Deja vu

I woke up yesterday thinking that it was the last day of the month, so I was disappointed when I remembered that May has 31 days and it was only the 30th which is traditionally known as Last-day's Eve. I feared that today, the real last day of May, would drag by since I thought I was living it for the second time. I'm glad to say that the day went by at normal speed and the real last day of May was no worse than the pretend one. In two hours it will be June, the month that I will get to go home on leave, Lord willing. Yippee!!

Where do they get guys like this

Tonight at the aid station a soldier comes in with his finger cut up. It was not "he's gonna lose it" bad, but you could tell that it hurt. He was busting out a window so that he could do his sniper job, and he cut himself. The doctor was poking and prodding and bending and generally making him very uncomfortable, and I could tell it hurt, but every time the doc asked if it hurt or could he feel that, it was always a measured, calm "Yes, sir," or "Roger, that hurts, sir." His sergeant major was standing there giving him some good natured ribbing, and still that same "Yes, sergeant major," even though he was kind of quivering with pain. The doc asked if he was left handed, and he replied that shot right handed so his trigger finger was okay. (Afterwards, he mentioned that he used to shoot left handed growing up hunting, but he switched to right handed because it was easier to operate the bolt on his sniper rifle, and besides, it made him a better shooter since he had "developed bad habits" shooting left handed.) The whole time I'm watching, and I just keep wondering where in the world do we get these kids (he was twenty, more proof I'm old) who will do this job for a third of what I make (he was an E-3, but still was a team leader) and can be respectful and calm when someone is digging in this finger?

Afterwards, I asked where he was from. "Oklahoma, sir." "Where in Oklahoma?" "Do you know where Tulsa is,sir?" "Yeah, I grew up there." "I'm from Claremore, sir." So that is the answer to where does America get clear eyed kids who will do "work most Americans won't do" for less than minimum wage. Andrew from Claremore was just one more of those guys out here doing his job and making us proud. He's going to the big hospital to get his tendon sewn back together tonight, but even here I forget that there are a ton of Andrews out there doing the right thing (he didn't shoot the guy he was setting up for today because he wasn't 100% sure he was a bad guy) when they could very easily do anything else. Keep them in your prayers tonight.

Dirty Hands

We have 2 EWO's at my unit. There is not enough EWO type work for two, so the pair that were here before me and the current chief split it up so that the officer stayed in the office and the chief did the hands on part of the job which is the traditional Navy division of labor. I really dislike this setup because the one upside of this job is that it is a chance to get on the ground with the troops doing as opposed to managing, and the office part of the job restricts that. Most of the office work that I do has nothing to do with why the Navy sent me here. It is projects that the guy before me started that have since become indispensable, much like Head Start or Welfare. There is a constituency for them with powerful backing.

As I said, I do not like this arrangement, so when I found out that they may reduce the EWO staffing at my BN from 2 to 1 (as it should be) I decided I needed to go do more of the hands on stuff just so that I won't be caught unprepared when it (hopefully) happens. Today I turned wrenches and carried boxes, and had a delightful time doing things that Navy officers don't normally do. The hands on part is easy - I feel that I could do it on my own after one day - but it is also fun to be able to see what you've done at the end of the day. Hopefully I'll get to do more.

A relief to the mind

Today the weather cooled down to the mid-90's because it was slightly overcast. The break from the more spring like 110's we've been having gave me the mental break required to make a keen insight on human nature. No, not that anything that is both deep fried and made of cheese is next to divine. As wonderful as mozzarella sticks and jalepeno cheddar sticks are, they are not quite sanctifiable. My observation is that O-3 is the last good rank in the military. All of the majors walking around are clearly distraught, probably at the thought of what they must do to make LT Colonel. And the LT Colonels are lost in their own self importance. But the captains...

Most captains toe the line as expected and are good soldiers. Most are appropriately difficult for everyone to live with. I have found out, however, that it is not the captains that are bad, but the influence of those above them. How do I know this? Today I observed two captains completely free of the corrupting influence of authority. You see, we have several military transition teams on base, which consist of a captain and a couple of non-commissioned officers that go out and train the Iraqis. So the captains are king. It is hard to tell who these free-radical captians are, since we all dress the same, except in one particular case: Marines. Marines dress differently from everyone else on base so you can identify them from a mile.

Stereotypically, Marines of all rank are stretched tight. I thought it was inherent in their Marineliness. All spit and polish and short hair. Jackbooted thugs a reporter once called them quite incorrectly, but their reputation for near Prussian discipline is renowned. I saw a corpsman, the Navy's emissary of medical mercy to the Marines, the other day, and he had some pretty long hair. Flowing locks is a fair description. Looked like there might have been a touch of peroxide in there, too. "No biggie, he's just being typically Navy and flaunting our less stringent hair standards while being stuck with the uptight Marines," I thought. (The Navy, of all services, has the reputation of being least military, lovably pudgy, and hair a bit on the shaggy side. It is a mark of our free thinking and high IQ.) But tonight I saw the two Marine captains he obviously worked for eating in the DFAC. And, yes, their hair was well within regs. Navy regs. For women. (Okay, not quite that bad. They were still in regs, I'm sure, but their hair was quite a bit longer than mine.) I have never seen Marines (non-aviators) look so relaxed, like the members of Department of the Navy they really are. One of them even had a mustache that looked like the tail from some woodland marsupial.

Then it hit me. These are O-3's, just like me, not Marines. The reason they would be chest-thumping manly-men in their normal environment is because there are majors and Lt Colonels around. It is the oak leaf that makes man evil, not grunting huahs an ooh-rah's. Left to their own devices, these cammie wearing captains long for freedom and rebel ever so slightly against "The Man" just like every junior officer in the Navy. They are just afraid to show it on their own, but it is true. Welcome to the dark side, fellow O-3's. Have the courage of long hair that your Navy brethren have had for ages.

Now not everyone past the rank of O-4 is beyond redemption. In fact, if you are reading this blog as anything higher than an O-4, I'm positive that you are not easily offended by keen or cutting insights on human nature as are the evil O-5's. And if you work in the Math Dept at USNA or will ever be my boss, that is another sign of not having fallen prey to the typical perils of the O-4/5 community. But there is something about O-3 that is the last rank where, when left alone, you can be free from the perils group-think and the dangers of conformity. Even as a Marine.


BTW, I have received books from several people. They all look fascinating, and I really appreciate the thought and good choices made by all.

One post for the whole weekend

Sorry I didn't say anything yesterday. For some reason I couldn't log on to my blog, but I don't think I had anything to say anyway. Some may question whether I ever do. Today the phones were working much better than normal, so I got to talk for with Kate on her drive home from church and I talked to each of my parents for 8 minutes on average. It was my mom's birthday, so I tried calling my dad's cell to catch them at lunch, but he was out and about. So I got to talk to him for 7 minutes until the line went dead, and then I called my mom and the phone worked for the whole 10 minutes that I am allowed for morale calls.

Other big events of the day: I got a new battery for the smoke detector in my room. It died about 10 days ago so I put the battery in my pocket as a reminder. I changed it from pocket to pocket about three times when I changed pants, so it wasn't the most effective of reminders in retrospect. Also finished reading "History of the English Speaking Peoples." I'm glad I got the abridged version because even though Churchill is a great writer I'm not the best reader and was starting to lose steam.

The "stop your pity party" thought of the day is I have two legs. One of our soldiers lost his on Saturday, but it looks like they saved his arm and there is a good chance that he will keep vision in at least one eye. So in spite of all the reasons I could find to complain, and trust me I'm the best at finding them, I'll pass tonight. Don't forget to pray for these guys out here, and also don't forget the ones who get to go home early.

6 Years Ago Today

KBR served Surf-n-Turf today on my behalf, or at least I will flatter myself that they did. Six very long years ago more or less right now I walked across the stage at Navy Marine Corps Stadium, shook W's hand, and became Ensign Feist. If someone had told me then what I would be doing in six years, I would have told them that they were crazy because I was in the NAVY. Navy. Ships. Submarines. Oceans. Exotic ports of call. Not deserts. If I had wanted sand and dust and tan colored armored vehicle, I would have joined the ARMY. Silly me. Shows you what ensigns know.
Those six years have been very good though when you forget the less than very good parts. On May 25, 2001, I didn't have a beautiful, loving wife or the two cutest daughters on earth. I hadn't known the joy of living in Hawaii, the most beautiful place on earth. I didn't know the joy of checking off of the submarine after three years and going to take one of the best jobs around, teaching at USNA. I also didn't know how good I had it living in America as opposed to Iraq. So they have been a good six years. Even though there are large chunks of them I would gladly trade, I wouldn't trade the whole of them for the world.

Dining out

Today was a day that had a break from the ordinary. The new chief is an event planner type person. There's always one in every group who works out the details and gets things going when you all are sitting around talking about going to the beach. A room mom, if you will. So she organized a barbecue for all of the Navy folks on the base and got meat and a grill and did all the detail type things. It was very nice of her even if KBR makes food that is just fine on its own.

We also had Major General Simmons, General Odiearno's deputy, visit today. Standard general schtick, including telling us his briefing was going to be at 1345 and it starting at 1435. But he's a general so he can keep us all sitting in a room waiting. He talked. Blah, blah, blah. And must be more interesting listening to yourself talk as a general than listening to a general talk. My only conclusion is that generals and admirals are the same.

30 Days

Another interservice first

Today is a red letter day, or in a more military color scheme a purple letter day. Purple is the color of jointness, and jointness is the military equivalent of invoking "because I'm the dad, that's why." Jointness ends all discussions by the grandeur of its loftiness. So purple might be an appropriate color because purple is also the color of royalty, another high mark on the totem pole. So I am now a little more joint because today I filled out an Army leave form. Exactly how far down the river have I been sold by the Navy? Farther every day I find out. Army uniforms, Army training, and now Army forms. There is nothing intrinsically bad about filling out an Army leave form (it is a leave form, after all), but it is just one more reminder that the Navy didn't love me enough to keep me. The Navy also insists I fill out one of their (our) leave forms so being joint just means doing extra.

Leave here is a very complex, but desirable, beast. There are several dates of importance. The first is the day you leave your FOB. I imagine that will be a few days before the next important day, the day I fly out of Baghdad. That will be June 23 which is one month from today. But Baghdad international is only international on the scale that Tulsa International is: one country foreign country only. I will arrive in Kuwait, Lord willing, on the 23 and then fly out... later. There are horror stories of being stuck in Kuwait up to five days, but that is not common. I get home and will have 14 days starting the first day for which I am home before noon. So if I get a flight that comes in at 12:01, I get a whole extra day more than if I got in at 11:59.

So there are several days that matter, and I know one of them. I have to fill out forms for services to which I do not belong. But I am still smiling because I am one month away from a day that will mean I only have one more unknown quantity of days before I get to see my girls :)

Oriental Mixed Veggies

Does anyone know what they put into Oriental Mixed Vegetables to make them Oriental? Broccoli, peas... those are good Western vegetables, or global ones at most. I would guess that the flavor is not due to the distinctly Eastern water chestnuts because they have no flavor - just disgusting texture. Yes, water chestnuts are clearly not American as I only know of one person in all of Christendom who would purposely eat them, and that is my grandmother. That is her only fault, and I've known people with worse ones believe it or not. So water chestnuts are Oriental, but do not make OMV's taste different than normal MV's. Some may beg to differ that water chestnuts are the whole problem: taste and texture; I am willing to expand their blame as far as bad taste, gross texture, and preventing grandma from being a saint. Before I settle on water chestnuts as the flavor culprit, I would like to be sure that there is nothing that actually has taste that makes Oriental Mixed Vegetables taste like they do. Even if my suspicions are confirmed and I find out that water chestnuts are not responsible for the flavor of OMV, I still hold it against my grandma for liking those uncivilized things. Whatever it is that causes the flavor, could someone please tell me so that I can pick it out. I am really not a fan.

Today Victory in Baghdad!

Mission Accomplished! I can say that without the worry of messy post-victory operations, because solved plastic cubes don't fight back. Today, with the help of the Swedish Rubik's-genius Lars and his helpfully user-friendly java applets I have solved the mystery of the Cube. There was mixed emotions among those who have been tracking my Rubik's progress locally. Some were impressed that even with the help of a computer and a Swede I could put all those little squares in the right place. Others called my success cheating. I admit that even amidst the sweet savor of victory, I feel that the internet was my mind and I was but the hands. Let's not focus on that which might take the euphoria from the moment. This moment is mine. To all of you who cheered me on through this struggle, I say to you that this moment is also yours. Enjoy!

This is Lars' website for those of you who want to spin and twist with Lars for yourselves:
http://lar5.com/cube/index.html

Fun at meetings

If I were so inclined to engage in my own pet peeves three days in a row, I would have put "fun" in quotes for all the wrong reasons. (Yes, Brandon, I just saw your post.) Meetings are not fun. If they were fun, people would go to them on their off time for ... fun. Instead, people are paid to go to meetings. Think of that: the highest paying jobs in America involve sitting and doing nigh unto nothing. Doing nothing is the goal of most people, and yet doing nothing in meetings requires huge cash incentives.
In the military, we call our meetings briefs, but they are just as mind numbingly boring as I imagine the civilian type are. Yesterday, we had our weekly BUB, or battalion update brief, which is the longest meeting of the week. On a good week, I contribute 2 minutes out of the 2+ hours, and on a bad week I contribute 5. Another sign of a good BUB for Matthew is no tasking generated, especially since any tasking generated from 2-5 minutes of input is not usually well thought out tasking and is not worth spending my time on.
I have digressed. One less painful part of the BUB is when the Combat Stress Doctor says his little piece. Usually it is just a gentle reminder to the company commanders and first sergeants not to beat their troops. This week it was on the dangers of sleep deprivation, from which I am not suffering. He had a spiel on the dangers of not getting a full nights sleep, one of which was poor decision making and another of which was being emotionally unstable and mean. There was a moment of awkwardness when the Battalion Commander must have felt all eyes on him because he is often very direct and, in his defense, he gets very little sleep. He blurts out, "So you're saying I'd make better decisions if I got more sleep?" Now I feel for the good Dr. since he probably meant for commanders to convert this message to more sleep for the troops, but that is not how the BC took it. The people who answer more directly to the BC (especially the XO) had telepathically gotten a garbled message across to the BC, but meant to pass on that more sleep might make certain conversations more pleasant and less mean. The good doctor recovered nicely with a, "Why don't we give it a try and see how it works," which was the diplomacy you would expect from someone who deals all day with people from generation X crazed from combat.

Precious?

Today I saw something that was "precious." I realize this is the second post in a row where I've used "scare quotes," which I consider the most despicable of all punctuation since they allow you to be "subtle" without being subtle. I find them condescending, almost like trying to explain a punch line. If you're being subtle, the effect is lost if you are blatant. Personal pet peeve right up there with the figurative use of the word literal. But obviously I have no problem with starting a sentence with a conjunction. Inconsistent, but you don't have to read this post if leading conjunctions bother you as much as scare quotes bother me. But I digress. (Another conjunction. Maybe that bothers me, too. Is it okay to engage in your own pet peeves? A topic for another day.)

Today for the first time in my expansive military career I saw a husband and wife reenlist together in a war zone. He was in a unit on the FOB, and she is in one of our more remote companies. As reenlistment is a big deal, the Army or Navy will often go out of their way to reenlist you where you want so that you get a nice photo out of it. I've seen people do it in Babylon or on the bridge of the sub or even hanging from a helicopter. So the Army let this soldier (I almost said "gal", but that would have hinted at sexist tendencies in a way "guy" wouldn't have. Go figure. And those aren't scare quotes. But that's two sentences that start with conjunctions.) catch a flight up here to reenlist with her husband. They have both been deployed for eight months, and because of something or the other, they could not even take their mid-deployment leave together so this was the first time they had seen each other since October. They also have a year-old son who is living with the grandparents.

I want to respect their patriotism, and I do think there is a level of ephemeral cuteness about the whole thing. On the other hand, "You may kiss your bride," (once again, legitimate quotation marks) even said any other way is an odd way to end a military ceremony in a war zone. The only thing that would have made this family war zone moment more complete and modern would have been if their son could have flown out to join them.

Notebooks

Here’s my sympathy line for the night: the scallops were a bit tough. What? Can’t use sympathy and scallops in the same sentence unless it involves gastro-intestinal rebellion? What is this war coming to?

Yesterday I saw something that had an effect between making me wretch and sending me into apoplectic shock. I went to talk with the LCDR EWO on the FOB, and he showed me his EWO notebook. I almost gag just thinking about it. Notebooks represent everything unwholesome and evil about the Navy. Every “program” has a notebook, and the health of a program can be measured by the status of the notebook. Back on the boat I had two very important programs, so I had weekly reviews with the captain for each of the notebooks. These reviews involved him initialing each blank that he had to verify review. Then, he would circle things in his purple pen. Sometimes he circled things that were overlooked or could be better, but sometimes he would make notes because when the captain makes corrections, it shows that he is involved in the program. Also, it didn’t matter what actually happened as long as the appropriate section of the notebook was filled out. For the training section of your notebook, you could have given the worst training in the world, but as long as the training worksheet had all of the I’s dotted and T’s crossed, training was effective. On the other hand, if one of your smart junior guys gave training on an area he was truly the expert on, you would get a purple circle because junior guys giving training is in and of itself a deficiency that needs correcting. No amount of explaining could make it better.

So I saw this notebook, and I was so proud of myself for not using the pistol the Army makes me carry everywhere. He had it all arranged perfectly with colored dividers and page protectors. In it he had a training program with lesson outlines check-in rosters. He had a qualification card so that people could “qualify” to become “experts” on this one stinkin’ lousy piece of gear we run. He even had award certificates for people who did qualify – “a little morale booster.” I know he meant well, but while my system IS important, it is a box that people flip a switch on before they ever go outside. It is easier to use than a radio, but they don’t have qual cards for radios. And training – let the guys rest when they come back from a day in the desert summer. If they have to do any training, let their platoon sergeants and squad leaders pick a subject that is important instead of some officer who is marooned out here making up a topic that will fill his notebook. That’s quickly becoming one of the big problems with this war. You have a bunch of people out here who want to justify their tax free status and "break out" from the other officers on the staff for the next promotion, so they make up stupid things to do. And make notebooks to track them. I think I’m going to be sick!

A cold rainy day

Yes, I'm still in Baghdad, but it was overcast and cool today. If you close your eyes and develop amnesia, you could almost say the weather was pleasant. The best part about the rain is that it is a very cold rain, so you don't feel like your in the shower with your clothes on if you get caught outside walking back from the DFAC after dinner like Guam's rain which is so sticky I still have it on me from my last deployment. The cold rain mixed with the very warm exhaust from the tanks could almost make you feel like you are in Hawaii getting a little afternoon shower while the trades are blowing. That is probably a stretch, and I'm sure Kate will correct me and say that it is the Kona Winds that are warm, but you get the picture. Another plus is that it is normally dry and hot outside, so tomorrow it shouldn't feel like a sauna, unlike Guam which is not as hot but is figuratively a million times more humid. Look at that, will you. I've said several positive things about Baghdad uninterrupted by anything unpleasant about the Army. Aren't I a little ray of sunshine? Also note that I just said a cool day here was like a day on the beach in Hawaii.

It's barbecue night, and it is very hard to type while eating, so I'm signing off. I think I'll play a little Daniel Ho and go to bed. Aloha!

A cold rainy day

Yes, I'm still in Baghdad, but it was overcast and cool today. If you close your eyes and develop amnesia, you could almost say the weather was pleasant. The best part about the rain is that it is a very cold rain, so you don't feel like your in the shower with your clothes on if you get caught outside walking back from the DFAC after dinner like Guam's rain which is so sticky I still have it on me from my last deployment. The cold rain mixed with the very warm exhaust from the tanks could almost make you feel like you are in Hawaii getting a little afternoon shower while the trades are blowing. That is probably a stretch, and I'm sure Kate will correct me and say that it is the Kona Winds that are warm, but you get the picture. Another plus is that it is normally dry and hot outside, so tomorrow it shouldn't feel like a sauna, unlike Guam which is not as hot but is figuratively a million times more humid. Look at that, will you. I've said several positive things about Baghdad uninterrupted by anything unpleasant about the Army. Aren't I a little ray of sunshine? Also note that I just said a cool day here was like a day on the beach in Hawaii.

It's barbecue night, and it is very hard to type while eating, so I'm signing off. I think I'll play a little Daniel Ho and go to bed. Aloha!

Getting old

No, not Rusty, although it is. I today have undeniable proof that I'm getting old besides the common perception that I'm delightfully curmudgeonous. Today I spent a couple of minutes looking for my glasses... when I was wearing them right on my face. Right on my face. Some may try to comfort me and let me know that I'm only 29 or as young as I feel blah, blah, blah. Balderdash. I don't need comforting. What could be better than being old? Young people are everywhere. The world is overrun with them, and they cause nothing but problems. But if you go somewhere where life is hard, it's the old people that are missing. Have you ever seen old people on the news in some barren African country running around in the back of a Toyota pickup with a mounted machine gun? How many old people run the neighborhood crack house that you are afraid to walk by after dark? Or do you ever lock your doors when you drive past a nursing home because you're afraid one of them is going to carjack you? Old people are great, and I'm proud to count myself among them. Anyone can be young; in fact everyone has to be. Only the select few get old. So don't comfort me because I don't need it. Old and bald, what could be better than that? Except to be married to my perpetually young wife. Now that is the best of both worlds.

Sometimes I wish

Today I heard one of those lines that I wish I could say and really mean. The FOB dentist was walking through the clinic. He is a trip. He obviously joined the Army to pay for dental school with the full intention of getting out after his service was up - nothing wrong with that. He just does not really fit the stereotype of a soldier. I have never seen him in anything but his PT uniform, and when he does have it on he wears tennis shoes that would be obnoxiously red/yellow/blue bowling-tennis shoes were it not for the Rustian dust that turns everything a drab grayish brown. Even after he gets a haircut, the top of his hair is just a tad on the long side so he looks like Fonzie from happy days. Every time he sees me in the clinic, he gets the biggest kick out of hailing me with a hearty, piratelike "Ahoy, seamen." Well, his obligated service is up this June, but because the unit he is with was depolying in September and would return within 3 months of his end of service obligation, it was within the Army's rights to extend him. And extend him they did. Then, when the SecDef announced the 3 month extension for all deployed units, it was withing the Army's rights to extend him. And extend him they did. I think if he had a job that required real working hours or if it did not take extra effort, he would be seriously torqued and bitter. But not this dentist. I figure he has decided that the Army made a deal with him to get 4 years of dentistry, and if they want to spread that out over 4 1/2 years, so be it.

Someone in his unit had the fine idea of assigning to him one of the truly meaningless but time consuming reports that the military thrives on, and emailed him the tasking and required document. Then they asked where it was a couple of weeks later. As one of the doctors said, "I don't think he even checks his email," (Mental note: that strategy might work.), to which he heartily agreed in a lacksadasical way. Then he said, "Oh, do they still want me to do that? They should have asked someone else if they wanted it done right." I don't think I have the follow through to really mean a line like that, but living in a bureaucratic morass that is not just the Navy, but the Narmy, I am tonight jealous of the moral courage and intestinal fortitude it takes to just not care.

Futility or hope?

Today I saw some of the contract TCN's painting a concrete traffic barrier white during a dust storm. There is a metaphor for something in that, but I don't know if it is futility or hope. Maybe one of the literary types among us can decipher it and use it to write the book that will solve the worlds problems. I doubt it. Probably was neither triumph of the human spirit or tragedy of the human condition. My guess is government contract.

Something new

One benefit of writing a blog everyday while spending your summer on Rusty is that every day I have to think of something in my life that is noteworthy, out of the ordinary, or new. Some days are easier than others, and some days all you can come up with is trite. Keeps the outlook fresh even when the sand is not. So in the spirit of freshness, today's trivial tidbit is the new bathroom decor in the battalion bathroom.
The bathroom is surprisingly ornate for a men's room with brass (painted plastic) hooks on the wall and tile instead of cement. I think it is a carryover from the days when the base was a headquarters for the Republican Guard. But amidst the glitter and sparkle, what stood out today was the new shower curtain. It is a lovely royal blue with dolphins. Dolphins! In the desert! Makes me feel like I'm right back at sea! Makes me want to use gratuitous exclamation points!
When I first arrived I thought the pastel flowers on a pale yellow background was different for a men's shower facility, but the Army was still new to me. At that time, they had one dolphin shower curtain, a pink one, which I was sure had to be someone's bad joke once they found out a submariner was coming. Afterall, the Los Angeles logo was affectionately known among the crew as "the four gay dolphins" for reasons I could never understand. Nevertheless, it warmed my heart to know that they cared enough to have a welcome to the unit joke waiting for me. I always respect a little inter-service or inter-community ribbing. With the addition of the second dolphin curtain, I know that the pink dolphin shower curtain was not the Army's way of reaching out to me, but is apparently part of the Army interior design ethos as reflected in the choices of their supply system.

Rubik's Cube

About two days ago someone brought a Rubik's Cube into the office. I have always avoided them because it is much easier thinking it would be easy to solve one than dealing with the fact that it is difficult. I spent about an hour the first day messing with it and got nowhere. Well, I made some progress, but not as much as I would have liked seeing as how Rubik's Cubes must be easy once you try. Night before last I Googled Rubik's Cube's just for a couple of hints. Lars Petrus, a guy who was third in Sweden's national Rubik's Competition at some point in the late 80's (hey, everyone has to have something) has a website that walks you through the Cube, but I just looked at it for a general overview. He actually has trade marked the name of two of his personal Rubik's Cube moves: the Niklas and the Sune. Names worthy of a Viking pursuit! Yesterday, no progress. Today I took the Cube to the computer, and had all but two pieces in the right position. I went to the last of Lars' seven page site, and started twisting the Cube and clicking the mouse. I got to the last twist and looked down. I had held the cube sideways and had messed the whole thing up. Tomorrow I will get it right and prove that the stinkin' thing is easy.

Not your grand-daddy's Army

Tonight as I was walking out of the office where I normally get my 10 minute morale call to my honey, I walked past the communications office. The fact that I get to call home (almost) every
night is one huge indication that technology has completely changed what it means to deploy. Another indication that Army life has changed is that huddled in the comms office were about five guys from the communications office. They had gotten a projector and hooked it up to their personal (I'm assuming) computers and were all playing World of Warcraft, an internet computer game, together. Comms guys are the smartest and consequently the nerdiest soldiers I know of, but still group video gaming isn't how I picture the troops passing their time after storming Normandy.
I'm not going to knock it though - they are the guys who set up my call home every night.

The boss speaks

Most of today was spent in a meeting with the Division EWO who came down to rustic Rusty from the lap of luxury near Baghdad International. All of the Rusty EWO's got together and he had held a Q&A session that lasted well beyond its usefulness. Q&A sessions with the boss are nice to a point, but after about an hour people get to asking questions that the boss either can't or won't answer, so why not just go home early? I am glad to say that I was NOT the most combative questioner, and probable not even the second most. Not because I didn't have pointed questions to ask, but more because the other people asked them before I got a chance. Lest you think that I have softened out here in the war zone (besides softening around the middle thanks to KBR), my immediate boss did email me and the new chief that "we weren't nearly as good at sucking up as the previous two guys." I think that is a backhanded complement, or so I will continue to interpret it until specifically instructed otherwise.

Ominous Signs

There is an ancient mariner's tale that any sailor associated with the number 6-8-8 will face a perilous and stormy voyage. You can be sure that was on my mind as I drew laundry ticket #688 today as I turned in my laundry bag. Although in all truth, the curse of the 688 is not that old - its roots can be traced back to 1972, although some would say the curse truly began in 1976. It is also more of a submariner's tale, and is actually localized to those who have served on the USS Los Angeles, SSN 688. I guess I share the tale of my ominous laundry ticket more to fill blog space and let you in on a little slice of my day.
I've been meaning to write about laundry for some time now because dropping off my laundry is one of those little pastimes that fills my day that has not yet traveled the information super-highway. The same KBR that runs the DFAC runs the laundry, so it is one of the smoother operations on base. By the letter of the law you are only allowed to turn in 20 items at a time (a pair of socks counts as a single item), but the Albanian and Macedonian guys who run the joint are generally pretty lenient and will let you turn in a few extra if you waive the optional inventory that many people do while dropping off laundry but no one does while picking up. Even though the laundry area is the most fly dense place besides the port-a-johns, the laundry guys are usually pretty cheerful and have taught me how to say hello and thank you in Macedonian (merditha and falmanderit). I guess I am the only one who has asked where they are from and talk to them while turning my laundry in, because now they laugh and say merditha before I walk up. Little do they know that the only reason I ask where they are from is so that I can better stereotype them and put them in a box based on incomplete knowledge and prejudice (not really - just wondered where they were from), but it has taught me a couple of new words.

From James to James

I can usually tell how busy I am by how much of my book I read in a day, and by the unbiased evaluation today was not busy. I actually have two books going, but my pleasure reading is "The History of the English Speaking People." Instead of the five volume set I got the condensed version which Tim would not approve of. Today I covered James I, Charles I, the English Civil War, Charles II, and James II. That is not much Army work done in the day, but miraculously, I didn't fall behind. How does that happen?

I'll tell you how it happens. Whenever any new person is added to a government staff, they become indispensable. We have two EWO's doing my job, me and a chief. When the chief that just left was getting ready to leave I told my boss that I could handle the job just fine by myself and we didn't need anyone else. In fact, I told him I would stay busier and the time would go faster if it was only me. He said that he would still like to have two people on staff so he sent out a replacement. When the next battalion comes in, mind you, they will only have one person with to do the job that two of us are now doing. Unless they are legally dead, they'll be just fine.

No boss wants to let their staff shrink, and people who arrive at a new job as extras have to find (make) something to do to justify themselves. We got a new captain on the battalion staff to fill a position that had never existed before. She is one of those people pleaser types who will make up stuff to do or spend time making perfectly good things look prettier or different, and then have the audacity to think she has accomplished something. Make a meaningless change and think you have had an effect? Ridiculous. The Army, the Navy, the whole military has the mindless notion that all motion is progress, all change is improvement, and all effort causes success. When did good enough stop being good enough? My program is running just peachy-keen fine, and I'll be a monkey's uncle if I'm going to put in effort for effort's sake just to make my spreadsheets more colorful and my training presentations have multimedia effects. There. I've said it. I'm a rebel. A type-A minimalist. I will not make up work to make myself look busy. I will sit and read about dead kings.

Summer's here

Well, at least as much summer as I would like to come is here, but I think more will come later. The highs have been in the mid-90's, but the part I don't like that much is how hot it stays at night. The air conditioner in my room keeps me cold at night, but in the morning when I walk outside my building the air is just hot and heavy. There is not much breeze, so the smoke from the dump next door just sits there. Yuck! It is like walking into a restaurant back before everything was non-smoking, with just a twinge of burned tire thrown in to flavor the cigarette smell.

Even with the smell, it could be alot worse. Tonight there are two lobsters hobbling around in lobster wheel chairs because I ate their tails. And some old cow (or other animal) is missing a piece of muscle that was obviously well used. (The steak is not quite up to Chez Rusty standards.) So life is fine, and tomorrow is another Rusty day.

BTW, thanks for all of the emails. I have gotten quite a few lately and have fallen behind in answering them. Sorry.

Anniversary

One year ago today I announce "LT Matthew Feist, departing," over the announcing circuit on the USS Los Angeles and walked off. That's about the happiest day I ever had professionally because it meant that I would get to spend the next two years on shore duty with my family. Things obviously don't always work out like I envision, and it is not easy to accept that. As mom used to say, "No matter where you go, there you are."
So here I am. Wonder what May 3, 2008, will hold.

The middle is here

I must have crossed into the middle third of deployment because it is getting harder and harder to find new and interesting things to write about. I really do try to write something a little different every day, but as I was walking back from the dining hall tonight I couldn't help but notice how incredibly earth tone everything is here. There is very little ground cover, so the ground is brown. All of the trucks and tanks are brown. The buildings were white at one time, but now they are dust covered. Even the sky turns brown during dust storms. If you look hard enough though you can see some green. There is even one spot where you can, when the sky is clear, see a palm tree on a blue background and almost feel like your in Hawaii if you ignore your other four senses and most of your peripheral vision. My imagination is not vivid enough to conjure Waikiki, but Wainaie possibly.

Tonight was the first night KBR really let me down. It, being Wednesday, should by right of natural law be barbecue night, but they had some Chinese dish on the main line. Probably should have saved the hotdog option for tonight, but bygones are bygones. I'm still not starving though - had a chicken sandwich and chicken wings - and even though the routine is broken I can't complain because the food is hot and more than I need.

Dinner redux

Tonight there was nothing going on at the hospital during sick call so Tom, one of the doctors, asked if I wanted to get dinner. It is nice to eat with someone who as a doctor is only sort of Army. Only one complication. Last night the chief I work with got carry out, like I normally do, and was eating in the office. He had not gone through the healthy line (there is a fast food line and a healthy/regular food line) and had a chili dog. I have been good about not eating from the fast food line, but ever since I saw chief's chili dog I had been craving one. So I had to make the choice between eating unhealthy in front of my doctor friend or not getting my hot dog. That sure does sound vain, I know, but admitting you like chili dogs to a doctor is like admitting that you are an avid fan of professional wrestling to a professional opera critic. I don't know what that analogy means, and it does not make this vignette any clearer. To finish this off, I ate from the healthy line. But after we went our separate ways I went back to the dining hall and got my chili dog and ate it take out in my room. Long and short: in order to not eat unhealthy in front of a doctor I ate dinner twice. Pathetic, but the chili dog was worth it.