Last post for a while

I don't know what my adoring public will do without daily inane posts to read, but I imagine you will all find something to do with the 30 seconds you save. I won't be posting for about three weeks because I will be home :) If you are looking for something to fill your time, I recommend spending it with family. Just a thought. Now, I think that I will take a slice of my own advice.
Bye!

Close to Famous

Today in Stars and Stripes I found out that there is a singer named Leslie Feist who apparently is gaining in popularity among those who follow such things. I went to her website and found out that she is a Canadian folk-type singer who has been reviewed favorable in the Village Voice and other alternative newspapers. There are, as far as I know, two other times the name Feist is famous. There is a phone book company in Missouri and Western Oklahoma owned by Feists who do not share their obviously extreme wealth with the fam and there is a Ray Feist who is a famous science fiction author. My grandfather's name was Ray F. Feist, but this guy is Ray E. Feist.

I find it ironic, and so would anyone else who knows many Feists, that we share our name with science fiction writers and folk singers. So not us. Everyone who knows me knows better than to even ask if we're related. Obviously that branch of the family tree split off long, long ago

A Laundry Quandary

Today I was faced with a quandary: do I turn in my laundry or not tomorrow? I don't know if it will be done by the time I leave for home. That's a happy problem to have, having departure so close that it plays into laundry decisions. I've decided to take the devil may care attitude and turn it in. Live life on the edge, that's my motto. Besides, if it's not done I can have someone pick it up for me.

Improving my corner of the world

It is hard to make Baghdad any worse than it already is, so really anything is an improvement. The weather for instance: if it cooled down to 110F, that would be an improvement, and if it got any hotter everything would spontaneously combust which would also be an improvement. Maybe it is being a little harsh to say that there is nothing good about this area, but it sure makes you appreciate the good ol' US of A.

Yesterday I, being a problem solver myself, improved my small piece of Iraqi real estate. The door to my room had been sticking because the knob didn't pull the nub in far enough to open smoothly, so I had to twist the knob and then kick it or throw my shoulder into it pretty hard every time I wanted to open it. I'm sure the neighbors especially appreciated it when I had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night (see blog post discussing hydration to estimate exactly how irate my neighbors probably were.) It had gotten so bad that when I yanked on the knob to open if from the inside a piece of the knob came off. In fact, one time when the siren went off for incoming rounds, I yanked so hard that I almost broke the knob off and trapped myself in my room. (Before anyone starts to worry unnecessarily, I live in a concrete building, bottom floor, inside row of rooms. I don't lose any sleep over mortars, and no one else should on my behalf. In fact, the room above and outboard mine was hit the other day when I was not in my room, but I would have been fine except for a few coughs due to the dust that came out of the ceiling. Besides, as the highly devout Stonewall Jackson said, "I'm as safe on the battlefield as I am at home in my bed." Granted, he died in his own bed of a wound received on the battlefield, but I hope you all get the drift.)

To return to my ever enlightening post, the day after I had to put my door knob back together, I decided to fix my door. How did I fix it, you may wonder if you have bothered to read this far. I pulled the brass plate off of the door jam so that now it opens without a hitch. I just got out a set of pliers and ripped it right off. And this confirms my previous contention that even by tearing Iraq apart I improved it. On the other hand, if I had left the brass plate on it would look nicer and also be an improvement, in a way. Gratifying how it works out that anything change I make here (or any change I decide not to make) is an improvement.

Command (Not) at Sea

High on the list of things I do not want to do is command a submarine at sea. I would count myself a failure if I reached the pinnacle of my career and still lived in a walk-in closet. Some people love the idea, and good on them. I'm just not wired for it. It is very stressful and I just can't see the huge reward. Say what you will about command at sea, one thing is certain: the buck stops with you. There is no one for thousands of miles to make the decisions, and all of the responsibility lies on you.

Command ashore has many of the same aspects, but a commander in todays world of high tech communications gear is never truly alone. I guess that is why commanders here feel they can take leave. I was taken aback when I heard that commanders here could do that. I still think it sounds wrong to leave your troops in a combat zone, but what do I know - I've been in the Army for less than six months.

There is clearly still stress that goes with command, even command ashore. Our XO is a laid-back, easy going guy, not at all like the designated bad cop that an XO is on a ship. When our commander left on leave, he just got short and snappy with people. Downright grouchy, I would say. I wondered if it was something I had done, but then it just hit me that he is the responsible party now. What's more, during his first taste of command he doesn't even have an XO to turn to. He is more on his own than even the commander is normally. A couple of days before the commander got back, there was some of that commonplace, things-didn't-go-as-planned bad news. Normally I wouldn't have minded telling him, but he had been so cranky lately that I just would rather not have had to explain the mundane details of dealing with civilian contractors.

But I had to, so I did. I went and explained the situation, and he shrugged and said, "No problem, buddy." I'm sure I did a double take, but I just told him I wanted to let him know and walked away. It was like our old XO was back. :) Then I realized that he was going to be giving command back to the commander soon. Funny how that works - take away the stress and the nice guy comes back. Almost makes me wonder what some of the commanders I have had would be like under different circumstances.

All The News That's Fit To Print

Not many people work here. I've lamented that before, and it is still true. I put in a good half day, and I think I do the most of the staff guys. So how do they fill their time? The Communications staff plays video games. The Supply staff watches TV. In the Operations Center, there is more visibility from the command, so they are more subtle in their time wasting. At least one good hour a day, if you really stretch it out, can be filled with the newspaper. I'm not talking the Weekly World News, which we all know is the only true paper, but the Stars and Stripes which is a near second to the WWN in reliability.

Stars and Stripes is a Dept of Defense creation. It is available in paper copy or on "digits" as the Army says since electronically and digitally are full words and not Army approved abbreviations or acronyms. Digits is much more surreptitiously read in the Op Center and thus the favored version among the staff. There are comics, Dear Abby, and even a "news from all 50 states" portion. It makes me feel like I'm at home. For instance, today there was even an article about the doctor who gave me my cortisone shot last spring being charged with secretly video taping his sponsor mids when they didn't know about it. Always good to get news from the home front. There was also a human interest story on a newly married pair of Privates First Class who lived on the same FOB whose commands had worked together to get them a common barracks room. Precious. Luckily I only figuratively threw up on the keyboard when I read that one today, so my computer survived.

Those were both in the S&S today, and as nice as it was to read such uplifting stories there were two stories this last week that made me question the editors understanding that he was paid by the Department of Defense. There was a story, really more of a puff piece, about a soldier had deserted in Germany and about the organization that helps deserters get back on their feet and find jobs in spite of their background. It gave a website and everything. The Army is getting a good return on their investment for that one. Then there was a story about a little girl who had gotten drunk when she licked the hand-sanitizer that her preschool teacher gave her off her hands. Of all the hundreds of stories to choose from, what were they thinking publishing that one?

There are two things that are in high supply on every US FOB in Iraq. Hand sanitizer and borderline alcoholics. General Order #1 for US Central Command states that, among other things, alcohol is forbidden. This rule has split soldiers into two groups: those who are looking forward to getting home to see their families and those looking forward to getting home and having a beer. It is just a sad truth that there are quite a few people over here who see being over here as being in a forced rehab center. And then a government sponsored news paper writes a story about how to get drunk off of one of the most common things around. Unbelievable. After I read that, I was expecting to go out and see soldiers drinking out of the hand sanitizer dispensers on the port-o-johns like they were a water fountain. (Irony, Koichi?)

I suppose that the editor would spout some trope (that's a proper use of the word, Tim) about the First Amendment or some such baloney, but puh-lease. If being subversive is truly a right, is it a right to do it at the expense of the one being subverted? There may be a justification for the endless stories S&S has on the Pat Tillman controversy, Haditha, and how the surge is not giving the results desired. They could be called news. But how to break Gen Ord #1 and how to desert? Maybe S&S isn't quite the right place for those two. Just throwin' that out there.

Another Balmy Day

Today was, I estimate, in the low 100's due to the upper atmospheric sand which is a wonderful break from the normal. So the next time you are debating whether to bake brownies at 350 like the box says or 340, know that ten degrees makes a huge difference to the brownies in the oven. A couple of days ago when it was a bit warmer, we had brown outs in the barracks because too many people were running their window units. The inner rooms, which is what I'm in, have central air while the outer rooms have AC units. I think we would not have as many brown outs if we just piped the central air everywhere because the unit is plenty large to cool the whole building.

One thing that drives me nuts out here is the way people will leave doors open when the AC is on. The bathroom door is always open with the AC just blowing away. One of the doors in our main BN area was "fixed" a couple of days ago, and now it just won't shut. It is always about 15 degrees open. And when people want to run a new phone line or pipe into a building, they just knock a brick out and run the line in. Hello!! Don't you realize that cold air is getting out? I have a hard time believing anyone's mother would raise them to just not care about letting cold air out, but apparently that is the case.

I suppose in the grand scheme of this multi-billion dollar war the wasted cold air is inconsequential. The waste still drives me nuts.

Pyrrhic Victories

Yesterday I didn't get to post because I was out shooting the bull with some soldiers explaining to them the rigors of submarine life. It all started when one of them started talking about some poncho liner that they called a Wubby that is apparently a soldiers' best friend in the field. The talk migrated to how cold it gets in Colorado where my unit is stationed and how Wubby is great gear in that environment, so I had to mention that I prefer the 70F and florescent weather of a submarine. As you may have noted from previous posts, that is close to an outright lie, but you have to defend your culture to the barbarians.

Defending the Navy in the presence of the Army is not as easy as it sounds for more reasons than the necessity to convey big thoughts with small words. (Sorry, that was pejorative. I was just playing off the barbarians versus culture theme that I've got going on in my head. It is the Army as a whole that is barbarian, not the individuals as that last sentence implies.) Soldiers, SEALs, and some hardcore Presbyterians (Mary/Heather, don't get mad - I only meant it as a joke.) revel in their misery. The more they have sacrificed and the more pain they have endured, the greater their contribution. Not this guy. I am not at all a fan of misery. In fact, I generally try to avoid misery. Nevertheless, to defend the Navy, you have to make it sound like a hard life, which in many ways it is even though we don't get shot at or blown up as much as our green cousins. You also have to define misery on their terms: physical misery. The average soldier measures misery in 20 mile humps, days without hot meals, number of times their vehicle has been blown up. To have street credibility, you have to make it sound physically uncomfortable and hard because barbarians understand brute force rather than mental anguish.

And poop. Barbarians understand poop. Poop is universally unpleasant. The immediate trump card to make submarine life sound unpleasant is to talk about the sanitation system that is blown overboard at high pressures and has been known to be blown inboard on accident. When you are deep, it takes a lot of pressure to push the poop outside of the boat because of the back pressure of the water, and that pressure is supplied with very high pressure air. It has been known to happen that someone will open the flush valve on the toilet when this blowing sanitaries is in progress, and the poop will blow inboard with fire hose like velocity.

That is gross, I know. It never happened on my ship when I was on board, thank goodness, but it is a constant risk and fear and it is one that the average Joe in the Army can understand. And respect. Even those whose truck has been blown up respects people who brave a fire hose of poop when they flush the toilet. One soldier tried to counter how once a helicopter had blown over a port-a-john with a soldier in it, but that was an isolated incident that just does not match the ubiquitous threat of high pressure poop.

So I gained respect and defended the Navy by discussing sanitation mishaps. (Keep the demographic in mind before you rush to judge.) This point of pride is equivalent to having the best borscht recipe. The appeal is limited to a small group whose taste is in question to begin with. And that, dear readers, is why there was no post last night. I wouldn't be surprised if you wished there was no post tonight, too.

**Under the oddly enough category, most junior officers on a submarine would gladly choose to deal personally and closely with the high pressure poop than to deal with the jack-booted thugs that Naval Reactors sends down to do inspections. That is true submarine hardship, terror, and misery. But you can't convey that pain and terror to people who have not dealt with Naval Reactors or the Reactor Safeguard Examination team.

More stereotypes

Tonight is going to be another stereotype post, just like last night. I know that is a bad word and good people never stereotype because there is always someone who doesn't fit, but I'll just settle for being a bad person. Also, I am going to say Navy, but realize that I am just speaking for my corner of the Navy, the nuclear part.

If anyone has ever wondered how submarines keep from running into each other under water, it is because each submarine is given a "box" of water to operate in. Boxes are a good thing and keep us safe when we are talking about navigation. The Navy carries this box mentality over into everything. We never think outside the box. This is partly due to it being a peacetime Navy where success is not failing, and partly just our culture. One example of our box locked thinking is how our ships our modified. If I decide that it would be convenient to move a locker from here to there, I don't just get out my cutting torch and hack it out and then weld it in where I want it. There is a huge process that takes months where engineers check out every possible ramification. And then to avoid the perfunctory "no" that going out of the box would merit, they change ship's drawings so that you can make the change and stay in the box. That is the Navy way, and it carries over into everything. Procedures, instructions, drawings, OpOrds, plans, you name it. We operate by the book, in the box.

This can be very frustrating because it has happened before that people refuse to do things smarter ways for fear of leaving the box. People let the box do the thinking for them. It is very rare to find someone at the higher levels who will leave the box, even if they are high enough that they define the box. Every once in a while one of these crazy free thinkers will make it to a high level, but that is just because every time they left the box it turned out well for them. It is okay to leave the box if you succeed, and it is okay to fail as long as you do so inside the box.

When I was sold (rented?) to the Army, I thought it was a breath of fresh air how they left the box freely and at will. One example of this is their trucks. There is a TV show called "Pimp my ride" where a group of mechanics will take a beat up vehicle and trick it out in 30 minutes. The Army lives that show. Every truck is completely "pimped out" with extra lights and sirens and sometimes even music systems. These guys will cut, weld, or drill into their trucks without thinking twice; I still get nervous to put a screw in for an authorized install. And it is not just the Joes (that's Army for average soldier) who do this. We are constantly getting new toys to add on that will definitely be the one to win the war with cool names like Dragon, Blowtorch, or Boomerang - if only there had been an Army testing program to verify they work in the real world.

I'm not sure my initial evaluation of "breath of fresh air" was quite right, because many of these after-market add-ons don't work out so well. It is not uncommon to have cables melt or to run the generator/alternator at overload to support these toys. It is not uncommon for these rapidly fielded gadgets to fail in the Baghdad/war environment. I have since realized that
the Army does not think outside the box. That is the wrong stereotype. A better stereotype would be that either a) they don't realize there is a box to think outside of or b) they just plain don't think. It is all very hard for a submariner to deal with.

So does it make me appreciate the Navy more? No. I still maintain that it is cowardly to cling to a box because you are scared of what may possibly happen if you think. Acting outside the box should be done with trepidation, but thinking should outside should a way of life. On the other hand, it sure would be nice if the Army realized that the box was not there to escape as a goal, but to leave when necessary. It would also be nice if they thought before they left, if that's not asking too much.

I can fly!!!

I made it through my meeting with the boss of my unit last night and did not put my foot in my mouth too badly. He may think I'm near anti-social, but if you can't say something nice small talk is difficult. I did come close to saying something I would regret at least once, but I just thought "What would Kate do," and decided to stay quiet. I didn't really think that, but that's a good rule of thumb.

The thing that almost made me respond was when this captain who fancies himself to be called CAG (which stands for commander air group, which I think he once was but is not now) but commands no airplanes kept saying, "We pilots..." There were two pilots out of seven people, but it was continually "We pilots would approach it this way..." or "We pilots would never have that problem...." I didn't know if he thought we all, including the chiefs, were pilots or if he was just talking to 28% of the group and ignoring the rest. Maybe he was just trying to let the un-enlightened lower forms of life into the lofty thought process of the more highly evolved pilot form of life. Maybe he was trying to let us into the club which he thinks everyone must want to join. Whatever it is, it almost earned him a very stern upward-flowing reprimand.

Don't get me wrong. I have great friends who are pilots, and most of my family who has served in the military did so as pilots. And pilots have really hot daughters who make wonderful wives. But I have friends who are pilots, not pilots as friends. The good ones think of themselves as people who happen to fly rather than getting their self image from their jobs - the "CAG" (note scare quotes) certainly does not think of himself as anything other than a pilot.

Every Navy community has its own stereotype for a reason. Marines (yes, live with the truth that you are just a sub-community of the Navy) are the chest thumping testosterone pumps. Pilots are gods gift to womankind. SWO's are the hardest working, most bitter and underappreciated guys who fish pilots out of the water when their egos write checks that their bodies can't cash. Submariners are harder working, more bitter, less appreciated and nerdy winners of the Cold War and WWII. You can tell when people have lost all sense of self because you assume the stereotype even though it is no more true than it was when you were an individual.

So this guy flies out to visit, gets his boots licked by someone who is hoping to leverage him for a promotion, and says nothing of substance or value, nothing more memorable than "We pilots." I got five hours closer to being home.

Tomorrow

I will probably not have a post tomorrow. My boss three steps up the food chain is coming to visit, and while I would be willing just to say hi to him and go on my merry way, the other officer out here at Rusty is a shameless boot licker who thinks that this IA experience is his big chance to make the next rank. He has sent out a itinerary, going until 2100, which is detailed down to the level of who is responsible for making sure there are drinks at every location we might go and asking if one of us can find a vehicle with air conditioning. Just to let the boss know what it's really like out here, ya know? He also mentioned that, while no one is expected to have a presentation, the first room where we are meeting is capable of slide shows and any other multi-media event we might want to put on. Do you think he spent all day working on a little presentation?

So three hours of my day will be spent in an officers' call where I am one of two officers calling. I just don't like the small talk, and the big boss doesn't want to hear any questions that would require an answer above the level of small talk. I have learned to just hold my tongue during these things, but being half of the audience will make that hard. My ever humble opinion, but I think there are certain things you just shouldn't have to put up with in a war zone.

Living Literature

As I was walking past the PX yesterday, I had a moment that was straight out of "All Quiet on the Western Front." I know that this war is different than WWI in some ways (note: understatement), but the more things change...

Almost every building has many antennae sticking out of them, and many are a geometrically pleasing skew divergent three stick arrangement that I'm sure Koichi could identify, he being a communications officer. Apparently the birds like the aesthetics of this antenna and think nothing of exposing their young to radiation, and built a nest in the crux. As I was sauntering down the road, slowly enjoying the warm, cloud free beauty of the smoky-blue Baghdad sky, I noticed the birds and dwelt for a second on the irony of birds raising their young in a war zone and building their home on military equipment.

For those of you have seen the movie (I don't remember if this is how the book ends), John Boy has a similar moment in which he starts drawing a bird and then he gets shot just as he again begins to appreciate life, or some such literary thing. Luckily, I remembered that scene and remembered where I was. Kept my head down if you will. If I had kept staring at the bird for another 50 feet, I would have ended up in the intersection, and if there had been a truck coming by, and if it didn't stop at the stop sign, and if it had been going faster than the base mandated 5 mph, I could have ended up like John Boy and come to a similarly cruel end.

So here in the trenches of Baghdad, I am living the same war fears that every generation's soldiers have since the Great War: the terror of getting hit by a truck. It's rough, having to look both ways before you cross the street. Remaining constantly on the alert so that you can detect the trucks with all five senses. Fortunately, Camp McCready and other pre-elementary school level experiences have prepared me for this harsh environment.


Hope.

Wish I'd known that as a kid

There is a story in family lore that my grandfather especially loved. When I was younger and more inclined to listen to the length of a sermon rather than the words, I asked my grandpa one Sunday before he was to preach why he didn't just begin the sermon with "You are dismissed?" Made perfect sense to me since those were obviously the only words anyone really paid attention to and, as the pastor, he controlled when they were said. I don't remember what that sermon was about, but I do know it ended with those three words. I also am willing to guess that the sermon was not under 15 minutes: if a person can preach for less than 15 minutes he obviously would not find his vocation in the clergy. I have never heard of an expository message lasting that short until last night.

The normal chaplain is out of town, but the stand in is really not bad. He's Southern Baptist and the other times he's preached he's filled alllll of his alloted time. Yesterday he began the service with, "One of our intel NCO's has told me that we are expecting seven rockets to be fired at such and such a time," which conveniently was exactly 15 minutes after church was supposed to end. Interesting. We got through the whole order of worship, including communion, and I was back in my room before the end of the hour.

Now before you try this at home, you do have to know your pastor. The normal chaplain has preached right through mortar blasts before, just pausing to remark that we were free to go to the bunker if we liked. I'm pretty sure that my grandpa would have been inspired to go through an extra chapter by the boom. I'm also pretty sure that Schuppe would not be deterred. But it might be worth trying once. By the way, we never did get rocketed.

Maranatha

Today's church service is at 9pm instead of the normal 7pm. It is later today because the 7pm time slot was taken up for a memorial service. Memorial services are sad and solemn, but this one was sad in a different way. The soldier had killed himself, over girl problems so I here, and so there was little said about heroics or sacrifice. The only thing said, really, was that he had loved driving. Tonight it seemed like everyone was a spectator except for the two privates who read their memories and had obviously been the soldier's friend.

He killed himself during sick call hours, so they brought him into the aid station while I was there. Since it was an emergency, I stood way out of the way in the corner and never really saw any of him except his feet. The doctors and medics did everything they could for him, although he was really dead before he arrived. Amidst the tragedies that happen here all too often, this one was sadder and much less sad than most of them. It really just leaves you shaking your head in disgust as your eyes tear up. What a tragedy, what a waste.

In the end though, tomorrow comes and creation continues to groan.

Today's Uniqueness

Every day is unique, even if only in date. When you don't travel more than half a mile in any direction and every vehicle (except the honey suckers) that you see is tan, you have got to find the small stuff to add the variety and spice to life. Really, there are many changes that make every day unique if you count things as trivial as underwear and socks. N.B. that last sentence is faulty on at least three counts: a) some would say changing underwear is not a trivial change, b) it is more of a cycle than a change, and c) it does not make the day unique if you do it every day. Then there are the changes like I made to my uniform by trying to hold my dinner tray while taking out the trash - that change involved a delectable Mexican cheese sauce which is an improvement on anything, Army cammies not excepted. Today's other change, which was not nearly as tasty, involve me getting a (local area only - sorry Kate) cell phone. I have always maintained that any job where you are not important enough to have an issued cell is a good job, but if you're going to be on a cellular leash Iraqi cell service is the way to go. I missed one call, got a call that was intended for someone else, and failed to reach the chief on the three times I tried to use the stinking thing. Doesn't make me want to by stock in Iraqna, but it makes the leash bearably longer.

One step closer

Today I had the mandatory pre-leave brief that included don't drink and drive and don't try to solve any long term marital problems in the two weeks you have. It only lasted about 15 minutes, so it was appropriately lengthed.

Sorry that I haven't been allowing comments. I often just forget to turn them on. I have been chastened by a good portion of my adoring audience so I have mended my ways.