventureLand FrontierLand

Critter Country Main Street USNA

ToonTownLet us take you back to a time, a much simpler time, in which stand-ing in lines was a good measure of officership. Enjoy an afternoon of essecution with a long-time favorite cast member: Gun-ny. (not advised for children un-der the age of 18).

Come and awkwardly take pictures of Mids as they sleep-walk to class. Trust us, they won’t mind!

Step into the building and you are magically transport-ed to a world of dreams, pixie dust, and caramel. This is a land centered on that eternal question so seldom asked, “How does that make you feel?”

It all started with a mouse. And then that mouse became 1,000,000 mice who, admidst those other creatures known as Br’er Midshipmen, inhabit Ban-croft Hall, USNA’s cryin’ place.

Come see all of your fa-vorite USNA characters from the DANT to all those wacky Battalion officers!

Mysterious adventures await you. Will you face endurance? Obstacles? YPs? Note: Reg. PT gear only!!!

Welcome to the fu-ture. A future that is dominated by random objects, nonsensi-cal hallways, endless nights of EE, and the world famous attrac-tion: Awkward Moments with Admiral Rickover.


WELCOME TO MILITARYLAND The Happiest Place on the Yard*

USNA

,

TOMORROWLAND

FANTASYLAND

AdventureLand

More Adventures Await

Critter Country

*If none of this makes sense, we apologize for your lack of a childhood.

Main Street USNA

ToonTown

The DisneylanD

hoTel

TOMORROWLAND

FrontierLand

The MiliTarylanD hoTel

afTer a long TiMe Touring The yarD, resT in our sTaTe-of-The-arT accoMMoDaTions, coM-pleTe wiTh luxurious chairs. JusT reMeMber, please Don’T feeD The MiDs.

*not in Rickover

*


Brigade Feedback, Simplified

They’re coming for you, 2nd-class-alley-rating-Youngster-who-has-no-bearing-during-march-on

By: Joshua Mokracek ‘15


THE 10 SIGNS OF THE APOCALYPSE

(IT IS NIGH UPON US)1. Man-bear-pig has escaped imagination-land. (HOW MANY TIMES DID AL GORE WARN US?)

2. We got a day off of school. And then another day off of school. The end is long overdue.

3. A certain 5th Battalion Commander becomes the Dep-Dant... then doesn’t!

4. The same corporation that made the epic (fail) movie JOHN CARTER also have the rights to make a new STAR WARS trilogy.

5. Navy football doesn’t use the triple option!?

6. CDR Steve Carrell has moved on

7. Edward bites a bear, making vampire bears who spread glitter.

8. GODZILLA!!!!!!!!!

9. Plebes get the most carry-on ever.

10. Mids pay attention on early-class schedule days


Dear D&B, We get what this is:

But what we really want to know is, what is this?!


Because You’re a Mid....

....Why Hide it?


TheLOGThe Times They Arent’ A Changin’

Volume 90, Issue 3 | February-ish 2013

‘70

the log: throwback mad mids

Documents

log staff members

age of reason page

age of reasonthe

age of reasontopthefromhello

age of enlightenment

thelog page

new changes of usna

usna history11