Run Aground

McDonalds

2008-12-15T05:39:00.001-08:00

I haven't posted in forever, so I hope there is no one reading this anymore. If you have been reading this hoping for another skeptical take on Rustimiyan life, two points: 1) I am home so this post is my external internal dialogue, and 2) you really should get out more.

I just spent two hours studying Clincal Head and Neck at McDonalds. That place amazes me. I had a coupon for a free Southern Chicken Sandwich with the purchase of a beverage. Mixing the Dollar Menu with coupons should be illegal, but they haven't closed that loophole yet so I spent a dollar six and got coffee, a sandwich, and a place to study for two hours. I did get alot of studying done, but I also had a lot of nagging thoughts that are coming together and I hope they will more by my writing them down.

Young people, or people my age which is more youngish I concede, love to speak ill of McDonalds. "Super Size Me" is a movie that slanders this American miracle by saying that you will get high colesterol by eating super-sized meals three times a day. Really??? Duh. But many of my friends and much of America's youth has seized on this obvious observation of the results of excess to condemn McDonalds. By failing to condemn stupidity and excess, they are missing one of the major points that brings contentment and joy in life.

McDonalds in my mind is not a symbol of excess, but a symbol of anti-Starbucksism. Let me explain. McD's has posted a billboard outside Starbucks headquarters in Seattle that says "Fourbucks is dumb." I don't think McD's knows how deep that is, but when I heard it I smiled for the next 45 minutes as I drove in to work. Here is why. Starbucks caters to the young, trying to convince them that if they just spend way too much on rainforest friendly coffee they will remain forever young. If you look at their lines, you will disagree because there are quite a few over-the-hillers who buy $4 coffee, but I have a different meaning for young. Young people are idealistic. They think the world can be changed. They are the fools who think their generation will be the one which finally sets the world right and avoids getting old. Yes, every generation since Adam has gotten old and died, but we won't. We are different. We are enlightened. We will hang on to youth forever. We can save the rainforest, drink organic coffee, have power careers and perfect kids, shop at JCrew, drive hybrids or SUV's or hybrid SUV's, save the environment, and be cool all at once. We eschew minivans, Wal-Mart, and McD's. We are open minded and caring even while we charitably pity (and uncharitably scorn) those who have given up on ushering in the eschaton. Those who drive their kids through the McD's drive through and shop at Wal-Mart will alternately be scoffed at for their unsophistication and hated for standing in the way of Youth's utopia.

Starbucks seeks to perpetuate this stupidity as do many in the Utopian, Organic, Whole-Foods myth perpetuating industry. The world, they want you to believe, is not fallen and decaying, or it would not be except for the unenlightened. We can change it. Yes we can!!

Most people have historically end up leaving the youthful phase when they get a job and get a family. Starbucks has pushed that age later in life than it used to be, but most still do grow up. Here is where old people eating breakfast at McD's is my beacon of contentment. When people realize that you cannot both feed your family and shop at whole food, or drink $4 coffee, or fit car seats in a Prius, they get angry. How many people resent their minivan? How many look forward to their kids being out of the house so they can again drive in their Priuii and drink overpriced coffee? How many go in debt by putting overpriced coffee on their over-used credit cards? They do this when they could be enjoying life by eating breakfast at McD's for a dollar six. How many people my age are angry because it has finally hit them that the minivan and snotty kids is as good as it gets in this life?

But old people who go into McD's and wear their Wrangler's they bought at Wal-Mart (I found a pair for $14.74) have seen something that the young have missed. Once you let go of youth you see that this is as good as it gets.... and it is great. Yeah, the coffee may have a hint of turpentine in it, but it is hot and you can afford it. Sure, if you eat supersized meals every day you may get high colesterol, but the dollar menu allows you to eat out and give your wife a break from the dishes. Being content with McD's, as many old people are, means that you can have joy in a world that is not and will not be Utopia during this lifetime. Receiving what God has given with greatfulness rather than buying on credit what He has not is what old people do. Do you think that just maybe they have figured something out?

Old people have been young and they have been old. Young people have never been old. Old people are happy to spend the morning drinking coffee off the dollar menu; young people are frantic to hold on to their youth and $4 coffee. I'll take old any day.

The End Is Near

2007-10-06T06:22:00.000-07:00

Today was the last BUB (killer weekly meeting) that I will ever have to attend in the Navy, Lord willing. Now I just have one day and a wake-up, and hopefully no chances to do anything memorable. For a second I was going to get sentimental, but it is impossible to have any nostalgia after having sat through a three hour meeting. (One interesting note is that the Battalion Commander, who is also nearing his time to go home, ended the meeting by talking about three very optimistic meetings he has had with Iraqi Police Chiefs in the last week. One police chief, “who never has anything positive to say except about himself,” had an optimism that was notable to BC.) If I happen to get out of here on my birthday, that will be the best birthday present I have received in many years.

One More Last

2007-10-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

Today I took my laundry in for the last time at Rusty. The laundry contract ran out since the fiscal year is over, so a new company came in. While they were switching out washing machines the laundry facility was closed for three days. Accordingly, there was a long line to turn in laundry today. I am not sure if it will even be done, but I won’t wait around for it since I never want to wear my Army issue battle pajamas again anyway.

My Favorite Person in this Hemisphere

2007-10-04T05:00:00.000-07:00

My replacement arrived yesterday. He is an Air Force captain. Because he will relieve me in five days, I think he is cool.

A Win-Win-Win-Win Situation

2007-10-02T05:44:00.000-07:00

I might as well have won the lottery. Yesterday we change our clocks, and there was once again the embarrassing confusion about falling back that we had about springing forward. Word was passed and repassed about the day clocks would change with the last word I got being that the change would be two days ago. This means that I changed my clocks a day earlier than planned and thus got an extra hour of sleep two nights ago. And then last night the real time change happened and I got another extra hour of sleep. If you are reading this in the comfort of a home that you actually want to live in, you did not get the extra hour of sleep either last night or the night before. I do not mean to flaunt my well rested good fortune when you are tired from a normal night, but my extra hours did not come at your expense. Please, no hard feelings. Here is where jealousy and hard feelings might be justified – I will get another night with an extra hour because I will be home the first Sunday in November. So I will have had a 25 hour day AT HOME without having to have had a 23 hour day to make up for it. Before you try to make yourself feel better by bringing me down by point out that I have not really gained an extra hour since I am beginning the year in Eastern Standard Time and I will be ending the year in Eastern standard time so I didn’t really gain three hours, realize that there is a fourth win in this time switching situation. When I fly home, I will only have crossed seven time zones instead of eight so I will have less jet lag to deal with. This time change good fortune makes a year in Iraq worth it.

The Birthday Continues

2007-10-01T04:58:00.000-07:00

I am being overwhelmed with cards, books, and snacks. Thank you for them all, even if you just did it to support Kate’s nefarious plan to force me to admit my thirty-ness. You win. I’m thirty. Or will be soon, Lord willing.

One packaged I received contained Organic Beef Jerky. I will be forced to get my preservatives and artificial hormones elsewhere – hardly a challenge for me. I note that the package says “best if consumed within three days of opening.” Not a problem. Another funny marking on a package of cookies I received: “Now better tasting.” Doesn’t leave much room for guessing what the research department found about their previous recipe. I am glad to report that the package is completely correct.

The Slippery Slope to Anarchy

2007-09-29T06:59:00.000-07:00

Today I broke one of my cardinal rules. Because I want to be ready to go to bed at a moments notice, I do not allow myself caffeine after noon. That is, I know, a little conservative, but when it comes to being awake when you want to be asleep you can never be too far on the side of sleep. At about 1300 today the chaplain and the commo were walking out to go to the coffee shop and happened to ask if I would I wanted to come along. Being inherently cheap and well supplied with coffee by friends and family, I have not paid for coffee (or food) since leave – why buy what you already have? Even more than I am cheap I am perceptive (queue laugh track) so I knew that the chaplain and the commo were really asking if I wanted to “hang out” as the kids say these days. Friendship is worth paying for so I graced them with my presence.

I am always self-conscious when I order coffee at coffee shops because I cannot keep the tall, grande, and vente sizes straight. Also, the coffee aficionados order with such grace: “Tall skin mocha grande frappe with whip, add one shot espresso” or however they say it. I know that the baristas at the Starbucks back at the states sense that I cannot tell the difference between McDonald’s Special Blend and the Organic Eco-friendly Light Roast Summer French Blend from Ecuador. Even though I am the customer I am not right when I order. So I overcame my fear and ordered as best I could. I specified decaf when I ordered my double mocha over ice, and the third country national scoffed at me with his eyes in a barista way. The sneer was not as pronounced as I would have gotten in the states, but a coffee shop is a coffee shop and baristas have standards that apparently are international and span all languages. “No decaf, sir.” Iraq is not Burger King, and you don’t always get it your way. Besides, the chaplain and commo were laughing at me since their standards of sleep hygiene are not up to mine. I gave in and had caffeine, and the chaplain and commo were grateful for my company.

Happy Birthday to Me

2007-09-27T13:43:00.000-07:00

One milestone toward going home has past (last haircut at Rusty today) and one is approaching. There is no conceivable way I will be home before my birthday, but even though I will be gone I have not been forgotten. I have received five birthday cards in the last three days. Some of these cards are from people who I would expect to remember my birthday – close family. And some are from people who I would not have expected - friends I haven’t seen in years and people from my church. In all cases, I am honored that people remember. Even more impressive is that the cards I have received are early – if I ever remembered to send a card to someone with unreliable mail I would end up using the unreliable mail as an excuse for sending the card late even though the reason would invariably be that I forgot. (One more benefit to marriage is that “my” cards are no longer late.) Thank you all.

The Worst Story Ever

2007-09-26T08:21:00.000-07:00

This story is terrible, so if you want to maintain any hope in your government or its bureaucracy, just quit reading now.

Recently we had a new South Carolina National Guard unit RIP in, and with that came a replacement of the Michigan unit’s member of the TOC team. The new guy from SC is on night shift and is mostly quiet and on the older side of forty-five. I was walking back from breakfast at the start of my day as he was coming back from his pre-bed meal at the end of his day. I got to talking to him and he told me his story. I almost wanted to cry, and for a moment stopped thinking that being an IA is the most pathetic way to tour Iraq.

This soldier had completed the required twenty years for retirement with time split between the National Guard and the active Army. A short time after his twenty were complete, he contacted the retirement records bureau to verify something or the other and they informed him that they only had records of him serving seventeen years – three years of his National Guard time were gone. Since his career had a three year gap, he would have to serve three more years if he wanted retirement benefits. They assured him that this would not be a problem because there was an SC guard unit just coming back that he could attach to and spend the rest of his career without deploying – they were from the government and were here to help.

So he did. He enlisted. And they transferred him from the unit that would not deploy to the unit that is here now. That is bad enough that, if it had happened to me, they would have to take away any live bullets I might have for their own safety, but the story gets worse. When this guy retired, he was a captain who was on the path to promotion to major. Unfortunately, the portion of records that were lost were the portion that included his promotion to captain, so for all the Army knew he had served his whole time commissioned as a first lieutenant. The military has a rule that if you do not get promoted in a certain amount of time they ask you to get out of the military to make room for those who will get promoted. “Up or out” this policy is called in an unexplainable moment of simplicity and clarity in naming. So this soldier who had retired a captain, but for whom the Army had records for first lieutenant, was past the time for promotion to captain from first lieutenant. You are correct – this does not makes sense, but since they had no record that he was promoted to captain he could not be promoted to captain so to get his retirement he had to enlist and is now a sergeant.

Every morning when we do turnover, this poor soul gets an earful from the intel section master sergeant who feels that he needs to vent his family problems on some unsuspecting solder. (n.b. the venting is most likely the source of his family problems vice the solution.) This master sergeant does not know that the man he is condescending was and should be a captain. If there is justice in this world, they will find his paperwork and one day he will get a letter setting the wrongs right. Until then he has a story worse than an IA.

Perpetuate to Validate

2007-09-23T10:56:00.000-07:00

When I arrived at my current duty station, there were seven (7) officers in the TOC: Terry, Bob, Dave, Jake, Angela, Selmer, and Mark. Currently there are three (3): Terry, Jake, and Lara. You would think that with a cut in the work force of 57%, assuming all officers contribute equally, would stress the officers who are left. I do not believe this is the case. The case, rather, is that tasks are created to match manning instead of the opposite. In at least one case, an officer who would weekly brief the commander and all of the staff with a brief series of slides left and with him left the slides from the brief – shorter and no value lost. Jobs are not made to accomplish tasks, but to fill time and make people feel like they are contributing to the team. In another officer’s particular case, her fifteen minute brief turned to minute and a half brief when her job was taken over by a moderately junior sergeant. I think the only reason we even include what used to be her briefing is so that she does not feel that she was just wasting her time (she was moved out of the TOC to replace another officer who left).

John Paul Jones once said, “I wish to have no association with a ship that is not fast, for I intend to go into harm’s way.” I think that JPJ would have stayed in port rather than gone to war with the joint effort that is Operation Iraqi Freedom, 06-08. I once was offered by a Navy O-4 that he would show me how to brief my actions as a member of a staff so that the boss knew how much I contribute. It’s a rain check I still possess.

It Still Works

2007-09-22T09:29:00.001-07:00

Yesterday we conducted our semi-annual verification of weapon function. – and once I brushed the dust off mine they still worked. We were each issued our five bullets for our pistol and five for our rifles. We all trooped out to the range and fired our five bullets and walked back. Some people decided they had to drive, but that is understandable since it is a five minute walk. There was a unity of opinion that Friday morning was the wrong day to schedule our five bullet shoot because that is the day of the big battalion meeting. Everyone ended up getting there on time, but breakfast was rushed (the things the troops in the warzone must endure!). The worst part was that I had to wear my sixty pound individual body armor which most “go outside the wire soldiers” wear every day. As I was putting it on it ripped the thumb drive out of my pocket by my lanyard and I lost it. At least it was my unclassified one.

In the Blink of an Eye

2007-09-19T11:16:00.001-07:00

Yesterday was a day of incredibly good news. My relief has not only been named, but he is part of the group of unfortunates who are already in country. This Air Force captain should be arriving at Chez Rusty on September 30. If all goes well, I could be on a plane home October 10 and if all goes less than well October 16. (Let’s not discuss worse than that.) Either way, that is a win for the home team because I was supposed to be home around 22 November. There have been rumors about for about ten days now. Today it is official.

In about two weeks I could be leaving Rusty instead of eight. That means that I could have four or five weeks at home that I thought were gone – an amazingly wonderful occurrence no matter how you slice it. It is also sobering and indicative of this entire IA process. This all started when I came back from a wonderful Thanksgiving with my mom’s family in Indianapolis and found an email waiting for me that hinted that an IA was in the offing. As the week went on rumors increased, but no word was passed. Then on December 7 at 1543, exactly sixty-five years to the minute as the USS Arizona was sinking in Pearl Harbor (too much drama alert), I got confirmation that I was the chosen one. Just like that almost a year of my life was gone. It wasn’t fair. There wasn’t any ceremony or gravity like I at some level expect at losing so much. Only my first level boss even told me or said good-bye in person. 2007 was just gone. Talk about life being like grass that is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire.

When something like that happens you want to scream to the world that as an American I have a right to fair treatment. Maybe 2% of the Navy gets sent over here, and the number of junior officers with viable careers over here is much smaller. Most Navy people over here on IA’s are O-4’s who haven’t been selected for command and are hoping for the extra push to make O-5 or chiefs hoping to break out for senior chief. There are quite a few people from non-deploying Navy communities for whom this is one year away from home out of the past ten of their career and when they are done they will retire with four more on shore. Most of the junior officers in my job are pilots who HAVE some background in what I’m doing and have three years on shore so their tour is about 30% of their shore duty. My orders were for two year. They wanted 50% of my shore duty, and I had plans that I was actively pursuing to stay in the Navy. The pilot JO’s would still have two years, whole shore tour length, even after they finished. There were a hundred reasons I shouldn’t have been chosen. The bottom line is that this is not fair.

If there is one thing I don’t like it is reality that isn’t the way it should be. When Kate and I went to a marriage seminar once, the speaker said that most unhappiness in a marriage comes from people dwelling on how things should be instead of being thankful for how things are. Fortunately, I have a nearly perfect wife who gives me nothing to be unhappy about, but it is super-easy to find those things in the Navy. They irk me because they are wrong and could be righted. Even now, the Task Force IA has put out guidance about how this jaunt in the desert should positively affect my career, but my detailer has essentially said “Sorry, Charlie,” on that one. Could be fixed easily, but it won’t be. It is a detailer doing what he can instead of what he should, and that is just the way of life.

So today I am on the good side of unfair. It is completely unfair that I get to go home at eight months instead of the required nine while other people are staying for three longer than originally planned. It is arbitrary, and just like that five weeks of my life are given back. I’d like to think that someone at BUPERs looked at my case and appreciated me as a person, but it was nothing like that at the human level. It just happened. No pomp or circumstance, no validation of my service and suffering. Just the way things work out. Today it is a flower quickly fading; a year ago it was grass to the furnace.

Maybe I’m close enough to the end where I can get safely philosophical, point out lessons learned, and impute some meaning to this nonsense that is 2007. If there is any one thing I can say I’ve confirmed for certain it is that life is unfair mostly in bad ways but also in some good way. The bad unfairness that I have gotten is certainly not as terrible as the random unfairness that many soldiers and there families have experienced while I’ve been here, but it is more terrible than the unfairness that the guys back home are complaining about even as I’m typing. Bad stuff happens in this fallen world we live in, and we do not have a right to better. To expect any less is unrealistic and to dwell on it is to sell peace of mind too cheaply. Good stuff happens, too, which is equally unfair and undeserved. Maybe this time I’ve learned enough to be thankful for the good instead of thinking it is my due. I’m coming home soon.

International Language

2007-09-18T09:31:00.000-07:00

I have heard that a smile is supposed to be an international way to show friendship. I’m not so sure about all that, but I do know that food is a way of showing acceptance everywhere. It is very important for our troops out here to eat with the Iraqis they interact with even though it often results in the runs. Women going through the line at the DFAC often get larger portions even when they do not ask for them while some men grumble that they cannot get two chicken cordon blues (a very popular dish) even when they ask for them.

I am a creature of habit when it comes to food. Every morning I get the same thing: I go through the sandwich line which is a 24 hour operation and get a sandwich with mayonnaise, mustard, lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickle. I then go to the omelet line and get a cheese omelet to put on my sandwich. I’ve done this every day since I got back from leave. The first week or so I got looks of insult from the sandwich makers since I had refused their meats and cheeses, but they soon got used to it. Since the sandwich line is not busy in the morning I chat a little bit with the sandwich artist, emphasis on “little” since he speaks very little English. His name is something like Desaby and he is from India. Maybe. He now starts making my sandwich without asking what I want and he also has started putting on double tomatoes.

The omelet guys also recognize me and have my omelet cooking before I get to the grill which has the added benefit of making sure that my eggs are cooked the whole way through. Most days the head cook will see it’s me and throw in a little extra cheese. Breakfasts might be the only part of Rusty that I will truly miss.

Armed Forces Network

2007-09-16T11:04:00.000-07:00

Armed Forces Network (AFN) is the military television channel that provides American television for service members and their families overseas. On all of the televisions in public places here (the DFAC, various lounges, etc) we are treated to AFN Europe which has the normal fare of news shows from each major network, sports, and the various what’s-happening-in-the-military-today segments as every variant of AFN has. The difference lies in the spaces that would be filled by commercials if there was any profit motive. These commercials substitutes tend to be either low budget affairs put out by military units stationed in Europe or recruiting spots with higher budgets. They do have the added benefit of making you appreciate capitalism.

These low budget affairs range from amusing to disappointing. There are public service announcements suggesting that Europeans do not like rude drivers or rude people. There are security reminders to report suspicious activity. And then there are the Navy spots. Apparently COMNAVEUR has put out an open invitation for sailors stationed in Europe to break out their video cameras and embarrass the fleet. Today I saw a PSA encouraging professional reading which had to two sailors (who were only slightly overweight) at the base library to engaging in a reading competition of books of the CNO’s reading list. The winner of the competition did a victory dance wholly appropriate to the winner of a reading competition while the loser sulked in the background. It was disappointing, but not the most disappointing I have seen by far.

The most disappointing is a spot promoting “the Sea Chanters” or “the Singing Sailors” or whatever the COMNAVEUR’s choral ensemble is called. This group of peppy, smiley sailors apparently sings show tunes to entertain European dignitaries who have the misfortune to be the Admirsal’s guests. Judging by their commercial, they really get into it: I have never seen sailors smiling so brightly or dancing so spiritedly from the waste up while performing hand motions to songs from Broadway. From the waste down they were in the military at attention; from the waste up they were performers! Just to emphasize their combination of Naval tradition with jazzy, peppy performance style, they are wearing the uniform that midshipman refer to as service dress bozo which is service dress blues (the black, double-breasted suit) with a bowtie in place of the normal tie. It was only worn by those who had forgotten to turn their formal uniform into laundry in time for formal dinners.

If airing of this spot was limited to embarrassing the Navy in Europe I would not complain. Unfortunately, this promo is aired in our DFAC and is the only face of the Navy that many soldiers ever see besides mine. Soldiers tend to be a macho group who make up for any lack of brashness they may have with an excess of bluster*. The Sea Chanters are polar opposites of macho – let’s just call them a little too secure in their masculinity. So us sailors who have been abandoned by our service out in the middle of Army land have to deal with a service image of a bunch of smiling show tune singers. Thanks, COMNAVEUR.

*This gross generalization is based on an application of the 90/10 rule. 90% of your problems will be caused by 10% of your sailors. 90% of the extra time spent tutoring will be with 10% of your students. As Shamus the carpenter/mason/shepherd proves in the famous admonitory joke, 90% of your reputation is determined by 10% of your actions. So it is with my perception of soldiers. Most are decent people, or as Sean Hannity would call them, “Great Americans”, but the 10% who stick out in my mind are brashly blustery enough to claim that one can be tough and wear a beret at the same time. They argue that having over 40 pieces of flair on a uniform (have you seen Gen. Petraeus?) proves, PROVES military accomplishment. Thus even though my generalization is not true of all, in this case I do not feel the least bit hesitant to establish a rule using the exceptions to the normal.

Party Time

2007-09-15T07:09:00.001-07:00

Thursday evening several of the EWO’s on the FOB went to a party on the other side of the FOB where there is a contingent of NATO folks and some Aussies. They are involved in training the Iraqi Army staff at there Military Academy / Staff College that is on the FOB but on the other side of the fence. I felt very adventurous going over to “the Iraqi side” even though it there are Coalition Forces who live there, including the Marine Master Sergeant who invited us.

The Hungarians were in charge of cooking. There was grilled meat and grilled cheese, onion, and tomato sandwiches. I would not have guessed that it was ethnic had I not know it was before hand. The rest of the party involved talking to the Americans that I knew from my side of the fence while the NATO people talked with the people they know. If that sounds anti-climactic I have been accurate.

Next The Leaves Change Colors

2007-09-13T07:54:00.001-07:00

Lows in the 80’s, highs barely north of 105. Football on Armed Forces Network. Fall is in the air.

We’ll Call It Market Research

2007-09-12T12:47:00.000-07:00

Stereotyping is BAD. Although very few people reel at the fact that Heineken sponsors Wimbledon and Budweiser sponsors NASCAR, every American knows that only Klansmen and other white males stereotype.

Thus you will understand that, even though this vignette occurred over a month ago, I’m still processing it. I was sitting in the TOC, a large open room where all conversations are public. I hear, “I’ve never been on food stamps – my daddy was white.” The woman who said this must have noted my minor cardiac arrest, but rather than offer asprin, she said to me, “Sir, you probably don’t even know what food stamps are.” “Of course I do.” “How?” she asks. Now everyone knows what food stamps are, and I was slightly taken aback that she would question my cultural awareness. However, saying something like “Some of my best friends were on food stamps,” would not help my case since I have no credibility as a member of an oppressed class, and I have never asked any of my friends if they are. I sarcastically responded, “Oh, I’ve heard stories about them.” She thinks this is hilarious and typical of a white person, so she turns back to the person to whom she was originally talking who has heard our whole conversation and says, “He’s heard stories about food stamps.” I, wanting to know the proper, sensitive way to show that I have knowledge of food stamps in the future ask, “How do you know what food stamps are?” “My mamma’s black.” When you know you can’t win, don’t take the conversation any farther.

Even though stereotyping is BAD, it can be funny when the stereotype fits too well. Chief and I were out doing some last minute maintenance at 8:00 with just the crew of the truck, a sergeant and two privates. We get to chatting and the sergeant volunteers that he was pretty upset when he found out he had been assigned a female gunner (evil, and I don’t approve of that viewpoint), but he says, the first time she came out to the truck she was carrying the fifty caliber machine gun and the extra barrels, no small feat. Before they got on the road the first time, he asked if she had checked her head space and timing, standard machine gun checks, and she snapped back that she knew how to operate her @#%$ machine gun. The sergeant clearly approved of his gunner and her competence. She lit up a cigarette, and since I feel like an old man around most soldiers, I felt compelled to give her a hard time about it as I do for all soldiers under twenty who smoke. I asked her how long she had been smoking, and she said since she was eight. I gave her that “are you kidding me?” look and she said that was nothing – she had started dipping when she was four. Her brothers started her on cigarettes, but her dad started her on Red Man. Is anyone surprised that she came from Okiefenokee, Georgia, population 200, rather than Manhattan?

My Tour In Iraq Through The Eyes Of A Specialist

2007-09-11T08:42:00.000-07:00

One of the new companies in my battalion is a National Guard unit from South Carolina. One truck was going across the FOB to the Duke shop for the first time, so I rode with them to make sure they got there. One of the soldiers riding along was a specialist, one of the lowest enlisted ranks that is usually made at 16 months. They are a little nervous about Lieutenants, or Captains as they tend to call me (same rank different name for Navy and Army).

We got down the shop and I start working on installing my little system. This red-headed South Carolina specialist walks up and says in his slow South Carolina way, “Sir, what rank are you?” Since I’m the only person with two bars as my insignia who calls himself a lieutenant on the FOB, I’m used to this question. “I’m a lieutenant, but I’m still an O-3 like your captains are.” Confused look. “Oh, I’ve never seen an officer do mechanic work before. I thought captains are supposed to be company commanders.”

If it weren’t so innocent and accompanied by the same look of confusion that I daily experience over my current job, I would have thought he was trying to be mean.

Redneck Autobody Shop

2007-09-10T07:50:00.001-07:00

The civilian contractors have two vehicles to get around the FOB and transport things like their laundry with. One is a little white Nissan pickup with red flames painted on the side, and the other is 2005 black Suburban. There are many of these types of vehicles with exactly the same paint scheme. All of these vehicles are less than four years old and are trashed. There is very little pride in ownership most likely due to their being no ownership. None have ever been washed, and KBR probably thinks it’s cheaper to buy new cars than bring out another civilian to change the oil.

The Suburban that the contractors have is in notably bad shape: the passenger side back window and cargo area window are both broken out. Today when Chief and I showed up at the shop, two of the contractors had a large piece of plexi-glass that they were cutting to replace the broken windows since rainy season is getting closer. They had finished putting on the cargo area piece of plexi-glass with self-tapping screws and were caulking it silicon. It was an improvement only because it was so bad before.

Chief, who used to be a Navy hull tech (person who makes things out of sheet metal and plexi-glass, among other jobs) and who is a bit on the obsessive-compulsive side about things looking nice, took over the job because the contractors had not made very good cuts and the plexiglass looked jagged and unprofessional. In Navy plexi-glass school they teach the score-and-break method for shaping plexi-glass which is fine for straight lines but is not good for making replacement windows for Suburbans. I am quite proud of myself for coming up with an idea that the professional doers (as an officer I’m a professional supervisor unlike the chiefs and contractors) of using the Dremel Tool. I even cut the window much to all of the chiefs’ chagrin and did quite a nice job even though I was an officer using a tool.

The window that I replaced looks better than the back window that the contractors replaced. Even Tank, a contractor whose parent’s naming ability fits their son’s size and mentality, said I did “good.” I think that is just evidence that he’s been in Iraq long enough to have low standards for the word “good.” Honey, when I get home we’re going to get a car to put on blocks in the front yard so I can fix it up with plexi-glass and self-tapping screws. It will look “good.”

A Matter of Perspective

2007-09-10T07:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday a bomb went off next to one of my trucks, a not uncommon event. No one was hurt, but the guys who were in the truck were fairly new to theater so it was a memorable experience for them. Part of my job is going out and gathering some data when such a thing happens, and as long as no one is hurt, it is one of my favorite parts of the job. Soldiers tend to be much more talkative and expressive after their trucks get blown up so it is easier to get to know them since otherwise I am one of the outsiders on battalion staff.

One of the junior guys in this truck was all grins, as you could imagine you would be if you just escaped from death to safety, and he was also completely soaked through with sweat. From the top of his blouse to the soles of his boots he was soaked through. In a grinning voice he said to no one in particular but also to anyone who may be willing to hear, “This is great: I’m so soaked no one can tell I wet my pants.”

I thought this was funny because I’m pretty sure if my truck got blown up I’d wet my pants. So would you. Or at least we would fully understand if someone did. Before I could even laugh, his squad leader busts through in a near perfect impression of the XO in the movie “Down Periscope”* and yells, “Start pushing,” so the soldier starts doing push-ups. As near as I can tell, the squad leader thought saying “wet my pants” in the presence of an officer on battalion staff was unprofessional while dropping a soldier who is covered in sweat and had nearly been blown up was redeemingly professional. I know better than to interfere with these things because Army logic and Navy logic on these matters diverge.

As Chief and I walk to the next truck in the group to gather the last of our data, she asks what that was all about with an incredulous voice. As has become my most common expression of body language living among the Army, I find myself shaking my shaking my head and shrugging as I recount the story. We are both bemused because Navy professionalism dictates that treating someone in a way to let all around know exactly who is the boss is highly UN-professional and could be called abusive of one’s authority. I say that this is a matter of perspective, but deep down inside in places that don’t get published on the internet I do not feel that way. I can’t say that, of course, but I will mark this down as one more event in my “Navy Appreciation” log which grows longer every day.

*I forget who the actor was, but he was excellent at playing the short, everything by the books as they are written in his head, disciplinarian to the point of comical autocrat who had a chip on his shoulder but no respect.

Cold Desert Nights

2007-09-08T13:31:00.000-07:00

I’ve heard stories about people freezing to death at night in the desert after almost dying of heat stroke during the day. If you’re outside in Baghdad, that is not the likely. It stays hot outside all night. Hot. Inside the weather is not as predictable because inside weather depends on third country national air conditioner repairmen. Last week it was warm but not terrible. Someone decided that good enough was not and put in a repair request.

The third country nationals came through. It is now cold. The reason being that while TCN’s do a great job at repairing the air conditioning unit, they don’t know how to install thermostats. I’ve heard rumors that there is one in the building, but I can’t believe that it is connected as my room temperature at night is sub-Arctic and I have never walked past our air conditioner when it is not running full speed. Last night I slept with two blankets, a sheet, my sleeping bag thrown on top, and a knit cap. The knit cap was a gift from a family in my parent’s church that when I originally got it did not think would be useful, but that I now find very useful. Thank you.

Glasses

2007-09-08T12:31:00.001-07:00

I left my second pair of Navy issue glasses, a pair that wouldn’t be too ugly if it weren’t for the frames, on Chief’s desk when I went home on leave. I came back and she somewhat apologetically said that my glasses were missing a nose piece. I didn’t really care since I left them on her desk and she only has one pair. She is a little particular about clutter, so I’m at fault for leaving them on her desk.

Since I have gotten back Chief has taken more and more of them, one piece at a time. First it was a screw that held the lens in, then the second nose piece. Right now they are lying completely disassembled and oddly enough Chief hasn’t complained about them cluttering her desk at all.

Making a Room a Home

2007-09-06T09:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I put a bit of personal touch in my room. One of my companies was leaving so a sergeant gave me his mini-fridge. I have zero need of a mini-fridge since it would only encourage eating between meals, nevertheless it was free. I set it outside for about six hours to defrost, and it is now in my room… acting as a nightstand. It has been plugged in for about a day now and has not cooled down at all. Again, I’m not too concerned because I needed the night stand and have no real need for a fridge. If it cools down I won’t have to walk the twenty feet outside my room to the community fridge. If it doesn’t I have a night stand with about two cubic feet of hermetically sealed storage. It’s really a win-win.

Fall is Coming

2007-09-04T10:29:00.000-07:00

We just got a TV with cable in our TOC, the battalions Tactical Operations Center. The Armed Forces Network plays football games not in real time, but continually. I think you could watch college football three days a week out here, and if you didn’t look at the scores ahead of time you could stay entertained. Oh the curse of constant connectivity and the internet, taking away the joy of football and cable by giving the scores in real time when cable is replaying! The first game I saw was Navy vs. Temple. I’m usually more of a naysayer when it comes to Navy athletics since I see them competing with academics, but being over here in the midst of the Army makes having a good Navy team a benefit. We won, and Army lost to Akron. There are lots of things I will present as arguments of the Navy’s superiority to the Army, but football isn’t one. Thank goodness Navy won though, because if Army had won and Navy lost I would hear about it all week. Instead, on this one issue, there has been blessed Army silence.

New Shoes

2007-09-03T11:31:00.000-07:00

I got the shoes delivered that I bought on line, a new pair of Asics 2120’s. At first I thought they were too big and didn’t fit, and then I measured them next to my current shoes which have worked quite nicely and they are exactly as big. Imagine: two pairs of shoes that are both the same size and mass produced by the same company turn out to fit the same. In a fit (note: pun) of pro-Navy feeling I bought the shoes that are blue and gold. Now I’m afraid to wear them outside because I know once they hit the moon dust outside they will turn an off-gray shade of brown like my current shoes. I’m currently debating whether to carry them to the gym or just save wearing them until I get home.

Such goes the excitement and newness of Iraq.

A Significant Step

2007-09-02T11:26:00.001-07:00

Today we had a barbeque at the shop for the longest serving EWO on the FOB because he is going on to a happier place. We collected money for someone to buy uncooked food at the main base in Baghdad when they went on a supply run, a move which I think is silly since you can get food for free that is cooked. The BBQ was not about me, however, or about what I thought about wasting money on frivolous social events. It was about Sr. Chief. His 280 day mark is September 18, and he will not get home until September 22. This is not a happy subject with him since the 280 in-country was supposed to be semi-sacred. One could argue that it still is semi-sacred since sacred is an all or nothing word, but I digress. The true significance of Senior’s departure is that my group of EWO’s is now the most senior in Iraq which also means the next to go home. Of course being next is not the same as leaving soon, but you can’t leave soon until you are next. I’ll start holding my breath now.

What Public School Self-Esteem Education Hath Wrought

2007-09-01T09:24:00.001-07:00

When public education comes in contact with the real world, the result is pride, desperation, and stupidity encapsulated in a cry for help on a bathroom stall wall:

“Stop Erasing my Artwork, stupid Bathroom cleaner PeoPle!” (as written, caps included)

A Reprimand

2007-08-31T10:32:00.001-07:00

Today I was pretty busy down at the shop doing real work installing things as opposed to office work. One of my battalion’s first lieutenants came in to the office sign some paperwork, an action which today I was not involved with, thankfully. On the way down to the shop, the lieutenant had stopped by one of our local Hajji shops and bought a Hajji vision DVD that had eight movies for the price of one. Hajji vision is the semi-racist slang for pirated DVD’s which are usually sold for a dollar. Most are one movie for a dollar, but you can also buy multiple movies on one DVD where you sacrifice quality for quantity while still getting the great low price. They are almost always high enough quality that you can make out the plot. (I have only seen about four or five movies on Hajji vision and have never bought any even though it is a win-win situation for the buyer and the seller. Maybe the producer loses out, but two out of three winning must be okay, right?)

So everyone is looking at the newest purchase which is a collection of eight Oscar nominees: Chariots of Fire, Rocky, the Deer Hunter, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Next, and some others. I had seen exactly one of the movies, Chariots of Fire. Everyone thought this was completely unacceptable. I was accused of Communism, un-Americanism, and being culturally deficient, a berating that took close to a quarter of an hour. I’ll accept guilt on one of those counts. So the lieutenant gives me the disk (forces it on me, really) and tells me that I have to watch the rest of the movies. I bargained my way out of having to give written reports. In an attempt to be more culturally proficient, I will blame my cultural deficiency on my parents, my economic circumstances growing up, and on being a white male. If I hadn’t forgotten the DVD down at the office I would get started on cultural proficiency training tonight.

Gone, But Not Forgotten

2007-08-28T10:10:00.001-07:00

As the new academic year starts at USNA, I know that I am not completely forgotten. In addition to still being on the Math Department email distro list, Koichi, who last year was certified as the greatest teacher at USNA, has gotten most of my old students together and made a DVD for me. Thanks for brightening my day.

Jointness

2007-08-27T11:40:00.000-07:00

Yesterday for dinner I ate in the DFAC which is slightly out of the ordinary, but football was on the TV so I decided against taking carry-out to my room. The best seat I could get was next to two Air Force majors. One of them noticed that my uniform said Navy so we started chatting. They were both impressed that the Navy would “let me out of my career field so early.” As they were both majors and thus concerned about how every job they get will affect their career, it is starting to make sense to me why they thought I must be special to get to work with the Army, and that I was luck to be out here so young.
In 1987, the Nichols-Goldwater Defense Act instituted a requirement for “joint experience” to advance beyond a certain level. This really does make sense. You wouldn’t want the highest level decision makers in the Navy to understand only, for instance, the tactical employment of submarines. So the Department of Defense instituted two phases of Joint Military Professional Education (JPME I and II) that you should complete by the time you make O-5 and O-6, and as a requirement to make flag rank you have to serve in a joint billet. These billets have been traditionally difficult to get assigned to early in your career because more senior people need them to advance and when you’re a young submariner you should be learning the tactical employment of submarines instead of how to lead infantry. Billets that were designated as joint also tended to be broader in scope, not focused on the day to day employment of troops but on, for instance, the employment of large portions of the Army and how it fit together with the Navy in the grand scheme of making war. Again, this all fits with the idea that Nichols and Goldwater had in mind. As an example of a joint command, the Strategic Command in Omaha has about equal numbers of Air Force and Navy personnel since we both have strategic nuclear weapons. There are also some Army and Marines thrown in, I’m sure. The commander of StratCom used to switch between a Navy admiral and an Air Force general, but the last commander was actually a Marine. Going there was my second choice to teaching at USNA, but even if I had gone there I would not have gotten credit for serving my joint tour because I would have been in a job that was too narrow in scope to see how the Navy fit in with the big picture. There were only certain jobs that got the joint credit because they had a wide enough scope to see how the different services all contributed to the whole national strategic objective. It was a career hurdle that was a pain to get, but it really did make sense.
“So why can I so freely admit that something the military does make sense?” those who think I’m cynical may ask. Is it really me writing? I can say that the Goldwater-Nichols joint service requirement makes sense because they completely changed it this year. Like anything involving government that was not broken, after twenty years of good service we must find a way to break it. The old requirement for joint service did not “capture the broad experiences that many officers were having while conducting the global war on terror.” Something that sounds that well thought out usually precedes a strike by what is known as the “good idea fairy.” The good idea fairy that human tendency which causes people to make changes to a system that is working fine based on no relevant experience. For some reason congress changed Goldwater-Nichols so that there is now a point system which weights your experience and gives a certain credit to different experiences. The result is that I am getting joint credit right now. Let me say that again for all of you more senior officers who struggled to get the right billet: I am getting joint credit. Furthermore, since my joint credit is in a warzone, I get three points a month whereas an O-4 in a previously joint billet would get only one point a month. This is supposedly good for my career, but it is utterly ridiculous.
Here is my “joint experience”: I have been rented out by the Navy to the Army to fill a job that involves turning wrenches and working on a box with three switches and a USB connection. My joint command is headed up by a bunch of guys who are not from a variety of services to reflect the true joint nature of our armed forces, but are all Army. I just happen to be a Navy guy who is stuck with the Army. What am I learning about the Army that will give me a broader understanding of how the services work together to accomplish the National Command Authority’s goals? The first thing I have learned is that the Army generals who invited me out here think that their people are so untrainable that they cannot learn to operate a box with three switches and a USB connection free of Navy supervision. I have learned that the Army thinks the Navy doesn’t contribute to national security because our deployments are not 15 months. I have learned that they whine like two year olds about 15 month deployments. I have learned that most members of the Army are completely entertained by the Navy rank of Seaman and can find hours of amusement making jokes about sailors of that rank. And what has the Army learned about the Navy? I don’t know for sure, but I would guess nothing since by their own generals’ admissions they are untrainable.
That may be a little harsh. I’m sure they’ve learned to resent the Navy, too. Afterall, we only deploy for six months to hop from liberty port to liberty port. They would probably also say something about the Navy not having a PT uniform. The whole point of this is that this is not at all professionally enhancing and it is a travesty that I get joint credit for it.

Bound to Happen

2007-08-26T10:58:00.001-07:00

Explosions! Fire! Destruction! Living in a war zone, it is just a matter of time, and two days ago was my time. Yes, my building was “got.”
We had a voltage spike from 220 to over 400 volts on the generator that supplies my barracks. It wreaked havoc on our building. One of the switchboards started smoking. The air conditioner was down for at least five hours. Many people lost everything. Well, they lost their DVD players, TV’s, personal refrigerators, and some even lost their alarm clocks. I got off easy – only lost a power supply to my computer which I replaced for $35 – but that is only because I don’t have a TV or refrigerator. The internet, which I got rid of, was down for a day which almost gave me the feeling that I would suspect an investment broker would get when he sells a stock right before it crashes.
We’re recovering. The AC is back, and people are managing without big screen TV’s. Just goes to show that no matter how much steak and lobster you have, war is hell.

Someone Knows This Is A Big Week

2007-08-25T07:14:00.001-07:00

I’m writing this on 11 August which is my anniversary. I just got off the phone with my lovely bride of six years. The irony that it her anniversary is on the same day as mine confirms that we are MFEO as they say in the shows. Here’s another bit of irony. Even though today is Saturday we had chapel tonight as tomorrow is yet another memorial service. (Audible sigh. Those really get old quickly.) So tonight we had church, and as I said, today is our anniversary. Irony of ironies, the text comes from 1 Corinthians 13 – the love chapter. And if that is not enough, as an illustration of the “when I was a child, I used to think as a child…” part of the passage, the chaplain describes how at a first birthday party it is cute when the kid dumps her face in the cake, but you would think something is wrong if a twelve year old did the same thing. So the love chapter on my anniversary, and the illustration of a first birthday on the week of Sarah’s first birthday. What are the odds of those two things being on a church service held on Saturday which also happens to be my anniversary? Spooky.

One Bright Spot

2007-08-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

If the World War II raw recruit was a hayseed (I remember my grandpa telling stories about drill instructors calling cadence with “Straw foot, hay foot” instead of left/right because many farm boys didn’t know the difference between left and right), then the raw recruit of this war is a punk. No example necessary. But they are fun. About a week after I get here, I was shaving in the bathroom and this pimply face kid notices my navy shirt and starts talking to me. He must have really needed to hear his voice, because he tells me all about how he grew up in Asia, had spent time in the Philippine militia, and how he didn’t really agree with having to call officers sir. He was a likeable enough guy, but he was really a self-centered punk. He told me how he was not really meshing with his unit, but how that didn’t really matter because he was just in the Army to pad his resume so he could get a job with the “contractors.” I assume he meant CIA or some soldier of fortune organization that he had seen on TV. He was a real character, but I can only say that because he was someone else’s problem child. If I had been his platoon sergeant, I would have popped him in the jaw.
I saw the same kid again in the bathroom yesterday. He remembered me because he said, “You’re an officer, right?” (Obviously he was still not big on the sir thing, but there are really more interesting things to be concerned about in my mind, too. Not having to care about those types of things is one advantage of being with a service whose professional future you really don’t give two hoots about.) I had no rank on as I was about to take a shower. I said, “And you’re the guy who used to be in the Philippine militia.” He said, “Last time we talked, I was really having some problems in my company, but I’m not any more.” He went on to tell me how his company was doing (they have taken no KIA’s, and he is rightfully proud of that since they are in a particularly bad neighborhood.), how he was reenlisting to get orders to Korea, and quite a bit more especially considering that I really just wanted to take a shower. The change in his attitude, no more chip-on-the-shoulder all-about-me tone, was really refreshing.
There is no doubt that this war is messing up a lot of people physically and mentally. It is not easy going from a garrison environment on the FOB to a war zone outside the wire once a day, and there are some really bitter, disillusioned folk in this area. But this war is also shaping a generation of punks into a higher quality of punk than they would have been otherwise with a little bit more of an appreciation for what they have and for the other people around them.

Tut, Tut! Looks Like Rain

2007-08-21T11:22:00.000-07:00

Not really, but there were some clouds in the sky today in the middle of the day. It was not cloudy in the “portends of precipitation*” type way. They were more of a “there is hope that somewhere in the atmosphere there is moisture” type of cumulus-nimbus types of clouds. I’m not the most observant, but I don’t think there are many clouds during the day. It has been a balmy 109F which is a welcome break. I no longer feel like all of my flesh is burning off as soon as I step outside which is another much appreciated change.

*I do not know if portends should be followed by “of” or not. Brandon? Tim? Dad?

First Step to Recovery

2007-08-20T17:11:00.001-07:00

Hi. My name is Matt and I have a problem - I live in Iraq.

How many more steps until I get to go home?

Life in the 90’s

2007-08-18T10:17:00.000-07:00

Back when I was a kid, in my junior high and high school days, we didn’t have the internet. I mean, we weren’t totally primitive because if you wanted to check your bank account balance you could go to the ATM so human interaction was avoidable, but you couldn’t just go to your banks website and know your account balance in 30 seconds. I’m not quite sure how we did research papers, but I know that I never had a teacher warn me not to use Wikipedia as a resource. There were inconveniences of course, but the pace of life was slower and people tended to know each other personally, by voice over the phone for instance, instead of by email or IM.
Iraq is many years behind the times, but I don’t live in Iraq. I live on Rustamiyah, a semi-American outpost that seems to be a cross between living in my childhood Tulsa and living on the moon, with mortars and rockets interspersed with putrid sewer air. I think that should paint a clear picture. One of the innocences I have recovered from my childhood by living here is a self-imposed semi lack of internet. I thought I would go nuts, but it has been about ten days and I’m doing just fine. If you are reading this, you should deduce that I do have some internet access, but it is not the on-demand, high speed, click-on-an-icon-and-be-there internet that Americans have come to take for granted in the years since my youth. I have found that I don’t have to check the Corner on National Review or refresh Drudge every fifteen minutes. In fact, I never had to. I just thought I did because those are the most interesting things on an information super-highway that is really not that interesting.
After slowly devolving from high speed internet in America back to a state of dial-up and then eventually to no internet (on my personal computer at least), I have discovered what the ancients of my parent’s generation once knew: the internet is not life. It is not even a good substitute. Sure, it is boring having to live in reality out here, but if I had, say, a family around I think that having no internet would bring some benefits. Don’t get me wrong. I know that the clock will not turn back, and I wouldn’t really want it to. Al Gore’s net is here to stay. But checking your email only once a day is scandalously liberating.

Medical Records and 2007

2007-08-17T11:52:00.001-07:00

I sometimes compare 2007 to a traumatic amputation. I mean no disrespect to those who have actually lost a limb because my loss is slight in comparison, but in 2006 I was the equivalent of driving along minding my own business. I took 2007 for granted – next year had always been there and I had always thought it would. Then December 7 came along and a whole year of my life was gone. How did that happen? A puff and a cloud and it’s gone. I could draw the metaphor out talking about phantom pains and 12 steps of coping or however many steps it takes.
I think I’ve found a metaphor that is better though, and even though I sometimes doubt it I know it is true. There were quite a few things the Navy gave me to do in preparation for renting me out to the Army (no, not that metaphor) many of which included medical exams (no metaphor there either). So I checked out my medical record and went and got shots and filled forms out, etc. On January 1 the family drove down to Norfolk for check-in. I had all of my paperwork in my backpack, and when I showed up the next day to get all of the same shots again and fill out all of the same forms a second time my medical record was gone. Not just gone. It was G-O-N-E. That’s not something you want to lose because it is important to you the person, not just you the sailor. I searched everywhere and even called up and asked Koichi to check out my office. I had Tim search my house. I called the Medical Clinic in Annapolis to see if it was there. It was gone. All I could figure was that it had fallen out of my backpack when I stopped for gas. To this day I do not know where it went. They made me a new one in Norfolk, but I have never really felt like it was mine.
Part of applying to medical school with the Navy is filing what is called a contingent resignation which is required because the Navy drops you in rank. Part of the contingent resignation is sending in some forms that are in your medical record, but not in your hastily assembled record made so that you can deploy on time. These forms are in your real medical record that you’ve had since July 1, 1997, when you were just a little plebe. They want to know about the real medical you, not some fake medical you that was contrived in Norfolk a couple of months ago. When I checked with the Rusty medical staff, they said I would have to find a way to get to the Green Zone to go to the big hospital so that I could get all of the tests done so I could get the right forms filled out – this is not an easy prospect. Besides, I don’t like the idea of riding around Baghdad, and who wants to get blown up after successfully passing a physical? Not this guy, for sure.
I called Hawaii, where these forms had originally been filled out, and they said they had them electronically. The corpsman was actually very willing and helpful when I called him on Saturday (he was on duty), but alas he has not come through. This was starting to be stressful since Navy Bureaucracy has set a deadline on when my contingency resignation must be filed, and Navy Bureaucracy makes no exceptions, even for people that Navy has lent to the Army. Bureaucracy yields to no man when it has the tonnage to run him under, which Navy Bureaucracy has tonnage to spare. On a lark I decided to call the clinic in Annapolis to see if they could help, and the guy there tells me they have my medical record. I still tilt my head and blink when I think about it. The corpsman who I talked to had a mastery of phone skills that complemented the poor phone connection so I did not get the story of why my medical record was where it belonged. (In his defense he was new, and like most corpsman probably wouldn’t have thought it was odd for a medical record to be stored in the medical records vault, so I didn’t pursue the question.) He was very helpful and emailed me all of the forms I needed.
I have never been one to comment on the silver lining when there is a dark cloud to mention, and 2007 has had plenty of dark cloud. Tonight will be the exception that proves the rule, a turn of phrase which I find vacuous and am ashamed to have written. I’m convinced that somehow my medical record is a better picture of 2007 than getting a limb blown off, although I can’t explain how. Maybe how will never be known, but who is certain. When you have a miracle like a lost medical record showing up exactly when you need the forms that you can’t get any other way, then only a fool could doubt that a whole year could be lost forever.

A Weather Watcher’s Note

2007-08-16T10:32:00.000-07:00

Those of you who have stood under a low flying helicopter will agree that helicopters accentuate the day’s weather and add several miles an hour to the local breeze. If it is cold and rainy outside, underneath a helicopter there will be driving rain and an unpleasant wind chill factor (conjecture as I have not personally experience the concept of cold in Iraq). If it is hot and dry, low flying helicopters will make it hot, dry, and dusty. This “helicopter effect” is magnified by multiple helicopters flying in formation.
Helicopter pilots, being pilots and having a high probability of being cocky, probably believe that a) they create the weather system in a global sense (“Hey, it’s windy wherever I go, ergo it is windy everywhere, ergo I create the weather…”), and b) think that they command the world to move up or down, backwards or forward, and side to side, by their sheer coolness and knowledge of the mystical powers of their control stick. I will allow them to keep the second misconception as there are several pilots I care about, and I would hate to be the one that crashed their conception of physics. But not the first. The weather effects are local. LOCAL!
They would never use a word as geeky as ergo in normal speech, either.

Advice to Graffiti-ists

2007-08-15T08:13:00.001-07:00

Bathroom stall graffiti, or “Latrine Art” as they would call in on National Public Radio, has varying character in different military locations. At Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard, the public stalls were alive (oh, yuck) with debate on the differing strengths of Native Hawaiians and Howlies, with neither making a strong showing. The transient latrines in Kuwait made a clear distinction between arriving soldiers (“3RD Infantry Division will kill’em all,” type sentiments), departing soldiers (“Thank goodness I’m going home” or “Write your senator to stop the war,” were two main themes. The second often spawned lively debate in the thinking room.) and Marines (not quoted due to the family friendly nature of this blog, but always pro-USMC.) Port-a-johns usually just have “Shout-outs” from different area codes marked with a city name (“760! O-town, baby!”) or some tasteless art made iteratively less tasteful. I believe the lack of air conditioning stifles whatever intelligence desire there may have been to debate. Except on the subject of religion: many a port-a-johns on the other side of the FOB has the message of an ardent evangelist whose preaching has merit but whose presentation style is not mine personally; his calls to repentance are denounced vigorously by non-believers even in the heat and stink of the port-a-john. In latrines frequented by the infantry, public service warnings are issued to all who may sit and read to avoid whoever the perceived least manly member of the unit may be.
Whatever your graffiti style may be in your home latrine – be it scholarly debate, denouncing a person or group based on perceived shortcomings, or a humorous Leno-like top ten list – you will not be as successful impressing your intended audience if you do not give adequate attention to spelling and grammar, being especially cautious of using words with homophones. When you say that another person “prolly” has done such or such an act, the focus will no longer be on the debauchery of the individual. Based on experience, it will turn to the intelligence of the author. When you misspell your request that people of another race stop causing whatever problem for which they are responsible, you will “prolly” be denounced as an ignorant member of a different race or socio-economic class. The convert rate tends to be lower when the syntax of the promise of divine protection in war is incorrect.
Take care! It is the little details your readership will notice. You may have the best case against the war in the world, but write “affect” when you meant “effect” and “prolly” no one will ever write their senator.

Happy Hawaiian Memories

2007-08-13T05:00:00.000-07:00

Since I no longer have internet in my room, one of the more important uses for my computer is playing music. I don’t require much variety in my life, so I have about ten CD’s copied to my hard drive, and I only listen to two of them regularly. My favorite by far is Ko-Aloha by Daniel Ho. Not only is Hawaiian music easy on the ears, this was Kate’s, and by extension my, most listened to CD in Hawaii. Some nights I am once again sitting on the couch with Kate and little Sabrina is playing on the floor in our first house there. It is a unique memory that I treasure because in retrospect having only one small child is peaceful in a way our house will never be again, and because that house was so distinctly Hawaiian.

Based on the number of layers of paint on the walls, I would guess that it was built shortly after WWII when Americans would be satisfied with single wall construction and louvered windows in place of air conditioners. There was tile on the floor and the cabinets were old, but it meant that you were in Hawaii. It meant you were at home. About six months before we left the island they tore it down to build new housing which was indistinguishable from mainland housing. Sad. Those nights at home between duty days and underways will probably always be one of my happiest memories.

I do have to be careful listening to Daniel Ho, though, because another distinctly Hawaiian memory that he brings back is walking up to SubBase on Pearl Harbor. I hope they never tear those buildings down because they also capture Hawaii. The main building has a huge native Hawaiian tree that I’m sure Rhonda could name in front of it, and is where Husband Kimmel had his office in December 1941. The whole of SubBase is almost frozen in time. If I had to guess which year I would say 1964. Submarines had their heyday during WWII and the Cold War when they had a more appreciated mission – an imperative if that is the right word. The buildings just make you feel like you are still a part of those eras with their oldness, and even when the submarine brass is around those buildings, they seem to forget their mania with passing the next inspection and finding ways to be more by the book than the next guy. It is hard to be a Nuke – a word with a meaning that any submariner knows and any Submariner disdains - when you are on SubBase because it is the hallowed domain of warfighting Submariners. As I said, gotta be careful with Daniel Ho because, unfortunately, submarines are filled with Nukes and not the Submariners of old and nostalgia makes for Department Heads.

But I can love our old house without need for care.

Oh Holey Underwear

2007-08-12T06:04:00.000-07:00

Note the “E” in Holey.

I really love the laundry guys here. They are mostly cheerful even though they have a hot, fly-infested office. Most of them are from Macedonia and one is from Palau, I think. One reason they are cheerful is that for them, being here having a good job is a real blessing they do not have at home. Like all of the KBR employees, they are under appreciated.

One note, not even a complaint, is that I think they use old food processors as washing machines. While my utilities are holding up pretty well, my t-shirts and socks look like they’ve been laundered in a warzone. One other note: they probably don’t use Tide because they don’t get whites white. One soldier commented that Crayola was going to come out with a color called “KBR Gray” because laundry comes back a tan-gray color that isn’t even in the box of 96 crayons. I blame the Iraqi water. That’s probably what eats holes in my unmentionables, too.

Under the “Oddly Enough” heading you can file this tidbit: the PX here does not sell men’s underwear. They do sell some frilly women’s stuff which makes me wonder, but no men’s underwear. The reason for this (for lack of men’s, not presence of women’s frillies which I won’t comment on) is that the Army has a uniform replacement program. Every month they pass around a list of uniform parts and you can order up to $50 dollars worth. Underwear is on the list, but that has not helped my situation. When I first got here, the list came around and I signed up for some stuff, and they didn’t turn the list in. The next month, the Battalion cancelled the uniform replacement order because they decided to save everyone’s money and give every soldier four new sets of uniforms with the replacement money before the soldiers went home. This decision was made before the Battalion got extended, so there were only two months left and underwear and t-shirs were not a concern. Then they got extended and restarted the replacement program and passed the order list around… while I was on leave.

Honestly, I don’t need anything new, but being able to order stuff and get a package delivered with all sorts of unnecessary stuff is a bit like Christmas. You can order the cool sweat wicking t-shirts that melt in bomb blasts, extra infra-red American flags or cold weather stuff to help you get through the Baghdad summer. I’ve been promised to be allowed to participate this month, but I’ll believe that checks in the mail when the postman delivers. I just hope they don’t give me four more pairs of Army uniforms when I leave.

Welcome Home

2007-08-11T10:57:00.000-07:00

By now one of our companies that left Rusty three days ago should be home or at least close. E 1/125 is an infantry company that was attached to our MP Battalion because there are only so many MP’s in the world. They are Michigan National Guard, so even though they should be flying out of Kuwait any moment, they still have about a week of demobilization left before they get home back to their normal jobs and lives. Even if they are not quite home, every one of them is (wild guess alert) happy to be back in the states even if they are not looking forward to the family and job messes that I know some of them have. I overheard one of them say he would rather stay in Iraq than go back home, but no matter how tough your home situation is it is better to have family difficulties in the US than Iraq.

Four of their soldiers went home early. One was killed in September and three were killed two days before Christmas last year. It was a rough tour for them, but they did well. They had a bunch of quality guys, especially their comms sergeant SSG Bansimer and their intel liaison SPC Palmateer, who I’m going to miss.

Well done, guys. You did Michigan proud.

On The Way Home

2007-08-10T11:27:00.000-07:00

Today is the day that my Battalion would have been on the plane going home had it not been for the extension of all Army deployments from twelve to fifteen months. One sergeant looked at his watch and said, “Well, we’d probably just be taking off right now.” Even if they are going to get about two years at home (My unit will. Others are just scheduled for one.) it is a real punch in the gut to have 90 days tacked on in the middle. Both of our active duty companies that were extended (National Guard and Reservists didn’t get the extra 90 days) lost a soldier during that that extension time. As if it would not be hard enough without thinking they by all rights should have been home.

There is no other hand to losing a soldier, but on the other hand of the extension I am now in my eighth month of extension beyond the limit when I “by all rights” should have been home. It still irks me when soldiers get snarky about how easy the Navy has it with our eleven month tours. The nerve. We are out here running their equipment. They can’t run their own gear by themselves and then they have the cheek to say that those who are running it for them are getting a good deal. Everyone loves to point out how much worse their lot in life is than the guy next to them – I don’t begrudge them that. But I’ve really about had it with that particular line of self-pity. When this war is over, the Army will go back to deploying once every blue moon, and the Navy will continue to deploy on a routine basis at pretty close to the same rate the Army is now. You can bet your last dollar that we will never go crying to the Army asking them to stand our watch.

Although every time sailors have to hang around soldiers it is also safe to guess that we will whine to them about how hard our life is having to deploy all the time. They won’t want to hear it from us either. Even though then it will be legitimate.

Tan Lines

2007-08-09T13:32:00.000-07:00

Barefoot is not the order of the day on Rusty. Even though the weather is decidedly summerish, the Army insists on wearing trousers, long sleeves and boots. The more I wear this, the worse I feel for thinking the British Navy’s topical whites (the same thing as our summer whites with shorts) looked silly. Anyone who says that white leather dress shoes with knee high socks and shorts is anything less than stylish has never worn ACU(WABUS)s (Army Combat Uniform (Worn Also By Unlucky Sailors)) in August in Baghdad. I’m taking my summer whites in for tailoring when I get back, against American regulations or not.

Back to my point. The only time I wear shorts outside is walking to and from the gym and to and from the shower. The only time I wear my foot-massaging Addidas shower shoes is walking to and from the shower. Today I noticed that I have tan lines on my feet. I always thought Kate was a little neurotic about sunscreen (I can say that in this forum since it is a matter we have agreed to separate opinions), but now I’m rethinking. I’m still not convinced that sunscreen is needed for playing in the backyard for fifteen minutes, but sunscreen may have some merit in the desert. I still won’t put it on just to go to the shower, but I will reserve judgment and withhold derision from those who do.

Not The Biggest Threat In This Neighborhood

2007-08-08T11:06:00.000-07:00

Today as I was walking out of the hospital, I paused to put on my boonie hat and safety glasses. This there is a soldier sitting in the waiting area looking nervous. He asks how I’m doing. I reply fine and ask how he’s doing. It soon became obvious that he was not concerned about my welfare, but instead need someone to listen. He told me that he was not doing well and was in fact very nervous about getting his anthrax vaccine. Based on the looks of his uniform, he had been in the dust for more than one day and by his unit patch on his sleeve I knew he had been in country for a while. What could make a soldier in Baghdad nervous? Of course the answer is getting vaccinated. It was not fear of needles that our brave young soldier confided. To me, an officer he had never seen before, he proclaimed that he would refuse orders to get vaccinated if the vaccine would threaten his fertility. He was the last of his line, he told me in the fifteen seconds we talked, and he didn’t want his family name to be extinguished. What was this family name that he felt a moral burden to carry on you ask? Why, Jones, of course.

A new technological era

2007-08-07T06:04:00.001-07:00

Sorry I didn’t post last night or the night before. There is a reason that goes beyond the laziness that is inherent to hot weather. Drum roll: today I entered a new era of Rustamiyah internet technology. I have finally decided that the price the contractor charges for the service you get is not quite a good bargain, so I gave up the in room internet. Since the original intent was to be able to do webcam with my girls, there is really no loss, but it after going a day without my own net to surf I am amazed at how many hours can just disappear when one link leads to the next. Now I get to use the one unclassified office computer and take turns, which might be slower than the Rusty service I did have. Sorry in advance if I’m slow(er) answering emails. We’ll see how long I can go without going nuts and signing up again. August might end up being a long month.

Thank goodness for air conditioning

2007-08-04T09:22:00.000-07:00

That is a complete days thought by itself, but as it might leave you with an incomplete picture of my day I will go further. Today was quite a bit dustier than usual, but most of it was high in the air. I didn't get any of that nasty grit in your eye or grit in your mouth stuff except when I had to replace a cable underneath a truck, a completely weather unrelated event. The main effect it had was canceling some of the voluntary air missions. Makes since to me that when you can't see as well you won't take a risk flying the brass out to FOB Holeinthewall to see (or be seen by) their troops. Viva la dust!

The other missions that fall in that voluntary category is taking people in to the main airport to go home. One of our contractors down at the shop was supposed to go home today, and he wasn't pleased that his flight was canceled. Another one of the EWO's was supposed to go on R&R, and let me tell you, I have never heard a more spirited defense of Naval aviators compared to Army pilots by a non-pilot in my life. This EWO went on a tirade (to the rest of the Navy EWO's of course) about how the Navy would fly in this weather even if they had zero visability and gale force winds with the carrier pitch thirty degree even if the wings had fallen off their planes, etc. etc. He was so vocal about the superior qualities of Navy air that there was a moment he almost sounded like a pilot himself.

So after a couple of hours the dust goes away and the brass starts flying again. And people get to go home again. And you start wondering what day of the week it is until you go get dinner. And that is another day in the books at Rusty.

Not a bad day...

2007-08-03T09:35:00.000-07:00

...considering the company and the location. I must be getting back in the routine because I'm starting to notice the days by the meetings and meals. Today is surf-n-turf and BUB meeting day. I'm really impressed how KBR keeps trying. Today, in addition to a steak that looks like it came from a cow, there were crab legs, crab balls, lobster tails, and fried scallops. None live up to civilian expectations, but all of us out here really do owe a thanks to a country who tries to do right by us. Next time you see the cost of the war, remember that it could be cheaper, but the guys who have the bad jobs deserve the good meals.

The best part of the BUB was not that it was under two hours. The best part was that I got out with no additional tasking. I'm learning better and better that giving additional information, even if it pertains to my portion of the war, really doesn't add anything. All it does is generate random tasking, which is the worst kind since spur of the moment questions often have impossibly difficult and meaninglessly unrewarding answers. I avoided that today, so life is good.

We also got water back in our bathroom, but the same day the water truck was repaired the hottentots hit the other bathroom with permanent pipes. What's with these people? What do they have against hygiene? For the love of Pete, let us shower!! And if you would quit messing up the rest of the country, everyone out there could shower, too. What a wonderful world it would be. I don't think their stated goal is "War on hygienic practices" because no one would be silly enough to make war on a method rather than the people who practice it. I think they make war on us because we bring hygiene to their country which threatens their way of life.

But come on, guys! Just behave and you won't have to stink. And neither will I.

Something special in the air...

2007-08-02T07:50:00.000-07:00

Jim, nothing against you and your fellow American buddies (except no leg room and charging for meals), but yesterday it was not American Airlines that has something special in the air. As I walked out of the hospital, I heard a series of booms, about three in a row. From my personal vantage point on this war, there are several types of booms that are common. It is not uncommon to hear IED's exploding outside the FOB, artillery counter-fire although not as often as I would like, and all too often incoming mortars and rockets and the like. Some would say they each have their distinct sound signature, but I was not a sonarman so I can not tell for sure. To me, a boom is a boom and the biggest variance is in how loud the boom is.

These booms that I heard were a cross between machine guns and IED's, similar to a Mk-19 for the benefit of Tim and Koichi. They were also of the not so loud variety, which is my favorite type. As I was taking my first step to the nearest bunker, I noticed a bunch of people just standing around looking at the sky so naturally I did too. There I saw two of the cutest little helicopters just going around in circles, and every third or fourth pass they would unload with five or six rockets. As I watched, I was reminded of stories from WWI where soldiers would watch dog-fights from the trenches, only there was no enemy in the sky and Rusty is a far cry from the trenches. I would much rather everyone out here in Iraq just behave so that no more of these booms and this shooting would go on, but since that doesn't seem likely this week it is nice to know that our helicopters are shooting back.

One for the grandkids

2007-08-01T09:21:00.000-07:00

I will now make a statement that even the most simple among my readers (a null statement made simply for rhetorical purposes as my readers are decidedly not simple) will agree without hesitation: when given the choice, it is always better to choose not to be shot than to be shot. If you disagree with this or even quibble, you are a loon. This obvious statement could be codified with the smart man's rule of warfare, were there such a code. I make this disclaimer lest any of you doubt that I, being a smart man who follows even hypothetical smart man's codes, DO NOT WANT TO BE SHOT. Not in Iraq, not ever, not anywhere. Disclaimers like this are inevitably followed with a something that makes you wonder if the disclaimer is just there to ward off critics, and this is no exception. At risk of being lumped with the loons, I proceed:

As I walked into the clinic tonight, the sea-foam green curtain was drawn around one of the trauma beds, a terrible thing to see as sea-foam green is well known in naval and literary circles to be a harbinger of pain and unhappiness. The positive sign was that the whole hospital was not in code blue status, but any sane person still hates to see sea-foam green. As the night progressed about thirty minutes, the doctor* who I would want to be operated on had I been shot (WHICH I DO NOT WANT TO BE) came out with what in years to come will be a momento this soldier will show his grandkids. He had been shot from behind and the bullet had gone through his left tricep and entered his chest... almost. The bullet had pierced that part of his under arm that connects to his pectoral, stayed completely outside the ribcage and had lodged itself in his Bible. You hear stories about people carrying their Bible in their pocket and it stopping the bullet from hitting them, and while the bullet still did hit him, the fact that it hit his Bible rather than changing course by two inches killing him should be enough to confirm in a lifelong way the belief that caused him to carry the Bible in the first place.

Now I will repeat this once more: I DO NOT WANT TO EVER BE SHOT. If one is to be shot though (WHICH I DO NOT WANT TO BE) that's about as neat a story as you can get, in an outpatient only down for a couple weeks, sort of way. Not nearly as neat as my hopeful war story when I get home: I WAS NEVER SHOT, but a (distant) second.

*This is the doctor who did the operating in the Washington Post story I linked the other day. Some say the story is embellished, and one doctor proudly claims that he was the main hurdle over come, but it is still a cool story.

Lieutenant "Trend Setter"

2007-07-30T09:52:00.000-07:00

I was never known as the cool kid back in high school, and it was not until I joined the Navy that everyone started to dress like me. As a matter of fact, I would mark "fashion leadership and trend pioneering" as one of my least developed qualities. I don't remember that trait on the aptitude tests results, but I probably never scored high enough to register. Until I joined the Army. As far as I know, no member of my battalion missed service for appendicitis before I did. By the time I got back, two other people had been taken out with what will soon be called "the cool kids infection." Today I went in for work and the sergeant who works the night desk for the intelligence section said she was having generalized belly pain yesterday which localized to the right lower quadrant coupled with loss of appetite. What can I say? They aspire to be me. They flew her out for appendicitis this morning. I expect more will find the golden symptoms in the next few days.

In the nineties the saying was "I want to be like Mike." Here in Rusty at the moment it's "I want to be like Matt." Honestly, if I was in the Army I'd want to be like anyone in the Navy, too. Can't blame 'em.

The loss of a vital part of the team

2007-07-29T06:47:00.000-07:00

I have found out why the showers were down last night, and why they continue to be down today.

My particular bathroom is not hooked into the city water, or wherever the underground pipes run. We are fed by an above ground tank which is a governmentally-wonderful idea in a desert. This causes the cold water to be indistinguishable from the hot water to the point that I still do not know which is the cold and which is the hot water tap in the shower. I probably knew at some point in April, but now there is no distinction and I keep telling myself alternatively that I remember the plumbing following the left-hot, right-cold convention and that I remember it being switched. Maybe they both feed from the same place. I don't know.

There is another design feature to my bathroom's plumbing being separate from the pipes underground: it is required to be filled daily by a truck. I suppose that the truck gets its water from a tap and I prefer not to contemplate the source farther than that. I don't know why they don't just run a pipe out, but KBR in all of their wisdom has decided that it is cheaper (or at least more lucrative) to hire someone to make the water run than to dig a ditch and put in a pipe.

Back to the lack of showers. There is a rumor going around that this water truck got blown up during one of the mortar attacks. The drive was not in it at the time, or I would be able to confirm this by reading the casualty report. So I have no way of knowing whether the truck was blown up or if it is just broken down. The bottom line is that it doesn't really matter since there is no water. Before you start feeling too bad for me, the next shower down still has water so I just have to walk a little farther. Ah, the trials of war!!

Late post

2007-07-28T10:51:00.001-07:00

So as we received the all clear because the mortar had landed far away (aren't you glad your story for today didn't begin that way), I got a call on our "around the FOB" radio for Chief. Normally Chief would be carrying the radio, but since she is at the main base I had it. One of our units had a truck break down and they wanted to know if they could take the truck down to the contractor shop to swap the machine I run from the broken truck to the one that would take it's place in the morning. It was about 8:45 pm, and the contractors would be down for the day. Getting in touch with them would be a pain, and even though by the book all maintenance is supposed to be done at the shop it would be really easy to just go down and swap the thing out myself. So I told the guy that I'd be down at the motor pool in a minute. When I got down there, I saw the perks that Army life (or is it just enlisted life) has over officer life.

Americans go to war with their trucks tricked out. The box I install is just one of about 20 different things that are in every truck that goes out of the wire, in case you were wondering where your tax dollars go. There were probably twenty or thirty people down in the motor pool getting all this gear out of the broken truck and putting it in the spare truck. There was music going, and the guys who weren't moving gear were washing the windows on the truck. In general, the guys were just having a good time. Some guys were getting wrenches for the ones inside doing the installing. The more senior guys were showing the young guys how to install some of the gear. And even though it was well past bedtime in Baghdad, 2007, there was almost a block party attitude.

I got my piece of gear in, and they were about done with the rest of the truck as I was leaving. The down side of course is that walking within three feet of a Humvee in Baghdad automatically covers you in sweat. And for the first time since I've been here the showers are down. So much for my nice new sheets. So goes life.

PS These are the doctors at my hospital:
www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/07/27/AR2007072700007.html

A bright, sunshiny day

2007-07-27T09:40:00.000-07:00

Today was a not so bad day, even a nice day when normalized for location and temperature. I'm not just saying that because I had lobster and shrimp for dinner. I did skip the steak because the last few times it has had an unsteak-like, almost mealy texture. I'm not saying it was a good day because our weekly three hour, Geneva-convention-banned-due-to-it's-torture-like-qualities Battalion Update Brief was canceled. No, today was a nice day because I woke up this morning with Christmas music running through my head. Must because the new set of sheets I got that are Christmas tree green. Or maybe not. Really have absolutely zero idea where it came from since this Rustamiyah is not normally considered festive or snowy. Nonetheless, it's hard to have a bad day when you have Joy to the World going through your head. Even in the middle of summer. Try to prove me wrong. It's just like the one Lay's potato chip challenge. Of course the hard part is thinking of Christmas music in 115F weather. I don't see it happening often, because if we had Christmas every day it wouldn't be special anymore, would it now? That's what my mom used to say anyway. But once a summer won't ruin it, I hope.

101st Post

2007-07-26T10:11:00.000-07:00

I am tired so this will be shorter than it should be. It's still hot here. I got a haircut today. Still trying to get paperwork in for med school application.

There was another memorial tonight. It is the third I've been to even though there have been many on the FOB. Every soldier memorialized has had in common that they like vehicles, one trucks, one his Passat, and this soldier motorcycles. Internal combustion seems to be a big part of every soldier's life. In addition to planning on getting a Harley Davidson when he got home, this guy also like martial arts and was really excited about the next evolution of his tattoo, or so his friends said. I probably would have had nothing in common with him even though the standing room only in the chapel proves he was a good person. He also had five children, and this was the first memorial I went to that had pictures of family as well as soldier pictures. His youngest was a daughter, Hannah, who was going to turn seven this year, and wanted her dad to be home for her birthday. His oldest son liked art, and his dad had set up an apprenticeship with his tattoo artist. His unit was supposed to have gone home in June, but they got extended from 12 to 15 months. Even so, his wife gave a message to his company about how proud she was of them and how she really hoped her husband's memory would inspire them to keep doing what they are. In short, it sounded like she really supported what her husband was doing. I hope this all ends soon, but even more I hope it ends successfully.

He would have been 28 on August 3.

I just put new sheets on my bed and am going to try them out.

Slow going

2007-07-25T09:50:00.000-07:00

Today's big event, not quite at the milestone level, was that I worked out for the first time since my operation. The operation really took any guilt out of being lazy while at home because I was, after all, convalescing. I paid the price for the convalescence today. I had tried to get back in the routine I had been in before on Monday, but half-way through my run (treadmill) we had incoming so I had to go to the bunker. (Which used to be a right turn out of the gym door but has been moved to the left side of the exit. No one told me.) Being mortared is another convenient excuse to put off working out, so I quit rather than go back in and finish. Blamed it on loss of momentum. Quitting is always easier when you use big words.

Today was the day I would not take the convenient excuse, unless the bad guys offered it. I drank a bottle of water before I left, and after walking the eighth of a mile to the gym almost felt dehydrated again. Luckily the gym has a refrigerator with plenty of water in it. Unfortunately, the refrigerator is set at about 70F which is a good setting for an air conditioner, but by my western standards is a bit high for a fridge. I made it through my three miles, a distance I have chosen because any longer on a treadmill gets boring, about three and a half minutes slower than where I had been. Granted, I wasn't pushing myself too hard, but adding over a minute a mile is pretty pathetic.

It should be easy to drop time now that I have started so poorly. Am I a silver lining guy or what?

One more milestone passed

2007-07-24T09:18:00.001-07:00

It wasn't really my milestone, per se, but it was a milestone. Since it is a milestone that would inevitably occur before I go home due to Army scheduling and the linearity of time, maybe it is my milestone. One of my battalion's six companies is going home in about ten days, so the training for the guys replacing them started. I have a 45 minute part to play in that drama, and so I did today.

The Army's way of doing RIP training (so named because it is training done for the new unit while the old unit Remains In Place) is wholly appropriate for a large bureaucratic organization. Nothing was learned but a requirement was fulfilled. These poor guys arrived last night at about 11:30 which means that they got rooms assigned and to sleep no earlier than 1:00. Training started at 8:00 although I'm sure they had a standard Army formation at 6:00 and consisted of back to back hours of lecture and the bane of all teaching, Power Point. Oh, there was a break for lunch in case hunger was keeping anyone awake and alert. It also probably didn't help that it was 115F today and inside the Chapel it was in the 90's (guesstimate). (N.B. Training is held in the chapel because it is the only room large enough for company training. Nevertheless, if RIP training had been the first time I'd seen the Chapel, I doubt I'd go back. Miserable memories and flashbacks and such.) So at 3:00 when I started my lecture, most people had heart rates that would classify them as legally dead to any competent medical authority in the states. My training was not the most boring - which is faint praise indeed.

The training came, and it went. All revived. Now there are only five companies that I have to train before I go home. Milestone passed.

Didn't see that one coming

2007-07-23T06:46:00.000-07:00

That could really be the theme for all of 2007. 2007 was supposed to be the one full year I had on shore duty and, in theory, was going to be the year that I got to spend the most time with my family. Guess I will never be stoned as a medium or fortune teller. My leave period, in perfect concert with the rest of 2007, was no exception.

Leave itself was wonderful, as you might imagine. It was wonderful seeing the family again, and if you want the details Kate has posted many of them. I know I can't top what she said and the pictures she posted, so I won't try. Sarah was a little bigger than I expected her to be, and Sabrina was smaller. I think I expected Sabrina to have grown a lot physically since every time I talk to her on the phone she sounds much more grown up, but I was glad that she was still my little big girl. There was the normal part leave travel that everyone goes through, and if you want the details on that craziness I will direct you to my friend Geoff's blog. He just got home a day or so ago, and he had many of the same experiences and frustrations I did spending 34 hours in Kuwait to go through customs. They were adamant that you could not bring explosives, live ammunition, or body parts home, which really makes you wonder. I would have thought that went without saying.

The part of my leave experience that is, to me, memorable happened before I even left Baghdad. I did finally drive outside Rusty which was interesting to see the rest of Iraq that our soldiers see every day. Lots of horse carts and people selling things on the side of the road. When I got to BIAP (Baghdad Int'l) I had two days before I was supposed to leave. That first night as I tried to sleep I started to get a belly ache, and by the time I got up in the morning it had localized to the right lower quadrant. Based on my time in the clinic I knew what that was a sign of, so I jumped on my right foot and got the shooting pain that confirmed to me that I was getting appendicitis. I hoped that is was just hypochondria, but I thought I'd go to the aid station just to be sure. They drew some blood and took me to the nearest hospital to have it analyzed.

The interesting part of the story is that the nearest hospital was the Camp Cropper Hospital. Camp Cropper is a camp that has grown quite a bit in the past two years because it became the major detainee facility in Iraq after that whole Abu Graib unpleasantness. I was the only American being treated there, and in fact the only patient who was not in restraints. In the recovery room there were four other beds (mine was actually in a little room off to the side) with three patients who were unconscious and dying, but still tied to the bedrails. One guy had been shot over 30 times (according to the medic) in the course of his pre-capture experience, one had been cured of his terrorist tendencies by getting shot in the head by a helicopter (not sure how he survived that, but some credit has to go to the doctors; the medics said he was as friendly as any other six year old, even though he was in his twenties), and one guy had a flesh eating virus in the advanced stages. I didn't check him out to closely even though it would have made a great discussion topic for any medical school interviews since I did have a fresh cut that hadn't fully scabbed over.

The doctors were great and mentioned that it was nice to operate on a patient who was not tied to his bed. One nurse was a little on the crabby side, but she did give me morphine when I asked and can you really blame her crankiness seeing who she normally has to work with? The medics were also very helpful and they, together with the guards, enjoyed recounting the terribly wounded bad guys who had been treated at Cropper. I suspect they embellished a bit since, as Tim was quick to point out, being shot 30 times means a guy would have had to reload, and as I will point out here, it also means he would have had to hit what he was shooting at for a majority of two full magazines. But soldiers will be soldiers, and they took pride in their job. In a weird way. So I now have a war wound and a story to go with it. One more thing to check off the list of things I never wanted to happen but 2007 has allowed me to experience.

Not Quite Home, Sweet Home

2007-07-22T02:04:00.000-07:00

I'm back at Rustamiyah, and while this isn't home, it is as welcome as any place other than home could be. After the trip back, I'm almost ready to give the Army credit for having a shrewd and conniving plan: make the trip miserable so that even a miserable place seems like an improvement. If that is the Army's plan, they executed it nearly perfectly. But the perfect execution assures that it was not the Army's plan, but just another in a series of poorly planned logistical nightmares. I recount...

I left BWI on Delta. They bumped me and the other two R&R returnees up to first class. So far, so good. I arrived at Atlanta at about 10:00, and went off in search of my flight back to Kuwait. The logical place to look, so I thought, was in the the international terminal. I had no information on when the flight was, so I walked quickly to get there. When I got to the international terminal, the kindly old gentleman under the information banner told me that, no, my international flight to Kuwait had a check-in in the USO which was in the food court outside the security check-in. That was my second guess - food court = international terminal in someone's mind. So off I tromped, all the while wondering exactly what they could do to me if I did miss my flight - send me to Iraq? That caused me to stop my fretting, slight though it was, since they would just be glad that I was coming back. When I finally did get to the USO, I found out that I had an eight hour wait until my plane left. Not to fear, the Army had conveniently scheduled at least two musters in between. At least the volunteers at the USO were kind and the chairs were soft. As we lined up and walked to the plane, the USO volunteers got the crowd to clap which was cheesy but better than throwing rotten fruit. Guess that's why the R&R hubs are in Dallas and Atlanta instead of San Francisco and Seattle.

The flight back to Kuwait was a little window into the world of socialized air travel. We boarded the plane at 1815 and taxied around the runways for 2 1/2 hours. There were plenty of other planes taking off (all planes which had the paying customers on board), but by the time we reached the front of the queue we had burned so much gas that we had to go back to the gate and refuel. Jim, has that ever happened to you? I didn't think so. Alas, there was no one to listen to our complaints because the plane was chartered by people who were not riding on it. There is a huge difference between passengers and customers, with the latter getting service and the former getting "service." The flight attendants did give us each a cup of water while refueling so that we would not have any heat stroke cases before we reached the desert. Once we finally got airborne, the flight was fine thanks in no small part to Unisom. They did serve us food, timed to coincide with dozing off, but I will not complain about calories freely offered.

When we got to Kuwait I was pleasantly surprised by how decent 95F feels without humidity. It was the middle of the night, but I was expecting 100F+ so 95F was a reprieve. Kuwait was the typical Army rigamarole complete with several meaningless formations a day and a final muster time at least two hours before the buses came to pick us up. When we finally boarded the C-130, all went smoothly until we had been in the air for 20 minutes. I guess that's when Air Force pilots do their pre-flight inspections because they found a broken piece of equipment that made us turn around and land. Our group commander was given the option of letting us off the plane while they fixed this problem or letting us off in groups of five to use the potty. Of course, he when faced with a decision, the proper choice is always the most painful and least logical, so he chose to keep us on board which ended up being too much even for soldiers. When the murmuring turned to weapon cocking, he asked for a show of hands of people who wanted to get off the plane, and it was unanimous that he had chosen poorly. I'm glad we did because it took over an hour to fix whatever it was that was broken, and the back of a C-130 is no place to spend such a significant portion of you life.

I was at the airport in Baghdad for less than 24 hours before I finally got a flight to Rusty. I was tickled pink over this since some people had been stuck there for five days. The soldier in charge of helicopter flights took me and the other two going to Rusty out to our helos and did everything but buckle us in. When we landed at Taji (which in addition to having a different name than Rusty is also in a different location), I said that no, this was not my stop. The flight crew disagreed as this was the last stop of the night. So I spent the night on a bench next to the Taji heli-pad with one of the two soldiers traveling with me. I do not know what happened to the third since I have not seen him since he boarded the helo at Baghdad Airport. This heli-pad is a 24 hour operation with unpadded wooden benches which means that my time was not wasted: I now can give solid advice to a) stay in school so you don't become homeless and have to sleep on benches, and b) do not buy property near a heli-pad. I managed to stay awake for my flight from Taji to Rusty the next day and was genuinely impressed by how pretty some parts of Iraq are and how squalid other are. When I got to Rusty, I was tired (due to stupid muster times, jet-lag, and trying to sleep on the bench next to the heli-pad). I managed to stay awake until 1500, but was starting to be less aware than even I normally am, so I went to sleep. I woke up this morning at 0600, and was glad to see that I was in my little room which is right in the middle of the park bench - own bed spectrum of places to sleep. I don't think I would have been nearly as thankful had it not been for the park bench experience. Anyway, I am all in one piece and will soon be close enough to the end to start counting days.

Last post for a while

2007-06-19T09:35:00.001-07:00

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

2007-06-18T10:10:00.001-07:00

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

2007-06-17T07:48:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-16T09:33:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-15T09:42:00.001-07:00

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

2007-06-14T09:46:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-12T09:26:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-11T09:25:00.001-07:00

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

2007-06-09T09:45:00.000-07:00

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!!!

2007-06-08T09:33:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-06T09:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-05T09:01:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-04T09:29:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-03T08:53:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-02T09:23:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-01T09:41:00.000-07:00

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.

Deja vu

2007-05-31T10:52:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-30T09:33:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-29T09:09:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-28T09:48:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-27T10:32:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-25T09:17:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-24T10:41:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-23T09:18:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-22T09:40:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-05-21T09:12:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-20T10:11:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-05-19T09:41:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-18T19:39:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-16T09:10:00.001-07:00

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

2007-05-16T09:10:00.000-07:00

Getting old

2007-05-15T09:44:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-14T09:47:00.000-07:00

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?

2007-05-12T10:14:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-11T09:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-10T10:15:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-09T09:39:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-08T09:16:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-07T09:41:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-05T09:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-04T09:27:00.000-07:00

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.