Of the U.S. Naval Academy
“Looking for Love in all the Wrong Places”
MK. 91, Mod. 3 The Dark Ages, 2014
“Good Luck in War” -Love on the rocks in 15 Minute Parking
Editor-In-Chief Michael Ebeling ‘15
Contents 4 From the Top 6 Salty Sam
Salty Sam ‘14
Executive Editor Hannah Bobell ‘15
Dick Wheeler ‘16, Manager Jett Utah Watson ‘16 Luke Sullivan ‘16
Alexandria Segovia ‘16, Editor Megan DeLage ‘15, Assistant Editor Miguel Moravec ‘17 Jason Mapa ‘17
10 Fifty Shades of Blue and Gold 12 Dating Spots Around the Yard 14 The Darker, Grey Side 16 10,000 Words 18 Secret Admirer Confessions 20 We are the 99%
21 The LOG Interviews The Supe
22 New Cyber Center Looks Delicious
Ben Creed ‘15
Erin Devivies ‘16, Editor Matthew Brook ‘15 Cynthia McDaniels, ‘14 Jess Miller, ‘17
24 Going for Gold: Dark Ages Olympics 26 I’m a Group 1 Major
Alec Bacon ‘15
28 The Wolf of Bancroft
29 Oscar Nominations
30 XYZ MidLibs
31 Single Cover Initiative Alternatives
Frankie Gale ‘16
Meredeth Wallace ‘16 CAPT Leigh, USN
Principles of The LOG
Visit us online at www.usna.edu/thelog, “like” Salty Sam on Facebook or email us at Saltysam@usna.edu
The LOG magazine is a 32 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.
awful wondering mind of yours why we’re celebrating love a full month or so after Valentine’s Day. You got us. We tried to get this out before the 14th rom of February, but apparently our first efforts caused the many a blushing. So we’ve retooled this issue, gave it a nice facelift, applied some botox, took it to a op day spa where it enjoyed a nice Swedish massage, It’s a special time of the year at the Naval and then took it to a nice dinner in East Port beAcademy. Winter is churning, the ceilings are fore dropping it off before midnight. She’s a good leaking, intramurals are being played at knife LOG she is, and I hope you enjoy her as much as point. That sweet smell - the scent of cynicism we enjoyed cleaning her up. - is in the air. Self-loathing is all around. That We begin this semester in a very different posispecial sense of cold despair is abundant as I tion, on surer footing than in years past and with a gaze out over the frozen tundra at my fellow renewed sense of purpose. In many ways, we’re still Mids on Stribling, all hunched over, muttering the same lighthearted bunch of hooligans out for to themselves to keep from going insane. Hath some cheap laughs; but we’re also here to question, Rickover’s fists grasped you with it yet? There is to think, to push back in an environment where the not much time left, so the staff and I have man- consequences are much lighter than in the Fleet. I aged to put together a wonderful celebration of applaud and thank the administration for giving us this, the Dark Ages of 2014. as much leeway as has been permitted. Creativity is What better way to celebrate winter, darkness, not always valued in this profession, and nonconand general unpleasantries with an honest look at formity usually squashed out at every opportunity. love? Recently, a speaker spoke at the Academy In the LOG, you will find the greatest collection of on the subject of “God, Sex, and the Eternal nonconformists, I believe, in the Brigade. We are Longing.” The message was clear. Or, at least, I one of the few, if not the only, organization with am assuming it was. I didn’t actually go to this brief, nor did I have any interest in it as I probably would have slept through the whole affair. Still, it is in this spirit which may or may not be an accurate representation of someone else’s ideals that I proclaim this issue one of “Darkness, Cynicism and the Eternal Logging” with a noxious undertones that screams “Make War, Not Love.” Here, we examine the inner machinations of romance both within and outside the loving granite walls of Mother-B. Now, you may wonder with that
the ability to ask a coherent and poignant “why?” to many of the issues we face not only as midshipman but as the future officers we’re here to become. I encourage more out to join us while we still have the luxury. Enough on my soapbox, though, you have a magazine to get to! What are my suggestions? Read it cover to cover. This issue has it all. Drama, gossip, love, romance, all the fifty shades of blue and gold and some gray thrown in there as well. Hannah Bobell returns to her former glory as we rescued her from the evil French West Point. Jett Illinois Watson examines the “ADM Miller Center for Dear Editors, Does CAPT Borrebach have magical powers? -2/C Nuts about Nutella Dear 2/C Nuts about Nutella, CAPT Borrebach indeed has magical powers. Specifically, the magical power of common sense, a trait so uncommon in these parts. Praise him, for his abilities have brought us such treasures as Nutella, fro-yo, and Dios Mio TAPA TIO. -The Editors Dear Editors, Who is Richard Snowden? - 4/C Forrestal Flabbergasted Dear Forrestal Enthusiast, Richard was an early colonist in Maryland who founded the Patuxent Iron Works, which is considered to be Maryland’s “oldest iron forge.” He was one of our first industrialists. (Thanks, Wikipedia!) Richard Snowden is also Edward Snowden’s hotter younger brother who often gets blamed for his brother’s dastardly deeds in the NSA. It has been reported that Edward has made his brother a scapegoat in revenge for Richard taking the top bunk of the bunk bed. I hope that dispels your highly annoying, inquisitive nature! -The Editors
Mids who can’t Cyber Good,” and the confessions are in about who “likes likes” whom. It’s everything you’d expect from the trashiest of tabloids, all delivered right to your mate’s desk or mailbox. So enjoy your magazine! Very Respectfully, MIDN Mike Ebeling The LOG Editor-in-Chief
Dear Editors, Any tips for saving money for Spring Break? -3/C Broke for Break Dear 3/C Broke, Have you ever heard of the King Hall Diet? -The Editors Dear Editors, I’m really struggling this Dark Ages. How do you recommend I get through them? -Everyone in Sub-70 Temperatures Dear Whiney, I’d be happy to help you. The best advice I can give is a heavy dose of just give up now. Life is meaningless, there’s no point in going on, and you’ll probably never measure up to your expectations. So stop being such a downer and just hang in there, you old fool! XOXOXO, -The Editors
Salty Sam Aye! Brig…cough cough….Brigade, is that you? It’s been so long! What year is it? Have they replaced Plebes with robots yet? Have they replaced the sergeant major with someone funny? Who are all you people, and what’s all this snow doing here? Oh dear, it can’t be… THE DARK AGES! The cursed period between the end of happiness as we knew it and the dim, far off light of happiness on Spring Break. I’m not sure Salty can endure another one. Particularly one so bitterly cold. Oceanographers, stop screwing with the weather! Salty knows you all are the reason for this “Polar Vortex” nonsense I’ve been hearing about. It wouldn’t be so bad if it were a mere snow
“Ohh dear, it can't be... THE DARK AGES!” storm, but things have gotten out of hand. Look outside and it’s like the Winter Olympics out there, except for the fact that someone is actually looking at them. Not a bad idea, actually. Someone should go get those Olympic folks with the “torch” and let them know about the Annapolis 2014 games. The Santee Basin could be a hockey rink, Clark Park (Smoke Park, to all ye Plebers) for cross-country skiing, and curling on Stribling. Salty loves curling. And it wouldn’t cost anything since we could replace the stones with Plebes, who should also be really good at sweeping and other janitorial activities, i.e. curling. It is nice to see Worden Field covered with snow, because it keeps it from being covered with FDB-clad Mids. Parade season will return though, and the higher-ups have come up with a wonderful new addition to the usual routine which will surely have no unintended consequences and/or horribly bloody injuries. Yes, BAYONETS ARE BACK. Because this is the military, and if we’re going to parade in useless formations in useless uniforms with useless rifles, we may as well add useless knives to our repertoire! Salty likes this change. Hopefully it will bring
“BAYONETS ARE BACK” back the time-honored tradition of contracting gangrene at P-rades. So remember, when parade season starts, submit your potentially life threatening injury pictures to Salty Sam’s 2014 Purple Heart for Marching contest for a chance for an actual fake Purple Heart Salty bought off a homeless man downtown who was apparently a general in the
Vietnam War. Interesting folks out there. Most insincere apologies if Salty is just getting ahead of himself here. After all, the Plebe has seen his shadow, and no matter how many months late this publication is distributed, we’re still in for another month of long, cold, frozen winter. This granite hell hath finally frozen over. Thankfully, the PRT has come and gone! And for this semester, the PE department stepped up their game yet again. Taking a page from the NSA, ankle bracelets were a great addition to the Naval Academy’s mission of tracking your every move. Surely this is in the interest of ensuring no one misses the sacred minimum time for their respective gender, but Salty’s just glad they didn’t waste their money on something useless or reminiscent of our apparent prisoner status. We probably got them from the same company that made the issued kindergarten chairs. I just hope you didn’t hurt yourself too much training for that lovely day in winter hell. Remember, a little exercise goes a long way. Here’s a medical fact I read on the website wherein Salty pretends to be a doctor: push-ups suck, and are probably bad for you/contain aspartame. And don’t get me started about hitting the gym. First of all, you should never strike the gym in anger, no matter what nasty names that he called your mother. (What did he ever do to you?) Second of all, allow me to regale you with the story of “The Skull Crusher” and our classmate that now has a 2x4 inch scar in his head. Now, I know you’re thinking, “But Salty, Skull Crushers are great for your tri’s! How am I supposed to get SWOLE so that women will love me?” To this I would reply, “women will never love you,” and also “let me finish my story, damn it!” It happened on a Friday, when most Mids were off doing important things, like hydrating or planning out their route on the Boulevard of Bad Decisions known as Downtown Annapolis. MIDN SWOLE was just
“THE DUMBBELLS ATTACKED.” minding his own business, doing some reps when THE DUMBBELLS ATTACKED. It was completely out of no where, I mean, who would imagine they would actually crush their skull doing skull crushers? MIDN SKULLCRUSHED certainly did not! After a brief inspection by a very condescending (typical) PMO, it was determined that, “Bro, he definitely stacked his weights up properly. Totally Karma, bro.” Totally Karma indeed. Speaking of karma, it’s time for another installment of
my series on how 2015 is getting screwed over. That was the working title, at least. Salty actually just recently learned about West Point’s class of 1915, who apparently had so many generals that they were known as “The class the stars fell on.” It seems only the more fitting for Salty to dub 2015 “The class the stars pooped on.” And what have they pooped on now? Well, let’s see. Is it the fact that they can’t choose whether they want to go Navy Pilot or NFO, but
“THE CLASS THE STARS POOPED ON” instead have to choose Aviation and let the SARB sorting hat decide their fate? No, that’s for another time, I’m afraid. Salty would like to talk about Second Class Squad Leaders. Or, the lack there of, it would seem. We still have these sort of “underground” movements, but Lord only knows how long they will last until they are weeded out one by one. Certain battalions have already decided to get rid of them altogether. Now, Salty’s all for shunning large groups of midshipmen -- it is a sport I play with the battalion officers quite often --but these noble men and women are in their prime for leadership. They’ve been waiting two years to get their hands on a leadership billet, and the moment it arrives-poof!--it’s gone. Now, the firsties do run the Brigade, by which Salty means to say they delegate most work off to the 2/C. Tis the way it’s always been, I’m afraid. After all, the firsties have seen the light at the end of the tunnel, they’ve tasted the fruit of freedom and they know what awaits them. They know how close the end is, and they are on cruise control the rest of the way. Woa, sorry kids... Salty got a little bit serious back there. Hey, did you see that Mid who trolled the Forrestal, and in a shocking precedent, didn’t get eaten by a gunnery sergeant? (Was that accent real or did he just shove 75 cotton balls in his mouth?) Amazing! And then there’s the issue of Richard Snowden, hopefully we can get the NAFACers to explain to me who that is without using the word “geopolitical” or “thusly.” Anyways, that’s it for Salty, I have to go kill a Tauntaun and live in its innards to survive the next vortex. Stay Salty, Salty Sam
By Miguel Moravec â€˜17
Alec Bacon ‘15
Fifty Shades of
Blue & Gold
By Hannah Bobell ‘15
Tippity-tap-tap went the pencil as she tapped it for the umpteenth time on the Mate’s Desk. There was something about a Saturday night 23-04 watch that just seemed to make time crawl by. “Brigade, attention to announcements…” droned the dull, monotonous voice on the 1MC. “Restriction muster at 2330 in Smoke Hall,” she finished for it, showing off to nobody in particular. 3/C Anita Canary checked the board for restricees she would need to awaken in order to fulfill their sentence. Tippity-tap-tap. “Brown,” she said to the empty Pee-Way. “Jacob Brown.” Jacob Brown lived down the hallway, in the corner by the 2/C stairwell. As a varsity lacrosse player, ocean engineer, and all-around “bad boy,” Anita Certainly did not see much of him. Not that she wanted to. She was a chem major, bound to do great things as she studied Chinese, sang in Glee Club, and owned the team in women’s field hockey. Their worlds could not have been more divergent. Jacob had probably said three words to her throughout her entire time at the Academy, and
she did not mind that one bit. It was more of a burden than a courtesy for her to tromp down the hallway to his room, her leathers making a satisfying thump-thump in the emptiness. Tippity-tap-tap went her first rap at the door. No answer. Anita glanced at her watch: 2315. She had equations to balance, and he was only taking her sweet time. She rapped harder. Again, no answer. Flustered and annoyed beyond reason, Anita peeked open the door, just a tentative crack. “Brown,” she hissed. “Brown!” A low, muffled groan came from the bed. She heard the rustle of sheets as his body shifted. “Wha?” “You have restriction muster,” she snapped. “Like, NOW.” “Wha…?” The rustling sounded again, and which was followed by the squeaking of a chair and the hefty plunk as his body dropped to the floor. Before she could pull back, he was already at the frame and pulled open the door so that the dim light streamed in on him. “What?” he asked again..
For a moment, that was all she could do. The only time that midshipmen ever saw other midshipmen’s...bodies--was in swim class, and surely there was no one in her section that looked quite like this. Brown was chiseled perfectly, the shadows dancing off of every toned ab like peaks and valleys of a mountain range. It all spun delightfully down, she noticed, to a prominent “V” that disappeared into his mesh shorts. His pex rippled as he ran a tanned hand through his dirty blonde hair, looking groggy and smelling overwhelmingly like Old Spice and sleep. Somehow, the contours of his chest seemed to draw her eyes down--down and down and… “What uniform?” Anita was pulled sharply from her revelrie. “Um, eh, working blues,” she managed to stumble out. “You need your rifle.” He muttered a curse under his breath then drew something out from behind the door. “Here,” he muttered gruffly, shoving his rifle into her hands. Of course he keeps it unlocked, she thought crassly to herself. No positive control at all. Typical varsity athlete… So there she was, standing in the hallway, rifle in her hands. It did not take him long to reemerge, Eagles drunk off of their rockers, and snatch his weapon back from her hands. “Have fun,” she managed to force out. She couldn’t think of anything else to stay. Not with the memory of his beautiful chest snapping over and over again in her brain like a polaroid picture. “I’ll be back,” was his only reply. For some reason, she never expected him to return, so when she heard the familiar, thump thump thump of leathers, she just assumed that Brown was going to return to his room. Just keep your head down, she told herself. Look busy. Look occupied. You don’t have time for this sort of-“Sup.” The greeting was so sudden the tippity tap-tap ceased with a startled halt. “Oh,” she stumbled stupidly. “Uh, Brown…” “Jake,” he shot back, flashing an amused, dazzling smile of pearly white teeth. Well someone’s been down to dental… “And you’re… Anna, right?” “Anita.” Why were the simplest words so hard? Words like her name? Words like “muscle” and “belly button” and “cascading” and… “Yea, I guess I’ve never really talked to you before.” “I guess not,” was the only stupid answer she could muster up. “You on duty this weekend?”
“Yea.” Why was this conversation so painful? “Sucks,” he sighed. “I hate this f-in place… Don’t you wish you could just get out?” “Yea,” she started, “I guess… And do what?” “Whatever the hell you want to,” he grinned back. “Party, skiing, cliff-diving—whatever it is that makes you happy. What makes you happy, Anita?” All of a sudden, his hand was on hers. It was a grasp, but it was not as aggressive as it was stealthy and smooth. His touch was warm on her skin, his rough calluses massaging across her knuckles gently. She never noticed that his eyes were blue like the sea. Happy, happy, happy…. “Well, I guess volunteering with Mids For Kids. That’s pretty cool… Sometime I go ride my bike down B&A if it gets warm--” “I don’t mean that kind of happy,” he chuckled. “Like really, truly, happy. Like…fulfilled, or something.” “I-I…” The single letter was lost in the pee-way. His grin, if possible, became wider and even softer. “You know what makes me happy?” His voice was almost a whisper. He gave her hand a tight squeeze as he leaned in to her ear, so close she could smell the minty sting of Listerine on his breath and feel his warm words on the skin bared above her necktab. “Freedom.” And with that, he disappeared back into the dark, enveloping expanse of the hall. Immediately, thoughts began to race through her mine. What was it that they learned in SHAPE? Sexual harassment? There was a definition, right? Ok, sexual in nature, in the workplace…. Distracts you from work, and….AND--” The thought suddenly came from her, and the pee-way was deathly silent. She had not realized how hard she was tapping her pencil against the log book, the rhythm a deep drum on the same pace as her racing heart. Unwanted. That was it. A million more complications washed over her in an instant. “Unwanted” was when 3/C Brackenstienser kept asking her on a date to the Celtic appreciation club. Unwanted was 5 hours of watch. But this, somehow, just wasn’t the same... Time seemed to stand still. ...What is this wasn’t unwanted? TO BE CONTINUED?
Dating Spots Around the Yard Did you manage to find yourself a Valentine this year? We’ve got good news for you. The LOG has scoped out the entire yard and has picked out the best dating spots for your romantic evening of middating. Drydock is the best go-to on the yard date spot, and will upgrade your relationship to “Drydock Official.”
Triton Light for maximum romantic effect.
The third deck of Luce Hall is a prine location for some.
Steerage for those couples who rate it.
The OMG IS THAT IVAN DE LA CRUZ?! Story
FRIENDS ARE CONCERNED ABOUT IVAN’S FREQUENT HOMEWORK BINGES. ONE FRIEND, WHO DECLINED TO BE NAMED, DESCRIBED HIM AS “ACTUALLY A PRETTY GOOD MID - STUDIOUS, ETC. IT’S A SHAME, REALLY.”
FROM HIS ROOMMATE, 2/C BRIAN MIHALJEVIASDKFJS: “IVAN NEEDS HELP, SO I’VE ENROLLED HIM INTO A PERSONAL PLEBE REHAB PROGRAM.” THE INTERVENTION WAS ROUGH, BUT WE’VE MANAGED TO GET HIS MQS COMPLETION DOWN FROM 90% TO A MUCH MORE NORMAL 50%. IT’S GOOD HAVING HIM BACK.
The Darker, Gray Side
By Hannah Bobell ‘15
Two households, both alike in dignity, On the field of Philadelphia, where we lay our scene, From ancient rivalry break to new mutiny, Where civil Whoops make Squids unclean. This is not your average love story. It never was meant to start that way. Of course, one always thinks as the most terrible crime in the Brigade to be “Darksiding”—this sick sort of incestual relationship that leads good mids out of company and posts XYZ cases on our bathroom stalls. But, if this is the ultimate midshipman taboo, what, pray thee, is to be done when love is kindled between two bitter enemies? Scene I: A boardwalk in South Florida. Roman D’Oreo and Julia Ettie walk on, then turn and face each other. J: You never told me. . R: You never asked. J: “Small, technical institute off the Hudson?” R: My school, dear Squid, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee. J: Wherefore art thou now? Please, deny thy colors and denounce the game… What is in this game? That which we would call the Commander and Chief ’s, which at any other Academy, would not smell nearly as sweet? If my shipmates do discover this, they shall murder thee. R: Alack, there lies more peril in thine eyes than twenty of their taunts. Look thou but sweet, and I am the proof that love can bridge this rivalry. Call from a distance: Julia! Harken! The time is now to quit these occupations, or we shall surely miss our EOL formations! She starts to leave. R: Wait! What a’ clock to-morrow shall I Oovoo thee? J: By the hour of 10, after study period ends. I have then forgotten why I chose to give you my number… R: Then stay a moment, let me stand here till thou remember it. Embraces her in a long, beautiful kiss. The curtain closes.
standing around Chief ’s desk. C: How, will she none? Does she not give us thanks? This…impunity she does there flaunt, when we have crowned her with the laurels of company adjutant?!?!? J: Now, by John Paul’s Grave, and JPJ too, I cannot spend that weekend making watchbills for you! The weekend of the Army/ Navy match is not such a thing that true love can dispatch! C: How now, conduit, mid? I would this fool be taking weekend with her company ranking! Does she not count her blest, so worthy of a billet to be her undertaking? J: Blest I can never be of what I hate! I must take that weekend, that I do rate!
Scene II: SEL Capulet’s Office. Julia, Capulet, and LT Mere are all
M: Fie, fie, what are you, mad? J: Good chief, I beseech you on my knees, hear me with patient but to speak a word… C: Speak not, reply not, do not answer me! My frying fingers itch. LT, we truly thought us blest, but now I see that this one is too much, and we have a curse in promoting her. Take your weekend, Midshipman! Out of my sight! We will just see what your aptitude ranking drops to tonight… J storms out of the office space. Scene III: Cadet 1/C Friar’s room. R enters. R: Friar, what news? What is the Commandant’s doom? F: A gentler judgment has is set to begin—a free weekend for all, if we do win. R: Ha, if we win? Be merciful, say “Death”; for our last twelve years have much to say. It does not look that I will be able to leave West Point any day… F: Be patient, for our chances are broad and wide. Should you wish to go out with your love on weekend pass, I can surely give you both a ride. R: Yet “winning”? Hang up this victory! Unless a Navy win can make Julia displant her team and join me in my misery… F: O, I see that Cows have no ears! R: How should they when Firsties have no eyes? Wet thou as young as I, Julia my love, we could break these chains that duty implies. Hark, a text? F: From thy salty lover, who leaves us vexed… R: A weekend for her! Oh, Friar, say that I may sack this hateful submission? F: Art thou a cadet? Put in your ORM, and challenge Navy’s bet! R: I will do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. For I will lose these days if the win is on Navy’s side.
N: My friend, as Navy runs down the field, your inner emotions are most concealed. So shall you feel the loss, but not with the team that you cheer for… J: Feeling their loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. As these last two minutes unfold, back to West Point I will him send… Comm pardon him! I do with all my heart. And yet no Whoop like he doth grieve my heart. Cheering is heard in the background. A cannon is fired. N: We will have our dominance on them, we have won the day! Then weep no more. He shall soon keep the other cadets happy in his tomb of cold gray. C: Ancient damnation! O, most wicked fiend! Is it more sin to wish me thus forsworn, or to dispraise my team with the same tongue? Thou and my bosom henceforth shall be twain, for there is nothing left to celebrate after this fatal game. Should I not be able to spend it with my amorous friend, there is nothing left but to give Chief my soiled weekend… Scene V: The West Point stands. R is sitting alone head in his hands, and J enters from the back. Seeing her, R takes her in his arms. R: Julia! Julia! Please, cease your long face! Oh, but merciful Generals have looked upon us with grace! We have been granted weekend pass to booster our failing morale! J: I have a numbing cold that thrills through my veins. That has freezes up the heat of lift. I cannot call you back to comfort me, my dismal deeds to my company I must render. You see, my weekend to Chief is already surrendered. Sir, please take me by the arm. A charge of frat would only lead to more unspeakable harm… R hurriedly released her, and she sinks to the bench, her head in her hands. He falls to his knees, and screams to the sky. R: I AM FORTUNE’S FOOL! Touches her arm, trying to rouse her gently. She is despondent. He takes a knee, then slowly stands up. R: For this wretched pass, I have nothing left to live… To the duty section, I hereby, my weekend, GIVE!
Scene IV: The Army/Navy game. Julia is sitting with her company in the stands by her friend, MIDN Nurse.
He plunges a hand into his chest, as if stabbing himself in the heart, and then sinks down on the bench by J, head between his knees. The curtain closes.
J: Fortuitous plans for Navy do transpire, but so many pushups in this O-coat do make me perspire…
…For never was a story more tragically beget, Of the fatal Midshipmen and her amorous Cadet.
10,000 She better have gone through her CoC with this one...
Why is she CATV all of a sudden???
And all of them are on a YP. Muahahaha... If you read between the lines, itâ€™s about two Group 1 Majors hopelessly in love.
Oh, hi Mrs. Robinson, thanks again for being my sponsor mom.
Get in the mood with your favority Romantic Comedy
The Post Finals Fetal Position
“I’ll have what she’s having.” “It’s King Hall, everyone’s having what she’s having...”
You got MIDS, look it up... I learned these moves in Dahlgren
Secret Admirer Confessions I’ve had my eyes on this upperclass since I came into the academy as a 28th company plebe last year. However being a plebe I couldn’t ever say anything last year, and now that I’m a youngster I’m afraid I can’t work up the courage to ask him out because of his position in company, he’s the XO. He’s got such dreamy eyes though. I love all the O-5s for making my stay here much easier. -4/C W.T. Door Michelle de Vente, I want to be your trophy husband. xoxo
I’m glad you are letting us write this...If I had to hold in my love for 3/C Charles Simpson any longer, I might explode. I love his laugh, the way his nose wrinkles and eyes squint. I love his perpetual bedhead and messy hair. When he smiles my heart melts like old snow in the spring sunshine. I just wish he would acknowledge that I exist...I love you Charles, and Happy Birthday.
I would live in Europe during the Black Plague, sit through the WNBA finals, and take part in any and every King Hall Taste Test to go on a date with 2/C Gee Mi Jorde. Man I hope she reads The LOG and can guess which person I am...
Over the past couple months, I have come to love and adore the cockroaches that inhabit Bancroft hall. I enjoy their company so much that some of my friends have begun picking them up throughout Mother B and delivering them to my room as gifts. What they my friends don’t know however is that my squeals and cries of duress are secretly my way of releasing my inner passion and spilling my lust for these beautiful creatures. I can only ask that they one day realize my my true love for them and their species. 4/C Cully, USNA 19th Company
I have a crush on 1/C Davinsizer. He’s literally perfect in every way. -Secret Admirer Your Southern sass is almost as enjoyable as checking out your...class... choices for next semester so that I know what to pick. I love getting lost in your beautiful blue eyes...I mean, green eyes. I love MIDN 3/C ElSaawy. I see him in the MacD all the time and his arms are so swole. Why wont he be mine? -Finding Nemo
Kelsey Shevock is the love of my life ~ from a 7th Company Stallion Audrey Petro is the most gorgeous Mid I have ever met. When I bench press 300 lbs is to impress her. Though right now it would be considered frat, I know when I retire we can be together.
I love my wonderful and caring Plebe Summer Detailers who put my feelings first every day. I will forever cherish their warmth and sympathy -4/C Mid
Dear Brandon, I think you are an amazing person, and I love everything about you, even your obsession for feet. Love, Your secret admirer
Nikki, if only we weren’t in the same company.
I met the love of my life on Tinder. Her name is Rachel Nicole Brown. We started dating within 2 hours into our first encounter. Then we broke up within 24 hours when she told me she wanted 4 kids. I think I made a huge mistake by letting her go. Please, if I am chosen for this secret crush confessions, I want you to write this in case she sees... “Baby come back” -Nathan Ritter
<3 Miss Mary in Drydock<3 The love of my life, My meat-head maker. Toasted whole grain So wonderful -Christian Scroggs
Jon Conner, A Haiku: lover, heartbreaker, He don’t speak English too good, But golly he’s hot. -His second cousin
Dear room 3420, Love is too small of a word to describe how I feel about you two... So I shall call it, in the words of Dr. Sues of course, “Mutual weirdness”... I have fallen in MUTUAL WEIRDNESS with you two beautiful ladies! -Varsity Narp I am head over heels for this stellar Midshipman. His pleasant, pigeon toed gait has me wringing my issued whitey tighties every time I pass him in the p-way. Sometimes he comes in my room to play FIFA, but I cannot even stand to be in the room with him running in circles with his arms outstretched shouting, "GOAAAAAL." Ian, will you be mine??? Ian Anderson
I am in love with the most beautiful girl at school. Her name is Megan Rosenberger and she has the prettiest smile in the whole world. I talk about her to my roommates all the time, even in my sleep when I am dreaming of her (always). Honestly, all I ever do in Naval History is stare at her. I just hope she notices me for once. -John Davin
I can't hold it back any more....I love Jim McDaniel! <3 I mean he's going to be a SEAL, what else could I ask for? Nick Arnold and I have been building up our momentos to remind us of him. I love you Jim. -Thomas Rooney To 3/c Mullen of 18th company, I just want to tell you that you are gorgeous. So gorgeous in fact, that when I see you walking through King Hall, I softly sing to my friends “There Goes My Baby” by Usher. Very respectfully, 2/c Chocolate Thunder P.S.: I’m still looking for a Ring Dance date...
Ever since I saw her first walking to the boat house I have been unable to get Ms. Wallace out of my mind. Without a doubt, she is the most beautiful member of the class of 2016.
My love for Chris Morneau is never ending. When he walks by in his short rugby shorts my heart skips a beat. We’ve talked and I have hinted at my affection for him, but he hasn’t caught on. Can you help? Forever Chris’s 2/C Squishy
Ladies and gentlemen, lads and lassies, midshipmen and midshipwomen: It is time to take what is ours. It is time to stand up to those who rob us of our precious goods. Those One-Percenters with all their bling and no compassion. Those who would rather see this school sink into a irrecoverable depression rather than share a little of the wealth with the rest of us.
My comrades, it is time we took our Netflix back.
No longer will we sit idly by as ~45 of our peers take more than their fair share of the bandwidth. No longer shall we cry out in agony as Breaking Bad just won’t buffer right. No longer shall we have to actually do our homework rather than try to watch a whole season of House of Cards in one night. It is time for us: the commoners, the proletariat, the united workers of USNA, and the heroes in this great novel we call Destiny. Join me comrades. Join me as we occupy Ward Hall until they release the names, alphas, and embarrassing web histories of those who dare to belong to the 1%. Will you join me on this quest for Justice? Or will you settle for rewatching all those movies on your issued external hard-drive? Join me, and we shall be written into the pages of history contained within Preble Hall.
We are the
Don’t let the 1% force the Academy into a Bandwidth Recession with Ward Hall’s removal of Netflix. Let us instead band together and Code-Red all those with 30 internet tabs open watching 7 games, downloading 13 movies, and playing World of Warcraft, X-Box Live, and creating a wireless network for their 3 iPads, 2 iPhones, and Kindle Fire. Stand with me, and fight.
By Comrade Badmin
The LOG Interviews
The Supe TS: ehhhh I don’t plan. TL: So, if hypothetically we went to war with Thailand, whose side would you be on? TS: We are not crazy enough to have a war with US. If it does though, I will definitely have to be on Thailand side. And to reduce the casualties, I’ll be a representative from Thailand to dual 1-1 with the best US military personal in a fight of rock-paper-scissors (3 wins)
Editor’s Note: Yeah, so we tried to get an interview with VADM Miller. Actually, that’s just an outright lie – we’re just as afraid of admirals as you are. If it’s any consolation, we thought about interviewing the actual Supe, but we figured no admiral would have the time in their busy schedule to give interviews or participate in meaningTL: What do you think of America? Is it not the greatest less banter. We found the next best thing, though, and he actually is country ever? (it is) The Supe. I checked with my team of Sea Lawyers, who told me, “if She is big and beautiful. the title fits you must acquit” Without further ado, here we go. They live among us. Students from around the world come from several different countries just to suffer through four years with us all on the Severn. But who are these people? Why did they choose to come here? I sat down with one international student, MIDN 2/C Supawit Wongissares to find out: The LOG: What’s your full name and where are you from? (In both English and Thai characters please)
TS: If you could do it all again, would you still come here and why not? Well, I didn’t really choose to come here in the first place and if I had a choice I would still try the same thing... Have I told you how I got tricked into the Royal Thai Navy by my dad? TL: No, please explain if you will. TS: It’s a secret.
The Supe: Supawit Wongissares From Thailand TL: Why do people call you Supey or The Supe?
TL: Take me back to the PRT you decided you didn’t have to take. What was going through your head? TS: TS: I think it’s from my first name Supawit... Didn’t see that Yup exactly. coming huh? hahaha (dry laugh) No don’t try to People also call me Suppa, Super, Soup, Sop, google translate. Mr.Wongissares (that’s for you plebers), Mr.Supey and many other names. TL: What was the biggest What I don’t like is when my CoC call me Wong, I mean culture shock come on guys it’s not hard to learn your people’s real last coming here? names and call them properly. TS: Oh my God!! You guys TL: Has anyone ever confused you with the Supe before? had the little You look a lot alike. carts for fat people in stores!?! TS: Are you serious?... TL: What do you plan on service selecting?
New Cyber Center Looks Delicious, Like Marzipan! By Jett Utah Watson ‘16
The newest future building on the hip campus (some would say “So hot right now” campus) of the United States Naval Academy is making waves – electromagnetic waves, that is. A new cyber center for excellence, currently known as the “VADM Miller Center for Mids Who Can’t Cyber Good, and Wanna to do Other Things Good Too,” is set to become the Fortress of Solitude for America’s Supermen of the cyber realm. “Yes, there will be computers inside,” one official, who asked to remain anonymous, says. But will there be good computers inside? “Yeah, they’ll be good computers,” the official, who still asked to remain anonymous, says, “That’s a really bad question. You could ask about the money, or the space, or the time – those are all valid issues at hand here. I’ll talk about any one of them.” Despite this official’s reticence, reluctantly protected by The LOG’s valiant reporters and ethical warriors, we got to the bottom of this issue: The new facility comes from the explosion of interest in cyber security studies at the Naval Academy. Experts are amazed at the participation in courses on cyber – from roughly eight midshipmen in the class of 2013, the class of 2016 is set to have one hundred percent participation in valuable cyber classes. Current resources for cyber dominance mastery studies are limited, with cyber instructors sharing roughly 1,000 square feet of space in Michelson Hall with all the other filthy sciences of that building. Luckily, the new building will increase that floorspace by so many percents that the amount of floorspace will equal 200,000 square feet. That’s a lot of percents! Of course, as all Midshippersons know (and as I have been soothed time and time again), it’s not the size of the building, but how you use it. And the VADM Miller Center for Mids Who Can’t Cyber Good, and Want to do Other Things Good Too is pulling absolutely no punches. According to VADM Miller’s own article for the USNA Alumni Association, the Center is set to have computer labs, more advanced computer labs, and some other computer labs. It’s a virtual gym, but you don’t have to rack the weights! “No, you do need to ‘rack the weights.’ If that’s even a good metaphor,” our same pocket-protectored source said, “The labs will be closed sandbox environments that you reboot once any training simulation is complete. So as far as ‘re-racking weights,’ I suppose you must re-rack the mental weights! Hehehe.” To avoid incurring the wrath of the good Admiral’s many swords, of which cyber is one, The LOG does believe that this Center for Mids Who Can’t Cyber Good, and Want to do Other Things Good Too shall benefit the great classes of the future. Ryan Dean Jackson, future President of the great Class of 2032, said, “I like computers.” “Uncle Jett,” he continued, “Can I see your phone?”
Future mids say the darndest things! Obviously the need for a cyber-connected world resonates strongly with the upcoming generation of future officers. The LOG staff has taken great pains to research even the most secret aspects of the upcoming VADM Miller Center for Mids Who Can’t Cyber Good, and Want to do Other Things Good Too. The hoverboards are a nice touch. Curiously enough, the floor-to-ceiling windows lauded as the building’s true architectural masterpiece will be continually blocked by massive, special blackout curtains. “Well, we can’t have the sunlight causing a glare on the screens, can we,” said the unnamed source previously mentioned later in the same interview that he said the other things during, “In the future of cyber warfare, human operators are going to make all the difference – and even a slight glare could cause the downfall of the entire American electrical grid, for all we know!” The Center will also host a broad variety of vending machines. However, food and drink must be consumed in a special snack room in order to avoid getting crumbs on the machines. A new level of security clearance is also in the works, currently titled “Super Duper Secret Cyber Stuff,” which all midshipmen will be required to screen for in order to enjoy new classes offered in the core curriculum: Cyber Warfare I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VII, and “Hacking Your Way to that Star!” Personally, The LOG believes that there’s more to life than being really, really, ridiculously good at cyber. Tom Cruise Meets Hyman Rickover Meets Yeezus and the Fellowship of the Web When I met him, he was freebasing megabytes off of a pure optical mouse that had enough wheels, scrolls, and hotkeys to take down an army of Korean StarCraft players. He looked up at me with eyes atrophied beyond recognition. He could speak only from a headset, even then preferring to use bits and pieces of torrented music and movies that haven’t even been made yet. He’s the one we have been warned about. He’s the one they say is stealing all our bandwidth. He’s the one they try to fight – to protect us from. He is the Wolf of Ward Hall. And there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him. Midshipman 2/C Wolf (a pseudonym used to protect the innocent) recently received a message from the most terrifying enforcers of MIDREGs within Bancroft Hall, a secret police so powerful that the Officer of the Watch calls attention on deck for them. This is the terrible twosome, the dynamic duo, the crazy couple: the Brigade Midshipman Information Systems Liaison Officers. The billet so nice, they made it twice. Mr. Wolf received one e-mail from one of these enforcers of the long arm of the cyber law describing his crimes in detail, finishing with an ominous recommendation to, “Please talk to your company mislo [REDACTED].” Wolf laughs, a halting, choking sound. I am honestly terrified that he might hurt himself. He’s watched too many movies. Literally. Even during our interview, he has seven different Netflix movies streaming. He asks, “Would you like to listen to the
very little hair on his leathery cyber-feet, looked forward to the expected visit of a very peculiar man: a wizard with electronics, Ganzax the Great! Of course, what Cybo never expected was what happened next. BR-ENIAC, despite his age, had once travelled widely throughout Middle Net, and his adventures would strike deeply into the placid lives of those around him. A storm had been brewing in Middle Net for some time, and BR-ENIAC had to relinquish the key to defeating the forces of evil in order to restore peace to the realm. BR-ENIAC had in his possession a golden USB of Power – all networks had heard the stories, of the nine ancient kings seduced by the ring maker’s promises of power, only to be betrayed and made his deputies of evil. An alliance had formed among the forces of good, a great battle was raged, and the most powerful USB of all – that one USB to rule them all, to find them, to seek them out and bind them – was lost forever, restoring an uneasy balance to a world weakened by war. But BR-ENIAC had found that golden USB, deep in the caves of Michelson Hall, guarded by a loathsome, deranged network unrecognizable after swearing fealty to the forces of Chemistry. Wolf continued to related a tale of wonder to me. You see, Cybo was no ordinary network. It was the network of Bancroft Hall, once young and fresh like Brussels sprouts! The network was tasked with destroying the golden USB by throwing it back into the source of its power in Ward Hall But the forces of Ward Hall were strong, and the ring maker, Lord ----, had many spies. And many spies have many eyes. Chief among these were the Mislo staff, powerful web wizards who once seemed Cybo and his Fellowship’s greatest allies. Even they succumbed to the desire for power exuded from the Evil Eye, betraying the Fellowship of the Mids. Even today, the battle raged, probably right after that part where Gandalf shows up with all the dudes from Rohan – Wait, what? This is just Lord of the Rings. This is totally copyright infringement. And it’s not even realistic. USB drives have been banned for forever. Midshipman Wolf told a wonderful tale. But he was clearly high off of all the internet in his possession, and really needs to quit watching so many movies. The newest season of Archer is out, after all. Take back the webs, Brigade. Make it the 100%.
Broadway cast of Frozen?” But the Broadway show hasn’t even been written yet, some may protest. “Correct,” he says. The depths of the internet are a mysterious place. Even Mr. Wolf himself finds things in the darkest reaches of the interwebosphere that make him happy for the stone shield of Ward Hall. “I once ran a wildly successful spear-phishing campaign against Naval Academy girlfriends for research into the mind of a so-called ‘two-percenter’,” he explained. “I found passwords into the Facebook groups, Twitter feeds, Pinterest, you name it.” Did Mr. Wolf use this information for evil? Did he destroy relationships and devastate people across the nation? Does he even understand that gossip hurts? “Well, I really just read a lot of the stuff and decided to leave,” he said, “Facebook groups about people at the Academy are just kind of weird.” Mr. Wolf belongs to the loosely affiliated syndicate of cyber masters that have been drawn to the US Naval Academy by promises of a land of Linux and Wall-E. Established authority condemns these online vigilantes, ranging from the Isengard of Ward Hall to the street-savvy Yang Gang. Even the average midshipman regards these high-capacity bandwidth users grumpily, with protests and riots breaking out. “We are the 99%,” one midshipman said, straining to be heard over the sound of chanting. Curiously, none of the chanting had anything to do with trying to find out who the mysterious 1% are, or why they use so much bandwidth. The unequal distribution of internet is but one of many midshipman complaints. At one recent protest, in the dead hours of a cold weekday night, sign proclamations ranged from “Take Back Netflix” to “Beat San Jose State” to “Friends Not Stripes.” One midshipman even wandered around, meekly flapping a sheet of paper that said “More Dudes, Less Space.” Midshipman 2/C Wolf considers these protests cute. “These people don’t even know what we do for them,” he says, “Without us, how do you think squad innings could happen? The wide proliferation of strangely new films throughout the Brigade? That is our doing. Trickle-down theory.” Midshipman Wolf, surprisingly enough, refused to comment upon one of his monitor’s screensavers: former President Ronald Reagan, regally attired in Versace Versace Versace, like any true power player. While reticent about his favorite economically challenged leaders of the free world, Midshipman Wolf did give the LOG a secret account of the true intentions of the so-called 1% of high-intensity users in the Brigade. These intentions are not to be shared with anyone, and were given to this reporter at the darkest hour of the darkest night within the darkest reaches of an abandoned YP drifting in the Chesapeake Bay as a chilling reminder of the ghost of sequestrations past. Midshipman Wolf told a tale of wonder, fantasy, and drama. An intrigue amongst the cyber community of the Naval Academy few held knowledge of whatsoever. Luckily, this reporter wore a wire, thankful for the courage gained from his days spent hunting a hat-wearing psychopath across the blue, glassy deserts of New Mexico. When Mr. BR-ENIAC of Ward Hall announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excite- What is this?! A CENTER FOR PLEBES?! THE CENTER HAS TO BE AT LEAST 3 TIMES BIGGER THAN THIS! ment in Crabtown. His nephew Cybo, a young network with
Going for Gold THE D A R K A G E S O L Y M P I C S
Once, every year, between the fall of youngster grades, studying Rome in Western Civ, and the Enlightenment brought about by spring break, the Brigade suffers through centuries of the Dark Ages. While these times are best known for their endless nature and inspiring Monty Python’s Holy Grail, hope is always on the horizon for those who look. From the voyages of Leif Erickson to the writings of Aquinas, Midshipmen find the best moments of the Dark Ages to draw inspiration while they await the Elizabethan Age. The most enterprising mids choose to compete every four years in the most difficult and glorious of traditions, inspired by Ancient Greece: The Dark Ages Olympics. Unlike other athletic competitions, the Dark Ages Olympics are held entirely without support from either NAAA or the PE Dept. and in fact are almost entirely devoid of any athletic activity. These Olympics are built not on the model of human physical achievement, but instead celebrate the highest levels of melancholy and desperation. From the opening ceremonies at the reform Dant’s Call to the closing ceremonies at the final restriction muster for those granted mercy by their Company Officer, the Games push competitors to new levels. While every Midshipman has a chance to compete, only the best can bring home the gold. The Olympics open with very careful weigh in along with a thorough drug test for all participants to ensure that they are properly prepared to take part in the most taxing two months of their lives. Those who fail these tests are either sent to remedials or sent home. The Artwork by Jessica Miller ‘17
By Luke Sullivan ‘16
participants wait for the opening Commandant’s call by practicing their skills at Netflixing, intoxication, and complaining about being back at the Academy. By the time the games begin, their preparation is done. Stocked up on protein powder they won’t need, every midshipmen leaves the Commandant’s call with the strong sense of self-loathing needed to compete for the gold medal. Opening with the ten hour Netflix buffer, the Midshipmen compete for internet resources as they bitterly attempt to stream movies. Saboteurs attempt to load YouTube, Comedy Central and Pandora while one random mid is on Blackboard trying to download their syllabus. Only the most accomplished Netflixers, members of the internet 1%, make it to the final rounds. As GPAs drop and people begin to legitimately use Blackboard, the 1% club continues to use massive amounts of bandwidth to download movies they don’t intend to watch, all in the name of the gold. As the first week comes to a close, the upperclass midshipmen prepare for a whole new round of events. Like the opening of track and field at the Summer Olympics, the weekend events are some of the most anticipated after a long four year wait. Participants return from a long Friday night of preparation and compete in numerous events including CMOD harassing, hurdle tripping, and improper room entering. Numerous Annapolis establishments profit handsomely from this pre-game preparation so much that they lobby heavily for the games to happen every year instead of once every four. When the participants eventually straggle onto Ingram field, they prepare for the most athletic event of the games, the 100 meter hurdle tripping. The Midshipman who is judged best at stumbling over hurdles is awarded the gold medal and walked back to the Hall by event organizers. Every participant who sticks the landing and cannot get up is gracefully pity clapped across the finishing line when they come to the next morning. Organizers also provide coffee and cold showers to all participants. The athletes who make it past the hurdles, or avoid participating in them entirely, return to Bancroft with the singular goal of harassing the Commandant’s watch stander. Successful participants will utter numerous incoherent statements while being generally offensive and obnoxious. These Mids are judged on whether or not they solicit a reply from the CMOD and how long they can go without saying a single
complete sentence. Automatic disqualification occurs if the CMOD notifies the CDO of the athlete’s actions or if the SDO or OOW walks on deck. No Olympics would be complete without a doping scandal. Aggressive competitors attempt to cheat by eating in DTA before the hurdles and running their computers 24 hours a day to download movies they won’t even watch. Like Lance they know the competition will ruthlessly crush them if they blink and use steroid laced pre-workout without any intention of working out just to feel more competitive. Doors are locked and illegal amounts of caffeine are consumed all in the name of staying up 22 hours a day and avoiding the social contact that might ruin preparation for the Games. Anti-Doping agencies and the SDO are on constant lookout for violators and those caught face stiff penalties of 2 year bans and tours. Held every night of the week, the competitive self-loathing is one of the Dark Ages’ most fiercely contested events. This unique form of despair is judged on how much stress eating the subject does and how frequently they question why they came to the Academy and why they stay. The top competitors stay in their room and mope around all weekend playing games or watching movies instead of getting out because their disdain prevents all forms of social contact. Extra points are given to those who bluntly turn down any association with MDC and who avoid the formation of any support structure. Points are also given to those who, despite their desire to leave, turn down all help because it might affect service selection. Those who fail to medal in the competitive self-loathing may instead release their angst by seeking out more company in company. The fraternization competition is not as fierce as it is awkward. Participants aim to make short periods of eye contact, cheesy jokes, and prop all doors at 90 degrees. These Midshipmen will also never claim to have any affection for each other despite spending ample amounts of time together and clearly having no one better in their lives. Competitive entrants will know more about the personal life of their acquaintance than any of their ex’s, that is if they have ever even dated anyone before. To medal, all participants need to have gone out together several times on what anyone else would view as a date without ever considering themselves as going on dates. On Friday and Saturday nights, slightly more serious par-
ticipants in the frat competitions will partake in the 1000m Farragut walk. Competitors attempt to see who can walk most slowly along the seawall and take the longest stops together on the rocks. To have a chance at medaling, the pair must repeat the walk on several occasions and cannot be caught by roving officers. While the small time fratters deny any attraction, these champions go all out until their company officer catches up. All plebe-upperclass frat is awarded automatic disqualification and restriction, the gold medal goes to the couple with the most time spent on Farragut frat walks. The Dark Ages Olympics are tough and challenging and with so few medals available that only the most jaded mids could possibly make a haul like Michael Phelps. The winners are some of the most cynical and depressed members of the Brigade capable of transforming their angst into clear accomplishment. Without these leaders, the Brigade could lose that inner spirit and find the Normans already arrived on the beach ready to conquer. Creative midshipmen give rise to the scientific thinking and literary genius that allows Da Vinci and Shakespeare to give rise to a new age of hope and advancement.
I’m a Group 1 Major and I’m Better Than You Towards the end of my Plebe year, when I was wondering what Academic major to select, the Academy chose it for me. They crammed the entire Class of 2007 into a remote corner of Alumni Hall and told us that at least 70 percent of us SHOULD, MUST, HAVE to major in a technical degree, otherwise, they would force the required number of us to do so. The Group 1 Engineering degrees and Group 2 technical sciences would count towards that quota, while the evil drain on society of the Group 3 Humanities majors would count against it. The Commandant told us, in reference to those Group 3 majors, “Don’t take the easy way out.” I agreed. As a Plebe who learned that I deserved to be punished, Engineering was the obvious choice. But I still was not convinced. I wanted to confer with someone who could explain the merits of a technical degree versus the Humanities. As luck would have it, my Chemistry teacher took time out from teaching the periodic table to advise us on our impending major selection. She told us that we better major in a technical degree…”Or else”, opening a latch in the floor to reveal a fire pit full of Humanities majors gnashing their teeth and reciting Shakespeare. She continued, reading from the same script of reasons that we had heard before: technical majors make better Officers, to which we nodded our heads in unison and responded, “Yes, technical majors DO make better Officers” They just do, ok? I don’t have the vocabulary to explain myself. While the positive effects of choosing Mechanical Engineering would have to wait for graduation, the resentment it bred in me towards Group 3 Majors was immediate. I didn’t hate them so much as I hated the idealized version of their lifestyle that I took to be true: going to sleep at 2200 every night, napping at 1200 with all the “youngsters” they had, talking to their girlfriends every night, HAVING a girlfriend, talking on AIM so much it should count as a 2-credit class (do they have AIM anymore?), going out on the weekend with no hesitation, and not starting homework on Sunday until
A submission by Colin Raunig ‘07 after formation. The grass was greener on the other side of the fence, and they were probably rolling it up and smoking it, too. I took solace in the fact that the skills I learned on the graph paper were directly proportional to my skills on the battlefield: “Ok men, before we take the hill, I want you find the slope of the hill, and the corresponding tangent exponential…” ok, I don’t actually know what I’m talking about. I didn’t get very good grades. I was a Mechanical Engineering major until the start of my 2nd Class year, when I would hide in the first floor bathroom during class, singing Sinead O’Connor songs as an anxiety depressant. When I told my Academic Advisor that I wanted to switch to Ocean Engineering, he suggested that I stick with Mech-E, get C’s and D’s, and “take your diploma and run.” “That’s a lot of Sinead”, I said. So I switched. My grades improved in Ocean Engineering, but my skill did not. I fulfilled the requirements of my Capstone senior project through a combination of caffeine and large graphs with unnecessarily long captions (“the x-axis is the horizontal plane, while the y-axis is vertical, and, coincidentally, perpendicular to the x-axis. Perpendicular means 90 degrees—“), but the buoy we created with the intention of using motion to produce electricity did not work. My Capstone professor was tempted to sell the buoy for parts, but instead uses it as a nacho cheese dispenser at his annual Super Bowl Party, which is always an “Ocean of Excitement” (his words). This is not a criticism of the Engineering department or its Professors, who, God knows, should be given a medal for the amount of office hours they spent helping me correct my “Gross Conceptual Errors” as well as teach me what the phrase “Gross Conceptual Error” means. I lacked intellect, but I also wasn’t a good student. I spent more time writing essays whining about the administration instead of doing my homework. That’s not to say I didn’t learn anything. I became really good at making my Professors feel sorry enough for me that they
would issue a passing grade. I have used the same technique in the fleet to receive an extra pair of flight gloves. The administration stands to gain much by bullying Midshipmen to study one particular major; the Midshipmen don’t gain much, either. The administration should believe in all of their accredited academics and should stand behind the Midshipmen’s freedom of choice in selection. My Class had no trouble reaching the required quota, so I had the freedom to select the major I wanted, but not in an environment that supported that decision. The administration cannot expect to favor technical majors without an equal and opposite reaction of discrimination towards the humanities (Physics burn!) If the time machine I created in my head was operational, and I could do it over again, I would major in English or History. If I was to “Go technical,” it would have been in a field other than Engineering. Although I had a lot of trouble with my Plebe Chemistry courses, I could always study my way out of a hole. Engineering is intuitive and doesn’t really work like that. To a very real degree, you either have what it takes, or you don’t. It’s quite possible that I didn’t have what it took to be an English major, but I was never encouraged to find that out for myself. My grades during Plebe year were average for all my classes, but the pressure I felt from the administration, and the recruitment from my teachers, lead me in the direction of Engineering. Is one academic path better than the other? That depends on the individual. It comes down to a matter of choice. At the Naval Academy, the Midshipmen have chosen to be in an environment that limits the choices available to them. They have no say in the hour they wake up, the uniform they wear, on the formations they attend. That’s cool. That’s what we all signed on for. What we did not sign on for, however, is for these limits to be in place when choosing an academic major. The Navy requires officers that can interpret a situation and choose the best decision based on the available information. If the administration continues to put limits, or a quota, on the available major, then they are also putting limits on how Midshipmen think, and thereby limiting their ability to make confident decision in the fleet. To the administration: you should give the students the freedom to choose the major they want and support each major equally. You will create a better academic environment that will produce better professors, better students, and a better fleet. Regardless of whether you change the quota, you don’t have to support a culture that frowns upon the humanities. To the Plebes: do what you want. Don’t accept a point of view just because it’s the status quo. If
engineering is the right choice for you, then go with God. If you have an inkling of literacy and enjoy things like liberty, then maybe the humanities is the right choice for you. To myself: if you watched less YouTube videos, you would have earned better grades. I don’t expect this article to change anything. I do expect to get in trouble for writing it. I am being cynical, of course. I learned a lot of great things during my time at the Naval Academy, like how work ethic in the face of insurmountable enemy, like Multivariable Calculus, can help get the job done. This made me a better officer. But I didn’t necessarily have to learn that lesson as a technical major. I don’t think there is data correlating type of Academic major and success as an Officer. If there is, I won’t understand it, but will spend hours of Extra Instruction with any willing professor as he tries to pound the information into my head.
By Erin DeVivies ‘16
The Wolf of Bancroft
By Alec Bacon ‘15
leading powerbrokers on the CNO’s staff, and managed multi-billion dollar budgets for the Navy and later the DoD’s counter-IED program. In August of 2012 he accepted a position as USNA’s Supply Officer. The Wolf was finally on top. Early on into his reign as SUPPO he orchestrated the hostile takeover of the MIDPERS Corporation, whose stock price was floundering as a result of poor customer service. Within a month MIDPERS turned a profit for the first time in a decade. When asked about the takeover he said “My job here is to make this a better place and if that means taking over stuff, it’s done in a nice For a year and a half the Bancroft Hall admin way.” When told about the comparisons spaces have been dominated by a single man, shrouded made between him and J.D. Rockefeller he nonchalantly in mystery. CAPT Doug Borrebach is known for his replied “That’s not true. All I do is look to see where I no-nonsense briefings, relentlessly working to improve can help.” quality of life for the Brigade, and the aggressive When he isn’t going toe-to-toe with the United States expansion of the Naval Academy Supply Department. Postal Service, demanding that their employees work more The LOG Magazine recently sat down with the Wolf than five hours per day, he manages his most treasured of Bancroft to learn about his remarkable thirty year acquisition, King Hall. He entrusts the daily operations roller coaster ride to the top. of one of the world’s largest restaurants to a team of Following his formative years as a NAPSter and a skilled, hand-selected food executives including Dave member of The Seventh Company at USNA, BorO’Malley, LT Aaron Fish, and CWO5 Kathy Wiseman, rebach graduated in 1984 and got entry-level jobs whom Borrebach describes as “the most decorated food working for the firms of USS England and USS service person in the Navy.” He is frequently seen dinKearsarge. He started in the engine room, worked his ing with patrons in the restaurant and is a self-proclaimed way up the ladder, down the p-way to the flight deck, “steak guy”. A connoisseur of eggs, the Wolf brought and then on up to the bridge. Standing watches and eggs-to-order back to a place of prominence and says that aggressively pursuing his PQS, he earned his Surthe worst possible meal is one where “the scrambled eggs face Warfare and Naval Aviation Supply Officer pins. are runny.” Decked out in gold, he set his sights higher. The Wolf is not a villain as many of his competitors As the Procuring Contracting Officer for Naval Air portray him. He is a captain of logistics rather than a Systems Command, his first big-ticket purchase was an robber-SUPPO. He credits his dedication and success F/A-18. He laid down the $25 million without batto his time as a midshipman and thirty years of experiting an eye. Most pilots are content with having one ence in the fleet. During his interview he stated that “the airplane. The Wolf, however, was no pilot. A single Commandant and the deputy have a lot of trust in me to plane simply wasn’t enough for the up-and-coming do the right thing.” He then slyly, almost imperceptibly, Supply Officer, and overnight the lone plane multiplied grinned to himself as he added, “the Commandant will into a fleet. remind me once in a while that I need to behave myself.” Driven to achieve, Borrebach quickly became bored The Wolf might be a charming playboy with millions of with the monotony of blowing money on high-perdollars to spend and a playbook of unorthodox methods formance jets. He took several jobs at the Pentagon, but he gets results unlike anyone else. played tennis with Admirals’ wives, became one of the
Best Picture OSCAR Nominations By Griffin Burke ‘15
4 Years a Slave The heart-wrenching tale of a man’s desire for the basic human freedoms like: being able to go run errands during some free time on a Wednesday afternoon, being 22 years old and not having a weekend curfew, or something as simple as being trusted enough to be able to wake up on your own and get to class on time. Anchorman 2: Bottom of the Class This comedy-packed classic will be sure to bring a smile to your face as you watch America’s Best and Brightest work to be just bad enough to not get kicked out, yet still sit at the bottom of that OOM. The Wolf of West Street The rise and fall of the king of the West Street bar scene as he worked his way up from trading penny stocks to afford his tab at ACME to being the poster child of Ram’s Head, Stan and Joe’s, and whatever Sly Fox is now. His stretch even went as far as Fado’s… that is until the FBI caught on to the secret of his success – his tampered Military ID. Dallas Footballers Club We went to Texas and won a bowl game. And no one died. Captain Borrebach (The story of the man who took on the Pirates of MIDPERS) With a stellar performance from all the cast this is a must see this Oscar season. Watch as the dreaded MIDPERS pirates tried to pillage from the Midshipmen COMRATS and HeldPay, only to meet their maker when CAPT Borrebach came into the picture. American (Taxpayer’s) Hustle Try to keep up with this twist-filled masterpiece as we follow just where the ridiculous places your tax money ends up in our government’s budget. (Hint: construction projects seem to go on for a mysteriously long time with no real results when they’re finished…) August: Reform County Depressing.
By Alec Bacon ‘15 Artwork by Miguel Moravec ‘17
An Open Book Test
____________ ____ on On 07 OCT 13 MIDN 1/C X, a male, and MIDN 3/C Y, a female, were (verb (verb ending in -ing) a (noun) ending in -ing) (noun) MIDN X’s computer in his room. The OOW, LT Z, walked by MIDN X’s room and noticed that the door was propped open with a ____ . After announcing himself, LT Z reminded MIDN X and MIDN (noun)
Y that because they weren’t from the same ____ the door had to be open at _______ degrees. LT (number) (noun) Z said that he would be back in an hour and that it was “an open book test”. When he came back LT Z find the door still propped and now the _______ were off. MIDN X and MIDN Y were both ad(pl. noun)
____ and failure to use good judicated by their battalion officer and given 45 days of restriction for (noun) (noun) (noun). The Monuments Men On 31 JAN 14, MIDN 2/C X and MIDN 2/C Y went out on liberty to ____ . Their first stop was (verb)
____________ where they both had _____ ________ to drink. Their (number) (pl. beverage) (DTA restaurant) ____________ tracted the attention of (company officer) who was in the restaurant as well.
____ ______ (adjective)
__________________ ordered the pair to return to __________________ and to ____ . On their way (same company officer)
(building on the yard)
back to the Yard, MIDN X and MIDN Y encountered their company-mate, MIDN Z, who offered to assist them back to their rooms because they were showing signs of extreme __________________ . (verb ending in -ing)
Taking offense, MIDN X and MIDN Y proceeded to ____ MIDN Z. Upon returning to the Yard (verb)
they were caught _______________ on __________________________ and were subdued by base (verb ending in -ing)
(statue or monument on the yard)
police after being tasered in the ________ . They were both adjudicated by the Commandant and (body part) received 90 days of
17 Single Cover Initiative Alternatives
Featuring Jessica Miller â€˜17
Though the Dant has promised us all new covers by some indiscriminate point in time, most have grown hopeless and believe there is no end in sight; that there can be no remedy for what ails themâ€”their heads are not nearly circular enough to facilitate the wearing of this sort of headgear. Midshipmen clutch their covers to their heads during the blustery winds of the Dark Ages, and do their best to avoid hats listing slightly to one side or another as they speed-walk from class to class. The LOG would like to expedite the process of change here by offering several alternatives.
“So Hot, it’s at 90 Degrees”
MK. 91, Mod. 3 The Dark Ages, 2014
This issue begs the question, "Is it better to have love and lost than to never have loved at all" and proudly concludes *spoiler-alert* tha...