W8BJZ4 - I am an Army of One

Avatar

2010-01-19T20:00:00.001-06:00

In honor of Martin Luther King Day, I took Andrew to see Avatar (no, it's not completely unrelated -- Brother Martin was a bit of a sci-fi fan). Neither of us really wanted to go, but it was the only movie that didn't star vampires, rodents, or Alec Baldwin (a bit redundant, perhaps). We had to get out of the house, because the girls had a friend over, and Betsy's sister was coming to visit with her two girls. Total hen party, we had to escape.

The movie is a visual spectacle, although the story is effectively a warmed-over version of Dances with Wolves. The tall blue people live in community with nature, and the evil space-Americans want to come and take their land and natural wealth.

Let's deconstruct the deconstruction for a moment, mmkay?

First, what sort of message does this movie (and the dozens of others from the same template) give us? That outsiders should not come uninvited into a strange land and partake of the local wealth? Sounds reasonable, until we consider that illegal immigrants from Mexico are coming into the US uninvited to partake of the local wealth. Oops, didn't think of that!

Second, what sort of culture do these blue people have? Is it really something that any modern American of any stripe would want to live under? Granted, I have only slight clues from which to judge, but here are some key aspects of their culture:

Arranged marriages.
Hereditary leadership.
Strict religious observance.
Lifelong pair bonding beween male & female (evidently premarital, extramarital, and homosexual relations would be impermissable).
Primitive technology. No phone, no light, no motorcar, not a single luxury. No TV, no blockbuster 3D movies, no snarky blogs.
Entrenched warrior class. These people can't be all that sweet & peaceful if they have a warrior class. These blue guys aren't Smurfs, they're more like the Irish, who fight among themselves until the English come along.
Extraordinarily conservative society. If they've lived the same way for centuries, then that's pretty much the textbook definition of fundamentalism.

I'm old enough to remember when movie bad-guys all had Russian accents, or German accents, or British accents, or some mottled hybrid of the three. Now, the Shibboleth for movie bad-guys is some combination of white, male, American, military, Christian, Republican, with a good job. The formula works on Law & Order as well. And they say that profiling is illegal!

Anyway, Andrew didn't much care for Avatar, and in a way I'm glad. He's more focused on current reality, than on imagined futures that can't happen.

AAA maps

2009-12-16T20:50:00.000-06:00

We're taking a trip over Christmas, and we're not visiting relatives. We're going to Savannah, Georgia. It's a nice place, we know no one there, and it's full of history, or something. It has a busy port. It also happens to be a good overnight stopping place if a family were to drive to Orlando, Florida -- not that this is relevant, just a useless tidbit.

I went online about two weeks ago to order AAA maps. They came in the mail, but we determined this week that we neglected to order one map we needed. Betsy visits our local AAA office in person to get that map. First, the main receptionist speaks to her in the hushed sotto voce tones of a librarian. Are people studying here at the AAA office? Betsy tells her what she wants in her normal voice, and the receptionist logs it into their computer system, which tracks and assigns work to the various sections of the office: maps, travel agent, membership, insurance, etc. Betsy then proceeds to the map desk, where a pleasant young woman sits, waiting for her computer to register the assigned task from the receptionist. Evidently my wife moves faster than electrons, because she arrived at the map desk well in advance of her map order. Betsy paced uncomfortably, unsure of the protocol. Should she just verbally announce the one map that she wants, as people did in the previous millenium? If she did, is the woman allowed to act without authorization from the computer?

Did I mention that Betsy is the only customer in the entire establishment?

Finally, the computer pops up with instructions, and the clerk leaps to life. Betsy has her map of Georgia, and makes her escape.

Why couldn't the receptionist have just hollered, "Hey Sylvia, we need a Georgia map," rather than waiting for the computer to tell her what to do? Would that violate the whisper-only policy at the AAA? Did they put this system in place to protect AAA member confidentiality? After all, what if someone comes in looking for AAA discounts on bordellos or dog fights or something?

Cat détente

2009-12-13T21:46:00.001-06:00

An abandoned young cat found us a few weeks ago, and after the inevitable failure of a multi-pronged campaign to find his owner, the rest of the family besieged me to keep him. The only two dissenting votes were mine, and that of Max, our pre-existing cat.

Max has behaved much like a middle-aged TV star, threatened by a younger, more youthful starlet. He's forced himself into acting more cute and playful around us, while exhibiting a thinly-veiled hostility towards Oreo. Oreo, for his part, has tried to remain non-threatening towards Max, and acknowledge him as alpha-cat. I've sought to reduce tensions by providing two litter boxes, two food bowls, and showering each of them with reassuring attention and affection. They now co-exist for hours without incident, much like People's Republic of China and the USSR in the 1960s. Perhaps I'm the Henry Kissinger of cats.

Speaking of ol' Hank, my wife Betsy insists that his accent is fake. She thinks that he affected it in his youth, playing on the American presumption that anyone with a German accent (and lacking a toothbrush mustache) must be smart (cf: Albert Einstein). She's heard him speak German, and he's terrible. Also, she tells me that his older brother speaks English largely indisinguishable from native-born Americans. Since it's harder for older children to pick up a new language, how could the younger brother have a thick accent while the older lacks it? Didn't they both escape from the Nazis and move to the US at the same time?

My wife ... queen of the pointless conspiracy theories.

Upsetting snack

2009-12-07T15:10:00.000-06:00

A few days ago I'm at the office, talking with the brigade S1 about something. As we're discussing, we're walking around and talking, as people do. I think nothing of it, as he goes to his food stash in the corner to pull out a can. It's mid-afternoon, and he's getting a snack; no big deal. As we're still hashing out the issue, he takes his red can of Campbell's tomato soup, pulls the lid off the can, and proceeds to lift it straight to his lips. I issued a direct order to him: "You will not drink that room-temperature condensed soup straight from the can! This is not a homeless shelter." He seemed quite puzzled by my horror, although he did grudgingly comply.
I don't consider myself a food snob, but -- sheesh -- I do have some standards.

Cat

2009-12-01T19:12:00.001-06:00

A stray cat showed up on our property recently. He had a flea collar, so we knew he belonged to someone. We canvassed the neighborhood, and put up signs, in the remote chance someone would claim him. The children, of course, have become attached to him. They named him Oreo, because of his obvious resemblance to Alfonso Ribeiro. Our current cat, Max, remains unimpressed by his cuteness and polydactyly. We thought we had a family to adopt him, but alas, generations of bland Anglo-Saxon interbreeding have left their two children with manifest allergies. Now we have the unwelcome responsibility to take him to the Cat Gulag, otherwise known as the animal shelter.

Comic genius

2009-11-30T06:56:00.000-06:00

My wife Betsy is a comic genius. Most people don't know this, because they don't pay attention to her closely enough. I think she's an absolute riot. When I was in Bosnia on the peacekeeping mission years ago, once she wrote me a letter consisting of a single paragraph. It took me twenty minutes, literally, to finish the letter, because she made me laugh so much. If you don't believe me, you can ask SSG Billy Corns, he was there with me, and thought I was a nutcase.

Since Betsy and I have been together for so many years, I know her so well that I can now anticipate in advance what she's likely to think or do or say. This is quite a timesaver. Sometimes, I'll sit with her, and think about saying something. Then I think what she'd say back to me, and how I'd respond, and how she'd respond to my response. Then I start laughing, because in my head she really zinged me. Not only is she funny in reality, she's also funny in theory. Meanwhile, back in the real world, all she sees is me laughing for no apparent reason, which makes her agree with Billy Corns.

I liken these internal conversations to the famous Schroedinger's Cat thought experiment. Until I actually posit a statement to her, Betsy's possible responses are part of a quantum system which remains a linear combination of states, each of which resembles different classical states. Only until I speak out loud and she responds will the superposition of her response collapse into a definite state, measurable by classical methodologies (such as hearing).

In this way, Betsy combines the best of a real wife with the best of an imaginary wife. She's the full package!

This is a metaphor for my entire life

2009-11-25T19:02:00.000-06:00

Dumb hair

2009-11-07T19:22:00.007-06:00

My boy Andrew has a bad habit of flattening his hair constantly, in the manner of the Caesar cut. I think he's trying to look like Rex Harrison or something. Then again, who doesn't want to look like Rex Harrison?

Of all the stupid things he can do to his hair, this is pretty mild. I can live with it. One of our friends' boy used to have girl hair -- not merely long hair, but girl hair. He has since cut it to a normal length, but left a four-inch rat tail. Evidently he styles himself after Anakin Skywalker. I guess that means he wants to grow up to be a bad Canadian actor.

Election Day

2009-11-03T19:09:00.003-06:00

My wife Betsy has served as an officer of the election (poll worker) many times. She did it as a lark one time years ago, and then found it rather meaningful, so she continues. It's important to be part of the election process, and we've all learned from her experience. For example, don't ever "write in" a candidate, because it's a real pain for the poll workers to track. Her stories of how seriously she and her colleagues take the election rules give me confidence in our system of governance. Her presence at the station also lowers the average age of poll workers by thirty years.

Time change

2009-11-01T20:38:00.000-06:00

I have 173 items in my life with timepieces in them -- electronics, appliances, vehicles, and even clocks and watches. A few of them change time automatically, but most don't.

Tell me again why we play this semi-annual game with the time. "It gives us more time in the morning." No, it doesn't. We have the same amount of time that we always had, we've just adjusted when we arise to utilize the daylight. We confuse our pets, who tell time with their circadian rhythms, by suddenly adjusting when we feed or walk them in the morning. It takes our cats and dogs a few days to adjust. They just chalk it up to one more inexplicable human behavior. The cats and dogs have this one right, I must say.

My wife is a sworn enemy of the wind chill factor, but she loves daylight savings time. She's a big fan of clock games in general. She has deliberately set our bedroom clock eleven minutes fast. Why? So I have more time in the morning. Duh! You don't have any more time than you already did, you're just calling that time something different. But I need more time to get ready, so by setting the clock eleven minutes fast, it gives me a buffer. If you need more time in the morning to get ready, why not just set the alarm to ring eleven minutes sooner? You don't understand! No, I understand all too well.

New lieutenants

2009-10-24T20:21:00.002-05:00

October is the time when we harvest the winter crop of OCS lieutenants. We get a bigger batch in the summer, but we get a few in winter as well. I represented the command at the OCS commissioning ceremony, and spent some time in conversation with the two lieutenants slated for our various Engineer units.

No, the picture isn't distorted, the fellow in the middle is indeed a moose. Notice that he earned an award that day for having the highest physical fitness performance of the entire OCS class (or could you tell?). I'm sure his distant ancestors wreaked havoc on invading Romans. I trust he won't follow all his ancestral warrior traditions.

I guess this cake thing is Army-wide, not just in Afghanistan.

Faneuil Hall Marketplace

2009-10-12T19:51:00.001-05:00

No trip to Boston would be complete without a visit to Faneuil Hall Marketplace. The food complements the street performers nicely.

Who would have thought that Larry Bird's feet weren't much bigger than mine?

Charlotte has no idea who Red Auerbach was. The Celtics sure could use him again.

Charlotte much preferred this "statue," who was really a street performer with remarkably durable skin.

Family grave

2009-10-12T19:48:00.000-05:00

I never knew, until my father mentioned it, that some of our relatives were buried just a few miles from his house.

Family party

2009-10-11T18:03:00.000-05:00

My father had all the local Ritchies over to his house for Chinese food. That's what working-class Irish do to celebrate an important event: they have Chinese food. We got take-out from a great place in Putterham Circle, in Brookline. My father has long researched the symbiotic relationship between the best Chinese restaurants and Jewish neighborhoods, so he knows exactly where to go.

Great-Grammie Ritchie took center stage. Her eyesight isn't great, but her mind is just as sharp and opinionated as it ever was.

Visit to Brian's house

2009-10-10T19:53:00.000-05:00

While in Boston, I visited my friend Brian, and his wife Debbie and son Brendan. They live only a few miles from my father.

Poor Charlotte found herself the oldest child, with all the implied responsibilities. Debbie's friend was also visiting, with her two young boys. Thus Charlotte had to deal with three boys ranging in ages from four to eight. She stepped right up and tried to manage them, to allow the adults to gab. I'm so proud of her maturity and responsibility. In this photo, look how smart she is -- she knows that smothering leaves less evidence than any other method.

Brian put on a classy spread, to include freshly-squeezed peanut butter.

Boston pilgrimage

2009-10-10T17:43:00.001-05:00

I took Charlotte to Boston for the Columbus Day long weekend. Since she was the one child who consistently did more to help her mother during my absence, she earned this special trip. The other two stayed home. Surprisingly, they had absolutely no jealousy or animosity. I'm still trying to figure out that one.

We visited the Topsfield Fair, America's oldest agricultural fair. Charlotte, the future veterinarian, delighted in all the animals. She and Grammie took a ride on an elephant. I, for one, never knew that elephants were native to Massachusetts. We all learned something that day.

We went to the North End of Boston to visit Uncle Jerry, my mother's uncle. He is one of the last two of the ten children that included my mother's mother. He lives alone in his three-room apartment, where he had lived for decades with his late wife Catherine, across the street from the Old North Church (of "one if by land, two if by sea" fame).

Everyone loves Grandpa's 1962 Corvette convertible.

This just in ...

2009-10-10T16:27:00.002-05:00

Latest news from Stockholm. President Obama has won the Nobel Prize in Economics, for balancing his checkbook.

Is this a joke?

2009-10-09T22:39:00.003-05:00

What the frakking heck is this foolishness? Do the Swedes celebrate April Fool's on a different day?

Perhaps next year they'll award the prize to someone with a similar history of accomplishment (e.g., a cartoon character, a carbon metal rod, or a houseplant).

180th Engineer Company

2009-10-06T22:51:00.002-05:00

One of my Engineer companies returned from Iraq, and a bunch of people showed up to welcome them to their home armory in Powhattan. Even Governor Kaine was there. He's a lame duck, because Virginia doesn't allow a governor to succeed himself, so I suppose he's got plenty of free time. I had worried that he'd be unemployed in a few months, what with the job market so dicey right now. Then I remembered that he has a second gig he can concentrate on. That's good, because it would be terrible to see him unshaven by the side of the road, holding a crudely lettered sign stating, "Will govern for food."

Strangely, the two candidates for governor did not show up to campaign. I figured each candidate would try to bask in the reflected glow of affection for these brave men. It would get awkward of course, as the crowd gathered around their favorite, and then had a West Side Story dance-off to decide the winner.

What the heck?

2009-10-05T22:14:00.000-05:00

A year or so ago, Richmond mayor L. Doug Wilder refused to provide public money to finance a new stadium for private profit, and so our Braves baseball franchise returned home to the mother ship of Atlanta (how lame is it to have your farm team in the same metro area as the pro team?). Somehow, Richmond has managed to survive so far without a mediocre team playing a dying sport.

Another double-A baseball team has decided to abandon Conneticut for the greener pastures of the Old Dominion. There's currently a contest to name this new team. All of the current possibilities are absolutely dreadful. Rhinos? Oh, I see the connection ... those huge herds of armored beasts roaming central Virginia. Hambones? Generations of junior high school boys yet unborn will delight in mocking them. Flying squirrels? Feh.

Now here's something we hope you'll really like.

New armory in Fairfax

2009-10-02T22:03:00.000-05:00

Because our TAG remains well-connected in commonwealth affairs, he managed to snag us a former State Police building for use as an armory for our Data Processing Unit (DPU). The DPU is sort of the high-tech Special Forces. They're special in both the good ways and the bad ways.

This facility is much bigger than the portion of the Manassas armory that they currently share with two other units. The main concerns revolve around the fact that until recently it was the forensic laboratory for the VSP. That means that it has a large area for cutting up corpses. Ick. In addition to an environmental investigation for mold and blood-borne pathogens in the ducts and plumbing, we also need to consider bidding a contract for ghost mitigation.

Wordle

2009-09-29T10:54:00.000-05:00

Check out the Wordle representation of my blog.

Wordle is a utility that graphically represents words by frequency in a text. I'm sure it has some legitimate academic uses, but at the moment I'm unaware of them. It's still interesting in ways I haven't explored.

Armadillo memories

2009-09-28T07:29:00.006-05:00

My Charlotte has always wanted to be a veterinarian. I'm just glad she wants to be something that's a real job. Too many young girls aspire to be cheerleaders or princesses or mermaids or some schlocky animated movie fantasy, rather than an actual, achievable career. Her younger sister Angela had previously wanted to be a nurse (again, a real job), but recently she announced that she wants to be an electrical engineer. Score! I was happy with nurse, so I'm overjoyed at electrical engineer. One unresolved question is how a seven year-old girl learned what an electrical engineer is in the first place. I think I was thirty before I understood what an electrical engineer does. It must be all those science camps we send her to in the summer.

Today I find my future veterinarian Charlotte studying armadillos. That brought forth a number of armadillo-themed jokes and stories from me. While stationed at Ft Sill, OK, for artillery school, a few of us took a long weekend to visit Dallas. I found it odd that as soon as we crossed the Texas border, we started finding dead armadillos by the side of the road. How do they know to die on the Texas side of the border? The armadillo's defense against danger is to roll into a ball, which makes sense when confronted by a small predator. It doesn't work as well against a Ford F-150 traveling at 75 mph.

This is the Texas version of the famous "why did the chicken cross the road joke" (the original version of which Aaron told Moses to cheer him up during a battle with the Amalekites).

Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: To show the armadillo it could be done.

GPS

2009-09-24T14:32:00.003-05:00

In industry parlance, I'm what's called a "late adopter." I don't buy into a product or technology until it's so ubiquitous that it's embedded into wristwatches. I figure that after 20 years, this GPS thing isn't just a fad, and I can safely spend some of my own money on it.

I'm looking at the Magellan Maestro 4700. It has all the features I want (e.g., Bluetooth, voice prompts, large touchscreen), but is only lacking in one area: defense against my wife's harangues.

One of the several ways in which Betsy is superior to most women and defies stereotypes is that she has an excellent sense of direction. Not only does she know the way to many different places, but she can relate them all to each other and determine new shortcuts and routes on the fly. In that category, I remain undistinguished. Betsy says that I'm bad at directions, whereas I would state that I am merely average (which from her lofty vantage point of superiority looks worse than it is). She has mocked me terribly for wanting a GPS. Sure, she can take a rambling story of incoherence and a Cro-Magnon drawing on a damp cocktail napkin and figure out how to get where she's going, but that doesn't mean that GPS is a frivolity for all of us. We make a good team, however, when we're all together and she navigates while I drive. She's the better navigator, but I'm still the better driver, because, hey, she is a woman.

As I face my first official duty day as a brigade XO for units scattered in armories all over the Commonwealth, I thought it wise to take a precaution and buy a GPS device. Am I wrong?

Retrospect: 82d High School Jazz Band

2009-09-23T08:12:00.005-05:00

In August, the 82d Airborne Division's High School Jazz Band regaled us with bumper music from The Tonight Show. I'm not a big fan of jazz (or could you tell). I'm not morally opposed to it, as I am with hateful white trash punk rock, or misogynist cop-killer rap, but I still find it annoying. They played that pointless Weather Channel jazz -- you know, the music that neither stops nor starts, but just always is. My favorite jazz song is, "Local weather on the eights."

Retrospect

2009-09-22T08:20:00.000-05:00

I've discovered a few photos from Afghanistan that I had meant to post, but had neglected. As these surface, I'll publish them with my insightful comments and quirky analysis.

Armenian Festival

2009-09-20T17:24:00.006-05:00

After church, I took the children to the annual Armenian festival in Richmond. It's pretty much the same as the annual Greek festival, but don't tell them that. We got a kebab, rice pilaf, green beans, stuffed grape leaves, and some other things, all with different names. Our favorite is of course the kebab. You can't go wrong with stick-based foods -- fudgesickle, candy apple, corn dog, etc. The festival's dining area even had Armenian flies. I knew they were Armenian by their hairy chests, and the fact that their fly-names all ended in -ian.

They also featured ethnic dancers, in their elaborate traditional garb. One of the ladies at the information booth and I discussed the lack of Armenian restaurants in Richmond, the dearth of which one of her friends may seek to rectify.

Youth Group

2009-09-16T22:16:00.003-05:00

Now that I'm back home, I can restart some of the activities I've missed. On Wednesday evenings, I go with my boy Andrew to the church Youth Group. I sit in the back with a few of the other parents and help perform crowd control. I'm struck by how many of the teens wear shirts for bands of my era. Tonight I saw Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, and The Who. How do these kids even know these bands?

Speaking of bands, our Youth Group has a reasonably talented garage band of our own. It consists of four skinny boys with bad haircuts hunched over their guitars, the girlfriend of the bassist as singer, and someone's mom. Like many garage bands, they play too many open fifth chords, but they still have quite a bit of potential.

Introduction to the maelstrom

2009-09-15T16:19:00.003-05:00

I spent half a day at my new unit, to get oriented before I formally take the reins on 1 October. Did I mention my new assignment? I'm the XO of the 91 Troop Command in Richmond. The Troop Command is the brigade-equivalent HQ for all units in a State that don't have an organic brigade or division HQ in the State. Thus, all the separate companies and battalions pretty much report to us. In some ways it's harder than a regular brigade, inasmuch as these separate units have their own issues, and no clear focus or relationship. It's a bit like running a group home for troubled youth.

I had no idea that the Troop Command had so much going on! Units mobilizing, units demobilizing, armories closing, armories opening, units changing armories, civil defense exercises, etc. And these are just the regular emergencies, not the unplanned emergencies that are sure to arise. Well, I have no chance of getting bored, so I guess that's a plus.

A new car!

2009-09-12T20:15:00.005-05:00

Well, new to me. It's a 2007 Toyota Corolla. Please don't fall asleep while reading this. Yes, I know it's the most boring car on the face of the Earth, but to me that's its biggest advantage. It's a stealth car. Since it's so nondescript, no one really sees it. While driving to the dealer, I wanted to point one out to the children as an example, and I couldn't find one. It's one of the best selling cars in America for 20 years, and I could find a single one on the road. Most likely, dozens surrounded me, but I saw right past them.

Since I remain completely comfortable with my nerdiness, I have nothing to prove to anyone by purchasing a flashy car. I simply wouldn't be happy driving a nice car. As it is, it's hard to believe that I finally own a car that doesn't leak anything. Let's catalogue my former cars:

1972 Plymouth Valiant - the AK-47 of cars; only six moving parts (two of which are wood)
1981 Ford Mustang - not a good Mustang year
1985 Toyota Corolla - not too proud to drive Mom's old car, and nearly to 200k miles
1988 Subaru wagon - I had the only one not plastered with PETA stickers
1988 Honda Accord - I got rid of it just in time

Evidently I only buy cars made in years in which we had a Republican president.

It was hard for me to find an acceptable vehicle, despite my obvious indifference to style. In addition to an upper price limit, my only non-negotiable criterion was that the vehicle have a manual transmission. This factor alone excludes me from 90% of the used car market. My sad devotion to that ancient technology is my way to rage against the dying of an automotive light. In addition, it's also an anti-theft device. The Richmond market is terrible, BTW. I had to go all the way to Stafford to find what I wanted. It's a former lease vehicle, so it was dealer-maintained. The only real option was cruise control, which is nice.

Sadly, it also had a blue car tree, which gave it a hideous stench. Why do people buy those horrible things? The real problem is that no one reads the label. You're supposed to leave it in the bag, and pull down the bag to expose one branch per week, but everyone takes it completely out of the bag. Therefore, you get 10x more noxious fumes than intended. I handed the item back to the dealer before I left, and ran with all four windows open until I had ventilated properly.

I also have an electronic key fob for the first time in my life. Weird.

Thank Jesus

2009-09-06T11:50:00.001-05:00

I'm back in the US. More to follow.

Why do I think of these things?

2009-09-04T17:31:00.000-05:00

Iftar is the breaking of the fast after Ramadan. This ad at the Camp LSA McDonald's (Kuwait) aims at the Muslim audience. One thing caught my attention: the use of the emoticon. I see the use of the colon and right parenthesis to represent a smile sideways :) I see this same combination used in the Arabic ad, which I found puzzling. Since Arabic reads right to left, shouldn't the order of the punctuation be reversed?

Simulated attack!

2009-09-04T10:46:00.003-05:00

I'm in the MWR tent trying to do my report on marketing, and this annoying alarm goes off. Evidently it's a simulated attack. Since it's a simulated attack, I thought I'd just sit there and exhibit a simulated response. Not to be. The Filipina who runs the MWR tent fusses and herds us all outside into the blazing sun, which is far more dangerous than a simulated attack. We stood there in the sun for 15 minutes while the simulation ran its course. I thought she would lead us to a bunker, but she didn't. I thought it was asinine, but if there's one thing I've learned from all those airline safety demonstrations, it's that in a crisis, follow the instructions of the pushy middle-aged woman with too much makeup.

After the "all-clear," the Big Voice told us to regroup and gain accountability of all personnel. Hah! That's the biggest joke all week. Only God Himself has any clue how many people are on Camp LSA, and what their names are. CENTCOM operates a bit like the Holocaust, inasmuch as it largely depends on the complicity of its victims to make the system work. I could sit here in Kuwait for weeks before anyone noticed. According to anecdotes, some people have done exactly that.

Horrible product at BAF PX

2009-09-03T16:58:00.000-05:00

It gives my hair a bright, soft sheen ...

... and it's really good on toast.

Points!

2009-09-03T15:53:00.003-05:00

My wife's family has a certain game they like to play. If you run into someone that you know unexpectedly, then you get points. The more obscure the person or location, the more points you get. My sister-in-law Heidi is great at it, because she knows so many people. She could fly to the Russian space station and run into someone from cheerleading camp 15 years ago.

I've run into a few people here at Camp LSA, Kuwait, so I get some points as well. One was a captain I put into the Guard a few years ago, who worked for me for a year in recruiting. Then I ran into a fellow from Bureau who has no memory of me. That's fine, he was just a guy I saw in the hallway, we never worked together on anything. I had a nice conversation with a colleague from the State mobilization office, serving in Afghanistan with an engineer unit. My happiest encounter is a former Soldier from my command, named Stephen. His big distinction was that he enlisted on 9-11. Yes, on the 9-11. He didn't plan it, of course, it was a complete coincidence. This distinction did earn him a human interest segment from the local news when our unit mobilized in 2002.

Some people have watched too many old movies, and think that an applicant can show up at the recruiter's office and be on a bus to Ft Benning that afternoon. Not so. It takes at least a week to put someone new into the Guard, and at least 30 days to get them to training. These are minimum times, most people experience it even longer.

One wonders ....

2009-09-02T07:39:00.001-05:00

... just what this tastes like. I'll never know.

Snakes on a Plane

2009-08-31T13:44:00.004-05:00

That's about the only excuse I haven't heard for a reason why we're not flying. Anyway, "Snakes on a Plane" is the movie playing in the USO at BAF right now. Oh, wait, I'm missing it. If I don't study every aspect, I may miss some of the fine acting, balanced cinematography, and delicate scene structure. I must get back and catch every nuance.

Decisiveness and action!

2009-08-30T22:46:00.003-05:00

Last night I slept in Transient Tent #3, near Four Corners at BAF. It's actually not as bad as it could be. Usually those places always smell like feet, but the tent is drafty enough and the ceiling is high enough (perhaps 20 feet at the peak) that we get good airflow.

Last night, while we all slept soundly, dreaming of a universal healthcare plan that wouldn't bring an end to human civilization, the smoke alarm starts blaring. Obviously there's no smoke or fire. Perhaps the carcinogens rampant in the swirling dust have set it off. Since it's on a tent ceiling support pole 12 feet in the air, no one can get to it to shut it off. The Soldier in the cot across from me takes one of the cross beams from his cot, stands on a chair, and proceeds to beat it to pieces. I must admit, that did solve the problem, at least on one level.

I told him to write himself up for an award, and forge my name.

Leaving Kabul

2009-08-30T12:49:00.004-05:00

I had to stay overnight in the transient building at KIA, in order to make my early morning flight to Bagram. The building was almost full, so I found a section full of Romanians that had one open bunk. After verifying that it was indeed unoccupied, I proceeded to set up camp. Then I realize that these folks are not Romanians, but Greeks -- the worst kind of Romanians. One of the fellows proceeds to lecture me about some topic in Greek. I have studied ancient Greek for several years, but this proved little help. The only modern Greek I speak is, "cheeburger, cheeburger."

They really need to give the Navy better weapons

2009-08-30T08:04:00.000-05:00

The funniest people in the world

2009-08-30T04:39:00.005-05:00

If I ever somehow become a sitcom writer, I'll just put listening devices in the common area rooms of US military barracks, and eavesdrop on the Soldier conversations. These guys are the funniest people on the face of the Earth, and they come up with stuff so quickly and effortlessly. I am quite amazed. I suppose it's because they have lives. This is a bit of what I've gleaned from sitting on the edge of a Soldier conversation last night at KIA:

The three most common names for Afghan boys are Mohammad, Abdul, and Scott.
Afghans are great at chess, but terrible at cards.
"I have cards! I win."
"But you only have three cards in your hand, and we're playing five-card stud."
The whole concept of the game of Monopoly is completely foreign to them.
"I must buy house? I can't just kill my neighbor and take his house?"
In all fairness, they do have a legitimate point. Really now, who would live in a green-colored house?

One of the Soldiers was a Canadian citizen serving in the US Army (completely legal, though that surprises some people). They were ragging on his Canadianness (is that right? or is it Canadianosity?). Did you know that it is illegal to buy pizza by the slice in Canada? "Yes, I'll have 200 grams of pizza, please." They mocked him until he threatened to send a loon to peck out their eyes.

I defy any six Hasty Pudding alumni to generate this much quality material in such a short period of time, largely without trying. This is one of several reasons I've stayed in service this long. Oh, with this last pay period, my service odometer rolled over to 20 years. Egad.

The Commander and I

2009-08-29T08:06:00.000-05:00

On my last day at Camp Phoenix, I ran into BG Steven Huber, the task force commander. He was kind enough to allow me a target of opportunity and get my picture made with him. That look on my face is what I do when I'm smiling on purpose. My real smile isn't much better, unfortunately.

Scruffy contractor

2009-08-29T08:05:00.000-05:00

He's playing the "waitin' on ISAF to get its act together" blues. As a contractor, he only works for tax-free tips.

Working vicariously

2009-08-29T05:15:00.003-05:00

While I'm buzzing in and out of the office, checking email, checking flights to various locations, making related preparations to depart, I've provided occasional help to one colleague from the Combat Advisor schoolhouse at Ft Riley (soon to be Ft Polk). He has reams of Excel data, and has the unenviable task of (1) updating it to reflect reality, and (2) interpreting the data meaningfully. I pride myself on showing people how to accomplish legitimate tasks in Excel, Outlook, etc. If I can spend three minutes showing how to do something that saves you thirty minutes of work, that's a significant gain in productivity. Then, you save that thirty minutes every time you perform that task, multiplying the productivity gains for years. Process engineering -- it's quite a rush.

The task he's working on involves tracking the whereabouts of hundreds of Training Team Soldiers (as well as service members from all the other, lesser military services) scattered all over the country. Many of these people have been reassigned multiple times, usually based only on verbal orders and no documentation. Thus, he's finding people in the most unexpected places, often with strange chains of events that brought them there. I told him to look for the red striped stocking caps, because his task is a bit like Where's Waldo of Afghanistan.

This is the worst hat I've ever seen

2009-08-28T07:28:00.000-05:00

"Snacks"

2009-08-28T05:44:00.003-05:00

Not snacks the food products, but "Snacks" the Soldier, so named because of the cartons of food products he brought into the office, and also because of his girth (which really isn't as bad as we make it out). He's quite a charming fellow, and cheerfully accepts the abuse of the rest of the occupants of my (former) office. I was always nice to him, for two reasons: (1) it's the right thing, and (2) if he ever snapped and went postal, he'd remember my kindness and pass me by on his killing spree. His boss, CPT Leg-arms, has him on a strict diet and exercise regimen, with the goal of turning him into a specimen right out of a Kurt Russell movie. He's a nice fellow, and he works hard, but I'd say that his single biggest problem is that he's a terrible storyteller.

He has a number of anecdotes to relate, no matter what the topic of conversation. As I am a bit of a raconteur myself, I don't begrudge this as such. The poor man has no talent at spinning a yarn, and this largely provides occasion for further abuse by my (former) colleagues. The crux of his problem is that he provides information which is factually accurate, but irrelevant to the story itself. As one (former) colleague stated, "he tells stories in 3-D." He can't just tell us that something happened, but provides turn-by-turn driving directions to the location where it happened. Don't care, don't care. This is ultimately counter-productive, because often people pay more attention to you the less you say. The surfeit of details then spawns a collateral problem, which is that his stories take far too long. Get to the point, then stop talking! We'll ask follow-up questions in the unlikely event that we really care. Conversations are about the benefit of the other parties, and not just waiting for your turn to monologue. True conversation is not selfish, but is an act of charity. If that's not how your audience perceives it, you're doing something wrong.

When telling a story, the storyteller himself must know where it's going, even if the listener doesn't. Otherwise, how will we get there? If I had time, I'd discuss reader expectation theory, and the differences among the implied audience versus the actual audience versus the intended audience, but that's a dissertation for another day.

I recommend that we take a page from the NBA's book, and instead of a shot clock, have a "Snacks clock." We'll hit the start button when he begins telling a story, and he has 24 seconds to either get to the denoument, or stop talking. Either way, we win.

Traveling lean

2009-08-27T10:48:00.003-05:00

I mailed several boxes of stuff home today, spending well over $100 in postage and insurance. My goal was to travel with one duffel bag, and I think that's an obtainable goal. That entire duffel bag consists of gear to give back to the mobilization station, very little of which I actually used. I'm sure someone found it important, but given the non-tactical nature of my duties, I didn't.

The good news about traveling during the summer is that Afghanistan has fewer weather-related travel delays. That reduces the unreliability of air movement. It also means I need less baggage to sustain me during the trip, since I don't need to carry cold weather clothing. One rarely needs wet weather clothing in Central Asia during the summer. In fact, I can't remember the last time it rained in Kabul. April?

Last day in the office

2009-08-25T10:17:00.005-05:00

Yesterday was my last day in the office. It feels good not to have to pretend anymore. Remember, it's not shamming if you actually have nothing to do. I can depart with the satisfaction that I accomplished my main goal of this deployment, which was to have my job eliminated. This is part of the plan to trim the resources devoted to dumb ideas. I can take some legitimate satisfaction in the fact that my last official acts were devoted to getting a junior Soldier released 30 days early to rejoin his family back home (NOTE: I just want all readers to know that this guy isn't weaseling out of his duties -- since he volunteered to come here straight from Iraq, he's really getting released about five months later than he should have been).

Just like the universe, my office will disappear with a whimper, not a bang. One by one, the current occupants will either depart theater (myself and two others in the near future), and the rest will face reassignment over the next 30 days. The current rumor is that our B-Hut will be converted into a new smoking lounge.

Taleban photo studio

2009-08-24T23:33:00.003-05:00

Of all the odd requests we've received during my tenure, the request to help with an official DA photograph definitely makes the top ten. A young first lieutenant came in to ask if we could help him perform this task, which is impossible for several reasons. First, you can't just take a snapshot, there's a whole regulation behind the DA photo. Second, you need someone with access to DAPMIS, which is the digital repository for official photographs. Third, we think it's a waste of time for several reasons. First, since he's deployed, his commander can write a letter to the board explaining the situation, and they won't count it against him. Second, the selection rate to captain is in the high 90s, and has been for years. He'll need to do more than screw up a photograph in order to avoid promotion. Third, we didn't much care for his tone.

I almost referred him to the Taleban photo studio downtown. Their photos have been shown all over the world. They have a nice choice of banner backgrounds with squiggly designs, and for no extra charge will put others in the photo with you, holding machetes and assault rifles. Local color! Even though they're in a photograph, they'll keep their faces covered with towels. Strange. They don't charge much, all you need to do is read a statement they prepare for you. It's a good deal, look into it.

Aunty Elaine

2009-08-24T11:20:00.003-05:00

Aunty Elaine sent another batch of her famous cookies a few days ago, which proved to be quite a big hit with my colleagues. I shared them gladly, with the condition that they write her a thank you note. Aunty Elaine had the forethought to include a box of notepaper and matching envelopes, so she made it easy. She works for Hallmark, which for her is like an alcoholic working for a liquor store. If you've ever seen a Hallmark commercial and wondered who buys all that crazy stuff, the answer is Aunty Elaine.

Farewell Party

2009-08-23T05:54:00.002-05:00

LCDR Wiggs (at right), SK1 Baker (not shown), and I were all departing about the same time, so we had a farewell party.

Note the kind sentiment on the whiteboard in the background. I can confirm the veracity of that statement, in asmuch as I do rock, albeit quietly.

Sanitation now!

2009-08-22T02:02:00.004-05:00

As my mission here winds down, I feared that I'd have nothing to write about. Thankfully, the Army never disappoints.

Our chow hall has two entrances, and two main serving lines. Each side has a Soldier on duty to ensure that everyone swipes their ID card, or signs the roster as appropriate. For some reason, we also have a KBR contracted local national there as well, doing the same thing. This morning, the Soldier informs me that I must wash my hands prior to entering the facility. OK, but I just came from the latrine, and thus washed my hands literally 60 seconds ago. That may be true, but it's irrelevant. This uniformed adolescent, with less time in service than my socks, had standing orders to witness me washing my hands in order to allow me to enter. I complied without comment, because I know that the individual enforcing the rule had no role in its creation.

My chain of command trusts me with two firearms and 270 bullets, but not to wash my hands without supervision?

Bird on a wire

2009-08-21T07:18:00.002-05:00

Deja vu all over again

2009-08-20T15:42:00.003-05:00

When I first arrived at Camp Phoenix, I had come with a bunch of people I had met at Ft Riley for training. Then, after a week or so, they all started to depart for their various assignments around the country. I stayed, and found fewer and fewer familiar faces in the chow hall, until one day, I knew no one.

I started to make friends in the 27 IBCT, but I knew they only had a few weeks remaining at that point. Then, for the next several months, I made a bunch of new acquaintances from the new 33 IBCT. Now, all those guys are leaving, and once again I'm seeing fewer and fewer familiar faces in the chow hall.

I'm allergic to Afghanistan

2009-08-19T13:22:00.002-05:00

Not every day, but increasingly more frequently, I have a terrible allergy attack. Back home, I may get some symptoms for a few days at change of seasons, but nothing compared to what happens here in Kabul. It's like an icepick in my nostrils! And don't get me started on the mucous -- I look like a nerve gas victim. Quite disgusting.

Thankfully, the TMC provides many medications for common ailments and issues. Claritin does nothing for me, but Benadryl works enough to keep my nose from drooling for a few hours at a time. I don't like to take any medication unless absolutely necessary. After a few antihistamines, I start to walk through my day in a mental pea soup. I'm not at my intellectual best, and I'm also drowsy. Good thing I have no heavy machinery to operate. While I'm antihistamine-drunk, that would be the time to try to get me to buy a timeshare, or consider a Christological heresy.

I'm fine, thanks for asking

2009-08-18T10:46:00.004-05:00

This afternoon, we had a bit of a scare. We heard and felt a rumble throughout the camp -- an explosion of some kind. Before the Big Voice could sound, people had already started reacting properly: those who had it nearby started donning protective equipment; medics started up the armored ambulances; the volunteer firefighters (mostly US Navy personnel) reported to the fire station; those without specific roles proceeded in a quick and orderly manner to the bunkers. It was impressive to see how much of the immediate action was already done by the time the formal alarm started 30 seconds later. The fact that we had an exercise a few weeks ago seems to have made a positive difference.

As it happened, we got the "all clear" notice about ten minutes later. Camp Phoenix was not the target of the attack. Funny, the training exercises we have last an hour or two, but the real thing only lasted ten minutes. In some ways a real war is easier than training.

I don't expect any attacks on my camp. The Taleban knows that it's in their best interests to have the Task Force Phoenix HQ operating at full capacity at all times.

Gotta have a RIP-IT!

2009-08-17T11:34:00.011-05:00

Afghanistan is like Hollywood, inasmuch as everyone here is "on" something. The refrigerated case in the chow hall displays the half cans of the famous Rip-It Fuel drink. Imagine a carbonated version of what one feeds to narcoleptic hummingbirds.

Stimulant drinks such as this (and ones available for purchase in the PX) help maintain an artificially high level of alertness throughout the camp. Using these completely legal (but quite unpleasant) stimulant drinks, our Soldiers can maintain a full day of military activities, and then shoot Nazis for six more hours on the video games. Gotta pull night shift? Have a Rip-It. Stayed up all night watching bootleg Family Guy? Have a Rip-It. Heartrate down to a mere double-digit number? Have a Rip-It.

During my first mobilization, I had two Soldiers who took the completely opposite tack. They decided to start livin' la vida gatto, sleeping literally twelve hours per day. They figured that using this plan, they would perceive their mobilization to last half as long as it actually lasted. Clever. Personally, I just don't have that much sleep in me.

A few summers ago on our annual family vacation in Virginia Beach, we came across a display table on the sand, and some booth babes handing out free samples of the Monster Energy Drink soda to the passersby. The children all wanted their own can, which I immediately forbade. Since we were on vacation, I knew I would be ill-equipped to handle pediatric tachycardia. We took one can among the five of us to share, not just for safety reasons, but because I knew it would be gross. I did have a bit of fun with the marketing bimbo, however.

"So what does this drink taste like?"
"It tastes rad, it tastes bold, it tastes fresh."
"Yeah, I surmised as much from your banner. I poured a little on the ground, and it looks like Predator blood. What flavor is it?"
"Radical Metal Explosion. It's our most popular color -- I mean, flavor."
"It sounds like a paint option for a Japanese sportscar. It still begs the question, what does it tastes like."
"It's ... well ... It tastes like Monster!"

Thanks for the insight, Brandi. So in summary, it tastes like itself. This is a drink fit for a Tetragrammaton. Nothing like a completely self-referential soda to make the summer complete. My forebearance proved wise, however, as we couldn't finish even just the one can among the five of us.

I hate being right so much

2009-08-16T04:13:00.001-05:00

Let's see ....

Iran threatens us, its neighbors, and its own people.
The economy founders.
Despite the fact that the President's party controls Congress, he can make little progress on his domestic agenda.
The President spends his days making peace between two opponents.

Yep, this is Jimmy Carter's second term. I told you so. Sure, Prof. Gates and the policeman are hardly Sadat and Begin, but all analogies break down at some point.

The best part about being a cynic is that I'm often disappointed but rarely surprised.

Customs buffet

2009-08-15T07:27:00.004-05:00

All personnel must go through Customs at least once prior to departing Theater. Our military law enforcement community does an annoyingly thorough job of screening our baggage. After every group goes through, they end up with buckets full of confiscated materials (see photo above).

The good news is that no one seems to be trying to sneak through anything obviously bad -- illegal drugs, firearms, munitions, stolen cultural artifacts, war trophies. The bad news is that they're still trying to take back items which are not illegal, but are still on the Customs confiscation list -- knives of certain characteristics and dimensions, any petroleum-based products (e.g., weapons cleaning solvents), tactical medical supplies (these are confiscated and reissued to tactical units), any OTC medication not factory sealed, batteries (this is an issue of much contention). Every time a group goes through, afterwards it always looks like Michael Jackson's medicine cabinet. Anyone want an opened bottle of Geritol, or half a tube of Lamisil?

Serious deficiency in Air Force training

2009-08-15T06:41:00.004-05:00

An Air Force colleague told me how upset he was at how one of the commentators on this blog had besmirched the honor of his service. In addition, he also thought that the author was an idiot, because of all the misspellings he had made. It made no sense to me, until I figured out that he referred to the "guest post" by the "New Hampsha team." After a few minutes of instruction (at one point resorting to hand puppets), I managed to convey to him the concept of irony.

Evidently the Air Force basic training program lacks sufficient focus on literary appreciation.

Guest post from the New Hampshire team

2009-08-14T02:25:00.001-05:00

Yeah, this is a guest post from all the fellas from New Hampsha Aamy National Gaad, redeploying at the end of our tour. MAJ Ritchie was great, getting us outta Phoenix in a timely manna. Unfortunately, the retaads in the Air Force gave us a broken plane. That's so bogus!

We're stuck at KIA, and we're wicked pissed. Must be some homo Yankees fan in chaage of that plane. We can't wait to get back home, so we can ride our Haaleys without a helmet, buy booze tax-free, and have a disproportionate impact on the presidential election process.

Yankees suck, Sox rule! Wooo!!

Fabulous attack?

2009-08-12T07:59:00.009-05:00

Afghanistan has its presidential election in a few days. As the day approaches, we're always particularly on guard for terrorist attacks. The Enemy knows that one can get more press coverage from an attack around a holiday or other signficant date, so they tend to plan their most elaborate and costly operations for those periods. Our intel people warn of "spectacular attacks" around the elections.

I believe this is a wrong strategy from the point of The Enemy. If I were they, then I wouldn't plan a spectacular attack, I'd plan a fabulous attack. First, I'd have Rip Taylor show up throwing confetti laced with anthrax. Then Kylie Minogue's backup dancers would assault through with small arms and flame-throwers. It could work!

Thankfully, the double-secret extra-classified reports I'm reading about the Taleban assure me that they are at least five years away from choreography at this level of sophistication.

Violating postal regulations

2009-08-10T12:54:00.002-05:00

I can assure you that this is not the best way to address the mail. You can trust me, my uncle is a letter carrier.

Chow hall trays

2009-08-09T13:15:00.000-05:00

As you can tell from the photo, our DFAC provides three different types of meal trays: (from right to left) squared, round, and clamshell take-out. Personally, I use the round ones, and here's the compelling thought process that led to my decision. Basically, the squared ones are always stuck together, and it's hard to get them apart. They're like the large-mouth bass of trays, fighting back to avoid capture. Commonly the line bottlenecks at this spot pictured above, as knuckleheads wrestle with their trays. I just scoot past them to the round ones, take one deftly, and continue on my way to the world of nutrition.

Overhandling of information

2009-08-08T14:22:00.003-05:00

What's the primary function I serve? I'm a translator between two parties who both speak the same language. Is that redundant? Useless? Wasteful? Inefficient? I figured that out after three days here, but evidently I'm quite lonesome in my conclusions.

At the thrice-weekly operations update, one of the operations officers asks me about a list of names of all the team chiefs in the West. Dutifully, I wrote an email to the West's S1, including that fellow's email address. At another meeting, he asks me about the number of vehicles out West, and how many have the gunner restraint system safety device. Again, I send the message to the appropriate personage, and include that dude's email.

QUIZ: When you have a question, should you rather (a) direct that question to someone who knows the answer, or (b) to someone who doesn't know the answer?

Perhaps it's just my twisted thinking, but if I have a question about something, I'll ask the person who owns that something, and not a distant third-party who may have never seen that something; and if he did, he certainly hasn't seen it recently.

Georgia isn't unique in this madness. When I first got here, and the New York brigade was departing (again, how did I get two brigade RIPs on one tour?), the JTO (chief combat travel agent) kept asking me questions about the names and numbers of pax departing Herat for Kabul. I'd package the question, and send an email to the S1. The next day, I'd have a reply. Inevitably, the JTO would have a dozen questions at the by-name level. So I'd bundle those questions, and send them along, and the next day I'd have a reply. This excruciatingly slow tennis match went on for four days, until I finally dialed the phone to the West's S1, and handed it to the JTO so he could resolve all his issues in one fell swoop. He categorically refused to talk to my S1 directly, preferring to wait 12-24 hours for answers he could have received in five minutes.

Combat yard sale

2009-08-06T13:17:00.004-05:00

Hundreds of Soldiers are preparing to leave Camp Phoenix, so you know what that means -- they've got a mess of junk to unload.

All yard sales provide a poignant yet puzzling snapshot of human life. For instance, who needs his own bathroom scale in a country where no one has his own bathroom? And who would buy the bootleg movies? Buying bootleg movies from a native-born US citizen robs this crime of intellectual property of so much of its charm. It's like dining at a Chinese or Mexican restaurant and having a caucasian waitresses.

Uniform violation

2009-08-04T12:54:00.002-05:00

One of my colleagues remains blissfully unconcerned about the prohibition of do-rags or related headscarves. It's a safety hazard or something. Plus, it looks dumb. I hope posting this photo isn't a security violation, since some of the computer cables are in shot. Agents from The Other Side could magnify the picture and see our electrons streaming back and forth, and read our messages. Yeah, they can totally do that, you know. I saw it in a movie once.

Huh, I just noticed .... Why does he have a picture of my wife behind his desk?

Weight, weight, don't tell me

2009-08-03T13:09:00.001-05:00

We have a doctor's scale in our gym (you know, the kind with the two sliding bars), which I have used to measure my slow progress towards a more appropriate weight. At one point last winter, I approached 200 lbs. I have no business weighing that much. I came to Afghanistan at 190-195, and I vowed a reasonable goal to leave at a consistent 185. Well, I hit 185 some weeks ago, and I'm still fat. Blech. The fact that I look like a waif compared to some of these Georgia boys gives me no comfort.

We do have a number of corpulent Soldiers in this latest batch. When I stand next to them, it looks like the number ten. I recommend that they do their patriotic duty and take up smoking. I'm a Virginian, so I push smoking; tobacco keeps my state taxes low. Plus, we'll never balance Social Security unless you people start dying on time. Smoking is a wonderfully effective tool for weight loss, because cancer just melts the pounds right off. It's a hard choice to make, between obesity and lung cancer. We must decide which is worse: second-hand smoke, or first-hand fat.

For a number of weeks the gym scale was on the fritz. I noticed this in June when it told me that I weighed five pounds less than when I graduated high school. Yeah I weight 160 lbs -- on the moon. While I have no business weighing 200, I also have no business weighing 160. It looks like 175 should be my new goal, and I think it's attainable. The scale is now fixed, showing me at a plausible 183. The chow hall could help by putting an edible lettuce at the salad bar. Why do people even buy iceberg lettuce? Romaine is totally the way to go. Now there's a lettuce you can be proud of.

Gator license

2009-08-01T05:34:00.006-05:00

Each LNO team has a Gator, which we use to move gear around Camp Phoenix. Despite the fact that the Gator population on camp has doubled in the past year, everyone who wants to borrow one comes to our office.

We don't want to say no, because you never know when you might need a favor from that person in the future. Of course, we don't want to say yes either, because all that does is increase the flow of supplicants to our door, interrupting our TV programs. Only a copy machine would draw a greater crowd (note to all readers currently stationed in Afghanistan: as far as you're concerned, we don't have a copy machine in my office, so don't even ask!). So how do we say no without appearing to say no? By using needless complexity, the method bureaucracies have used to stifle productivity and accomplishment for centuries.

To wit, we've instituted a program of Gator licensing, and made it so cumbersome that no one will actually qualify. Here are the requirements to obtain a Gator license from our office:

Maintain a civilian driver's license.
View 45-minute Gator safety and operations video.
Undergo a Class 1A flight physical, to include The Finger.
Urinalysis within the past six months.
GT score of 100 or higher (or ST score of 100 with waiver from the first O6 in the chain of command).
Validated Myers-Briggs personality profile (we've had bad experiences lending vehicles to INFPs).
Possess a valid SECRET security clearance.
Pass 100-question written test with 80% or higher. Sample questions:

"Who won the World Series in 1977?"
"What is the valence of a Sodium atom?"
"What number of reserve component military service personnel may the President mobilize on his own authority without Congressional approval, and for what duration?"
"List three four-digit prime numbers."
"Essay question: Describe Aristotle's influence on Nietzsche, particularly in regards to ethics, ontology, and the concept of the Will to Power."

If anyone manages to make it through all those flaming hoops just to obtain a license, we have additional requirements that a license-holder must meet prior to borrowing the vehicle:

Uniform: ACH, FRACU (or flight suit), FR gloves, eyepro.
Perform PMCS prior to and after use.
Perform 20 minutes of stretching, yoga, and meditation.
Eat a well-balanced breakfast.
Floss.
Condition and creme rinse (no split-ends allowed).
Use sunscreen and insect repellent on all exposed skin.
Have a ground-guide, who is also a licensed Gator driver.
As a security deposit, the borrower must leave his Social Security card, as well as his mother's maiden name, home address, and bank numbers.

Oh, and there's also a 20-minute limit on Gator usage.

Do I really need to explain why?

2009-07-30T12:08:00.004-05:00

I'm eating lunch a few days ago with two colleagues, Kris (parents must have been hippies) and Cameron (not rich, despite the name). Kris sat on the leftmost seat at the end of the table, I sat to his right, and Cameron sat on the other side directly across from Kris. Cameron had pressing matters of state, so he ate quickly and left, leaving Kris and me on the same side of the table with no one on the other side. And ... Kris ... just ... sat ... there ... without ... changing ... seats. After half of one of the more uncomfortable minutes of my life, I finally had to tell him to get up and sit across from me. Actually, I had to tell him twice, because he didn't know what I was talking about. He thought nothing of the two of us sitting on the same side of a table with no one across from us. How could he hold that notion in his head? Was he raised by wolves? What kind of sick person just sits there next to someone without someone across from them?

This is the rule: Two men may not sit next to each other without someone across from them to balance it out. It's wrong! Do I really need to explain why?

This rule is related to the rules of utilization of urinal places in the public men's room. If there are four urinals next to each other, and urinal #1 is in use, which one may you use? Answer: Definitely not #2! Got to leave room for the machismo (or insecurity, as the case may be, but it's the same end-state). The only way a man is authorized the use of a urinal next to another already in use is if all others are occupied, and that is the only option. Don't fathers have this talk with their preadolescents any more? You can't trust the public schools to handle the transmission of these sorts of cultural mores.

Quite an accomplishment

2009-07-27T14:41:00.001-05:00

I did something very rare in this country, and quite remarkable. Far be it from me to self-aggrandize, but it would be an insult to human history if I neglected to regale my readers with my exploit of singular achievement and accomplishment. Generations yet unborn would not forgive me, and it is for their sakes I tell this tale -- to inspire them, and to give them hope as they strive against crushing odds.

I went to BAF, accomplished two tasks, and was back at my desk in less than 24 hours.

Anyone who did not gasp aloud upon reading that sentence either has never dealt with the escaped Bosnian war criminals who run BAF, or has never attempted to travel in Afghanistan.

The trick is to make arrangements ahead of time, an idea lost on the vast majority of my fellow Soldiers. At Bureau, I wouldn't walk down the hall without first calling ahead to see if my colleague was available to talk to me about my issue. Here in Afghanistan, in a war zone, Soldiers fly hundreds of miles without any coordination whatsoever on the other end. Every other week I get a cell phone call about ten in the morning, and the conversation goes like this:

I'm here at KIA.
That's great. See you later this evening.
Oh. (pause) Isn't there anything sooner?
Nope. There's a morning convoy, and an evening convoy, and your flight didn't arrive until after the morning convoy left, so ....
Can't you do anything?
I can put your names on the manifest for the evening convoy.
(the reality of being boned sinks in at about this point)
So when exactly is the convoy coming?
Are you nuts? I can't tell you that on this unsecure cell phone, with the Iranian secret police listening. If you had told me that you were coming, I could have passed that information to you over SIPRNet or SVOIP. I guess now you'll need to sit there like a mamaluke and wait all day -- WHICH IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED THE LAST TIME YOU PULLED THIS STUNT! EVEN A PARAMECIUM CAN LEARN THROUGH STIMULUS AND RESPONSE, BUT NOT SELF-ABSORBED DUNDERHEADS SUCH AS YOURSELF, WHO THINK THAT THEIR STUPID LITTLE MISSION IS THE MOST IMPORTANT THING GOING ON, AND THE REST OF US EXIST ONLY TO SERVE YOUR FOOLISH GOALS.

Actually, that last part I just say to myself, but I think they get the message.

Food snob

2009-07-27T06:21:00.002-05:00

When an individual has a usable item he no longer wants, he puts it on a bench in his local LSS (lavatory-sink-shower -- basically, the hall bathroom). This can range from old magazines, trashy paperback novels, unopened toiletries, and occasional food items. Since the brigade RIP is underway, we have large numbers of people leaving (eventually I will be one of them), so the volume of free junk can spike on occasion.

A few days ago I noticed a box of goodies in my LSS. I saw what I thought to be a bottle of cooking sherry, but turned out to be olive oil from Italy. I also found a smaller bottle of balsamic vinegar (side note: my salad consumption has risen significantly since this find). Whoever left these must have been a real food snob, I thought to myself. I discovered my error in profiling when I noticed the cans of Spam.

"What is Spam?" you may ask.

Everything but the squeal.

Gates conspiracy

2009-07-25T11:49:00.005-05:00

Is this what happens to black men in America? No, this is what happens to stuck-up elitist jackasses.

While I'm certainly not a professor of Black Studies at Harvard, I do know that using a "yo mamma" line when confronting the police isn't the best way to overcome racial stereotypes. Perhaps Professor Gates should take a lesson on dealing with the law enforcement community from another renown black scholar.

I tend to discount any conspiracy theory, but I do think that there's more to this story than meets the eye. I bet Prof. Gates deliberately staged and provoked this entire incident as part of an attempt to make his own Borat-style gotcha movie. "This suit is not black."

Bowling

2009-07-25T09:37:00.002-05:00

My wife Betsy is pretty sharp (after all, she is a Wise Latina Woman). She finds excellent opportunities for the children, who don't always fully appreciate them.

Recently she found a bowling class for children at the local bowling alley. Our Andrew (age 12) likes bowling, but gets frustrated when he does poorly, which makes him perform even worse. Betsy mentions the class to him, and he freaks out. You'd think she wanted to send him to North Korean gulag fantasy camp. Andrew made it clear he did not want to go.

Andrew traditionally exhibits a knee-jerk rejection of anything anyone else has to say. This charming personality trait is an amalgam of his mother's stubbornness, and my low-key contempt for the great mass of humanity. That's why I'm so glad we had a cat before we had the boy, because in many ways dealing with the cat gave us experience on how to deal with Andrew. Anyone who's dealt with cats knows that on principle cats resist being forced to do anything, even if it's something they want to do anyway.

Betsy insisted, and Andrew attended the class. He survived. They even gave him his very own bowling ball. Because the ball is drilled for his fingers, no one else can borrow it (unless they also borrow his fingers as well).

Safety tip: never put a bowling ball in your mouth.

Who's the daddy?

2009-07-24T00:57:00.002-05:00

A baby can only have one daddy, just as a process can have only one owner. Some of my colleagues and I brought this message to the new Logistics Support Operations Officer over coffee earlier in the week. It is part of my ongoing campaign to have my job eliminated to enhance efficiency.

We've got an ongoing controversy about tents, in which incoming Soldiers will live until the glacial pace of Afghan construction catches up to the demand for semi-permanent housing. Dozens of Alaskan tents arrive every week at KIA, and the TFPHX J4 decides who gets how many, based on the need at the time. This means that my colleagues and I would arrange among ourselves to spend a day at KIA breaking down the existing pallets, and reconfiguring them for drop-shipment to the various locations, according to the breakdown from the J4. Because we had hands-on the items, we could inventory the tents (and accessory kits -- there are four separate items that make up a single Alaskan tent), tag the pallets, and submit the air movement request (AMR) appropriately. Because this process killed an entire day, and because we had to synchronize among ourselves (because the work took at least four people, and a rep from each ARSIC drawing tents needed to be present to look after his own interests), sometimes we had a latency between the availability of the tents at KIA and the day we arrived to reconfigure them for onward movement.

Meanwhile, in parallel, the logistics community gets pressure from the chain of command to move those tents. So the logistics leadership sends us messages at us to get moving on this tent business, which we respectfully ignore, because we don't work for them. At one point, the pressure on them got so bad that when a batch of tents arrived the logistics guys told us to stay out of it, that they would take care of this batch immediately. [Side note: "immediately" in Afghanistan is like cold fusion, or time travel: theoretically possible, but heretofore unknown and undemonstrated.] This batch of tents arrived at the various destinations somewhat mismatched (i.e., too many or too few of the necessary accessories to make the tent fully functional, such as flooring, electrical wiring kits, and heating/cooling units). I had no hand in this, which doesn't bother me a bit. I had long argued that the logistics team is better qualified and prepared to handle this sort of thing than I am, so I considered this a step in the right direction.

Except that now we have another batch of tents, and the logistics folks want me and my colleagues to take care of them. Not a prob, we've done it before, we can do it Saturday.

No, states our logistics contact, you must do it Friday.
What's the difference, since the planes won't come any sooner whether we configure the pallets Friday or Saturday?
This is important, drop what you're doing and do this now.
If it's so important, then why hasn't my chain of command communicated this to me? Is it really important for the unit, or is it that you're getting short in theater and want to clean up your property book?
(The conversation went downhill from there.)

When I was the OSM (officer recruiter) in Virginia, my boss originally instructed me not to complete the appointment packets -- the gaining unit S1 would complete the packet. In real life, however, appointment packets can be tricky animals, and this became the last priority of the S1. I found it easier to complete the appointment packets myself than to bird-dog a dozen different S1 shops around the Commonwealth.

In similar fashion, the logistics battalion here at Phoenix would be happier running all aspects of logistics, and keeping the LNO shop out of it. That way, they could control and manage all aspects of the process. Right now, they are beholden to us on certain aspects of their job and evaluation, which is a bad situation for them. A baby can only have one daddy. If I'm the daddy, I'll take care of her the way I see fit. If you're the daddy, then you're the daddy not only when she's cute and cuddly, but also when she's sick and crabby.

New hobby

2009-07-22T11:56:00.001-05:00

One of my colleagues from Virginia has taken up a new hobby -- whale watching in the chow hall. Evidently the new brigade from Georgia had some anti-anorexia counseling at mobilization station, and it worked a little too well. They need some work on the purging, they've obviously got the binging figured out.

Four more hearts and minds

2009-07-20T11:00:00.000-05:00

Two Soldiers I knew at Bureau mobilized with the 48 IBCT, so they're here now working in the commo section.

One of them had this experience on Friday at the bazaar. He got to chatting with one of the children working at the family's booth. He lamented that he and his brother wanted to attend school, but their mother feared for their safety and kept them home. It also came out in conversation that they lacked materials to learn at home. My friend then walked to the PX and bought from his own pocket two notebooks and two 12-packs of ink pens, and gave them to the children. At this, the mother comes up to address him (females initiating conversations with males is not a common occurance in this country, so this is a big deal). She expressed her gratitude, not just for the content of the gift, but for the thoughtfulness of addressing a need to further the best interests of the children. The children hung on him and didn't want him to leave. Their father insisted on giving him a piece of handmade jewelery from his shop. My friend took it, because to refuse would insult the family.

Where else could you buy such an impact for $5? An American can easily fritter away that much or more in just one day, and have nothing to show for it. I (and other economists) contend that poor countries don't need massive, Stalinist projects, such as hydroelectric dams, multi-lane highways, and airports. They need thousands of small items, such as sewing machines, plows, seed, and notepads and pens

When this Afghan family chats with their neighbors and relations about current events, what will they have to say? On one side, the Taleban threatens their children with death for attending school. On the other side, the Americans reach into their own pockets to buy products to improve the children's lives. It's quite a contrast, and it makes a compelling story.

How do we know we're winning hearts and minds? By the stories the local people tell.

Haircuts

2009-07-19T15:40:00.006-05:00

I've been cutting my own hair for a few months now. I got fed up with the Uzbek women at the PX barbershop, who paid more attention to their Russian soap operas on TV than to the customers' heads. It's not about the money (although whenever anyone avers that "it's not about the money," at best that means that it's not merely about the money; it's never not-about the money). Saving money isn't my primary motivation, but it is nice. Once my hair gets to a quarter inch on the sides, it starts to itch me. Thus, I need to cut it every 5-10 days or so. That adds up. Betsy likes to remind me that even though her hair appointments can easily cost $50 or more, my annual hair expense is actually higher than hers because I get haircuts far more frequently. Retail is all about volume, baby.

Every time before I turn that electric razor on myself, I do a gut check. Am I willing to go to a baldie if I screw up the cut? Of course, working on my appearance is much like surgery on dead people -- even if you really screw up, it doesn't make that much difference. I'm rather homely already, so that pretty much limits the blast radius of a bad haircut. I may just give myself a baldie anyway, just to try it. Betsy would freak out if I tried it at home. If I don't do it in Afghanistan, I may never get another chance. Well, according to the ARFORGEN model I'll have another chance in 4.3 years, but I can't count on that. Why? Because ARFORGEN is a resourcing model, not an operational deployment model. Duh.

Today one of my colleagues on post had a terrible haircut. Evidently another Soldier had been cutting it for him, but lost his enthusiasm (that happens around here). Rather than decline to continue their arrangement, he did a crummy job so my friend wouldn't go back to him. The problem was that it wasn't blended on the sides. It look like he was wearing a toupee. After several people mentioned how bad it was, he gladly took up my offer to fix it. It's a good thing he likes the high-and-tight as well, because that's the only haircut I can do (oh, and the baldie, but there's no sport in that).

I must say that cutting hair facing forward is much easier than the contortions I undergo to cut my own. Looking straight ahead also has advantages over arranging a series of light refracting objects in order to see the back of my own head. As one might imagine, the back of the head is the hardest part, and not just because of the remoteness and inacessibility of the location. There's also the swirl.

Huh?

2009-07-18T15:53:00.002-05:00

So I'm to understand that we need to bankrupt the nation in order to rescue the economy. Sure, I'm a collector of irony, but this is too much! This reminds me of the Vietnam War (also brought to you by the Democractic Party), during which the US military had to destroy a village in order to save it.

Extension -- not really

2009-07-18T14:03:00.003-05:00

Our chain of command here at Task Force Phoenix have determined that certain personages are critical to the success of the mission, and can't possibly leave before the Afghan national elections in August.

Sigh. That includes me. I hate it when people think I'm important. Why anyone would think my absence would have a deleterious effect on the nation's history is beyond me. I've been quite vocal for the past nine months telling everyone I see about how little my work matters. In true ironic fashion, my campaign of minimalism has caused me to be considered indispensible. Drat!

Thus, I (among others) won't leave when I should, but two weeks-ish later. It's not a dramatic difference, but it's noticeable. But our chain of command has stressed that this is not an extension! It's not an extension, we're just staying longer than we should. Huh?

Odd job

2009-07-17T08:43:00.004-05:00

My wife's friend has earned her PhD in some subject or another, I forget. Anyway, she got a job offer to teach at a university, which is a big deal for a brand-new PhD. So what university, in this economy, offers a teaching position to a brand-new PhD? Why, it's the University of Papua New Guinea, of course, the premier center of learning in the Malay Archipelago! PNG is 100 miles and 5000 years away from Australia.

She had a hard time deciding to take the job, because she has a husband and young children. That's a big lifestyle change, moving to one of the poorest nations on the globe. Job prospects in America helped her make that decision. Back at home, the unemployment rate is approaching 10%. Based on what I've seen, the unemployment rate on Camp Phoenix is much higher.

Malingerer

2009-07-16T10:37:00.005-05:00

I had a Soldier temporarily detailed to me. He did a good job on the few tasks I had, so I sent him to BAF to draw some clothing for the two new teams that arrived a few weeks ago. That was the evening of 8 July, and I hadn't seen or heard from him since.

Yesterday, I finally exhausted all my own venues to locate him, so I turned to the Provost Marshal (military law enforcement) on post. The next morning, they found him, thanks to some newfangled (but simultaneously old-fashioned) sleuthing. One of the female MPs in the office decided to get on Facebook to look him up. Being law enforcement, she may not lie, but she is allowed to employ a ruse in the conduct of her duties. She chatted with this Soldier on Facebook, identifying herself as a Soldier slated for an Afghanistan rotation in the near future. In the course of the conversation, she determined that he was still on Camp Phoenix, and was at the computer lab. She and another MP then contacted me, and we went to the MWR computer lab to snatch him up. Too bad he didn't have a pixellated face and a Pabst Blue Ribbon, or it would have been just like on Cops. Undone by his propensity to online chat with a woman! This just proves my theory that as stupid as young men are, they're even stupider around women.

So he tells me that he tried to get to BAF, but the convoy commander wouldn't let him onto the convoy (despite the fact that his mission was posted on the operations tracker two days prior to the convoy), so he slept the rest of the day, and then someone from the J1 told him he should report to another unit on post. A little digging determined that the J1 shop hadn't seen him, and the gaining unit had never heard of him. Basically, he's been malingering for the past eight days.

The kid had a sweet deal with me, since I rarely had more than three hours of work per day for him. Now he got greedy, tried to hide in the cracks between two chains of command, and the hammer needs to fall. I pursue discipline of the bad Soldiers not to punish them, but to defend the honor of the good Soldiers. Don't worry, I'll ensure that he has many opportunities to redeem his failure.

Desk theft

2009-07-15T13:16:00.001-05:00

ARSIC-North, one of the sections in the other half of the B-hut, decided to do some heavy cleaning of their little corner. To do so, they moved one of the desks outside, so they could really sweep and mop their area. Within 15 minutes, the desk had disappeared.

After some sleuthing, my counterpart from the North (CPT Leg-arms) located the desk and the culprit. He had some lame excuse how he had enquired with the Help Desk B-hut right behind ours, and they said he could have it. No, they said no such thing. They said that they didn't know whose it was (which is true), not that he could take it. Big difference. Secondly, he asked the Help Desk, and not us, even though the desk was actually closer to our B-hut than theirs. This fellow really didn't want to ask too many questions, lest he get an answer he didn't want. Then he has the gall to ask for help to carry it back! CPT Leg-arms answers, "You didn't need my help to steal it, so you shouldn't need any help to bring it back." Touché!

"Yourr naughtty nakked a-- got bussted!"

2009-07-13T13:05:00.001-05:00

I received a most disturbing message on Facebook yesterday. One of the sweet older ladies at church sent me a message (and when I describe her as "older," obviously I mean only ever so slightly -- almost imperceptably -- older). This is the subject line: ""Yourr naughtty nakked a-- got bussted!" It also contained a link (which I most certainly did not follow!) to what I can only assume is a website which she does neither frequents nor supports. Obviously this message was not her own work, but the work of someone who has hacked her FB account. The text tipped me off at once. As unlikely as it is that one of the kind Sunday School teachers at church would send me porn spam, it's even more unlikely that she would make so many spelling errors.

Joieux la Fête Nationale

2009-07-13T13:02:00.002-05:00

Colonel LaLanne, commander of the French detachment, provides welcoming remarks at the start of the festivities. After that, he did 1000 pushups in 23 minutes.

The French contingent invited me (among others) to their Bastille Day celebration. For a quarter century, until the Battle of Waterloo, the Bastille prison was the biggest metaphor in French history. It's their equivalent of the Fourth of July, so we had a barbeque. Because they're a little prissy about food, the French had no hamburgers or hot dogs. They did serve fire roasted duck, which turned out very well indeed. Very impressive. For dessert we had, of course, cake. My contribution to the party consisted of an MP3 player containing the Rush song "Bastille Day," which interested no one.

I sat at a table with an American Soldier, two Frenchmen, and two reporters from the Chicago Tribune. I can only presume that they're in Afghanistan looking for better jobs. I'm certain they won't quote me as a source, since I said nothing relevant the entire evening.

Former commander

2009-07-13T08:16:00.000-05:00

My former commander came through, on his way out of theater. He had the opportunity to present a commander's coin to SK1 Martinez, who works with me. That fellow has really done a great deal of work without complaint, so he deserves this recognition. Actually, he deserves more, but this is all he's getting.

Combat Medal Safari

2009-07-12T13:33:00.007-05:00

I thought of a good way to earn a little extra cash while in Afghanistan, as well as contribute to the local economy.

Most of the fobbits here want to earn a combat badge or heroism medal, but they're really not interested in the effort it takes to get one. After all, you can go out on a hundred patrols and still have no opportunity for drama. Even if something exciting does happen, it might be too exciting, what with the enemy shooting back and all. Thus, it can be very time-consuming pursuing these decorations -- not to mention dangerous. The Soldiers in my target market, however, have busy lives. They're high-ranking personnel (command sergeants major, as well as field-grade staff officers), planners, logisticians, thinkers of deep thoughts. They don't have time to do their jobs and fight the war at the same time. They need a way to earn those combat decorations in one quick, easy, and safe manner. That's why I founded Combat Medal Safari Tours, Limited.

For one small fee, I'll take care of everything. Customers choose in advance from our list of options:

CIB: $499
CAB, CMB: $349
ARCOM-V: $499
BSM-V: $649
SSTAR: $899
CIB+BSM-V: $999 (our best value)
CAB+BSM-V: $899 (our most popular option)

I handle everything. First, I schedule the conop to a predetermined location. The Taleban shoot into the air, and generally behave in a menacing manner. Customers have the opportunity to squeeze off a few rounds of their own in a safe direction, but this is not required. At the conclusion of the incident, the Taleban warlord then provides sworn statements of the customer's level of bravery, according to the medal for which he's paid. Since we use pre-filled forms, the whole process is safe, quick, and easy. Here's my guarantee: Customers get their decorations approved by the chain of command within 30 days, or I'll throw in a free Soldier's Medal at no extra charge.

How did this happen?

2009-07-11T13:52:00.001-05:00

When I originally got here, I served with the 27th IBCT (NYARNG). I helped them depart, and then served with the 33d IBCT (ILARNG). Now, it's time for the 33d to depart, the 48th IBCT (GAARNG) is here to replace them, but somehow I'm still here as well. How did that happen? How did I get two brigade RIPs in one tour?

Odd combinations

2009-07-11T08:05:00.003-05:00

Many generous, kind Americans send boxes of gifts to Soldiers. Periodically, I get a portion of the loot, which I forward on to the Soldiers in the West. I look through it all first, of course, to ensure that nothing I personally want gets accidentally sent.

We tend to get large quantities of a few items: foot powder, drink powder (which are not interchangeable, I assure you), cookies, hard candies, snacks, toothpaste, and hand sanitizer. I find it odd what we get, but also what we don't get. We get shaving cream, but never razor blades. Seldom do we get shampoo or bars of soap. Occasionally we'll get Skittles (but not nearly often enough). We get some good coffee (which I use for bribes, just as in post-war Germany), and sometimes newspaper clippings of the funnies.

This last batch had some odd items, which I thought no one would ever want. Someone involved with this box must work for a department store, because the box contained (among many other things) about a dozen ribbed cotton sleeveless undershirts. One might consider this a "wife-beater" shirt (as seen on Cops), but it was cut in such a clingy manner that I don't think the intended market was men with wives (or any romantic interest in women). I'm thinking this is a shirt one might wear to a club named with a corny but sexually-suggestive double entendre, with pounding techno music, plenty of ecstacy, and not much need for a women's restroom.

I found myself completely baffled when my co-workers started snapping up these fruity garments like hotcakes. One of the pudgy captains at the other end of the building took five of them. He needs sleeveless shirts, since he has leg-arms (that is, his arms have the same thickness as his legs). If you need a pickle jar opened, go to him. He owns his own sledgehammer (where did he buy a sledgehammer in Afghanistan?), which he uses as part of his fitness program. He goes out to the track, where an old Cougar tire lies, and pounds it for 30 minutes per day. I think he's involved in some sort of fitness program based on Norse mythology. Next week he'll wrestle the giant sea-serpent that surrounds Midgard.

Cholesterol

2009-07-10T11:39:00.004-05:00

I have a friend (no, really). He's about to turn 31, and in good shape. He has good hair, and the teeth of a game show host. He also has the cholesterol level of any two of my other friends combined. He blames his genetics, and takes medication. I'm no doctor, but irregardless of his genetics, that stick of butter he eats with every meal isn't helping. In one meal he eats more butter than I do in a month -- literally. I admit that I have in the past utilized the rhetorical device of hyperbole, but I assure you that this is an accurate statement.

This reminds me of someone we knew years ago, who weighed 400 lbs. She had a thyroid condition, so she told us. I don't dispute that, but I can state that her thyroid didn't leap out of her neck and consume an entire roast turkey in one sitting -- for lunch. She really wasn't doing her thyroid any favors with that volume of caloric intake. Before we address glands and genetics, shouldn't we first take a bit of responsibility for ourselves?

Enough already!

2009-07-09T06:10:00.004-05:00

Pedophiles die all the time, clubbed to death like baby seals by their cellmates, and they remain anonymous and uncelebrated. What's with all the attention focused on this one? Usually, the media reserves this level of coverage for white girls gone missing (although, in all fairness, the death of this fellow is much like a case of a white girl gone missing).

Human contact

2009-07-09T01:45:00.003-05:00

My URF had a few IRR guys, and since they mobilized earlier than the rest of us, they're going home sooner than the rest of us. Because of flights and scheduling, they find themselves on a forced vacation at Camp Phoenix for a few days. It stinks for them, because they must stay in the dusty transient, jammed in there with all the people coming and going. It's like the Amistad in there. Nevertheless, it's great for me personally, because it's uncommon for me to have friendly faces around. I'm unaccustomed to all this human contact.

What's a "cow"?

2009-07-07T12:49:00.006-05:00

A few friends from downrange are here at Camp Phoenix now, preparing to depart. In the interim, we're trading stories. Of course, my stories are all complicated and ultimately unsatisfying, so mostly I just listen. Occasionally I add a pithy comment or trenchant insight. I used to think I had interesting stories, but not after playing combat travel agent at Camp Phoenix while my friends dodged death working with the Afghan National Army and killing Taleban.

So anyway, I had some friends in a combat incident a few weeks ago. Among other things, the Taleban shot an RPG at them, which narrowly missed and hit a cow in a field behind them. The poor animal was mangled. When the firefight ended, our team found the farmer, and paid him some money to replace the cow (to tip his loyalty ... the evil Taleban kills his cow, but the good Americans replace it ... quite a compelling and memorable story in a poor, agrarian society). Another team member reported the firefight on the BFT, quickly listing the key information (e.g., time of attack, grid location, numbers of enemy, casualties), to include the BDA (battle damage assessment: equipment, buildings, or things destroyed or damaged in the incident). The BFT operator decided to list the cow as BDA, because the cow's death and the team's repayment of it could have some impact on the village's impression of Americans.

The officer at Camp STONE reviewing all the reports on that shift happened to be an Air Force lieutenant who's about twelve years old. She reads the text coming across the screen: "TIC VIC GRID xxxxxx .... KIA: 0, WIA: 0. BDA: 1 x COW." According to procedure, she posts the report on her tracking sheet, and forwards it to the next higher chain of command without a second thought. Ten minutes later, she gets a call from her counterpart in Kabul. Question: "What's a C.O.W.?" Combat Observation Wagon? Countryside Outpost Wire? Counter-Observation Weapon? No one can determine what is this "C.O.W.", and no one can find it in the list of approved terms, abbreviations, and brevity codes in the Field Manual. Because of the standards and requirements for reporting battle information, the higher HQ can't wait, and reluctantly forwards the report to their higher HQ, fully well knowing that five minutes later the phone will ring to ask them the question that they've been asking: "What's a C.O.W.?" We now have three echelons in the chain of command vainly struggling to answer this existential question.

The Air Force lieutenant wisely decides that this issue needs attention from a trusted adult, so she calls her boss. Her boss finds himself just as baffled, and as time passes increasingly less polite phone calls and messages arrive from higher HQ, and now the HQ higher than that. Everyone wants to know what a C.O.W. is. If it's important, and it was destroyed, then perhaps we need to take some sort of secondary action to mitigate the problem that its loss has caused. Besides, no one in an operations cell wants to not-know something that's going on. It offends their machismo.

Finally, after countless references to memories, manuals, handbooks, and Internet searches, the operations cell in Kabul elevates the issue to the commander-level. They simply must know what a C.O.W. is. Our commander gets on the tacsat, and calls the team involved.

"What's a C.O.W.?"
(pause)
"I'm not sure I understand you, sir."
"In your report, you referenced a C.O.W. as BDA. What is that?"
"A cow, sir? It's an animal that eats grass and gives milk."
"Don't give me a smart answer. I have Kabul breathing down my neck because no one can figure out what a C.O.W. is. You reported it, you tell me."
"I'm not being smart, sir. In the firefight, the only casualty on our side was this cow in a farmer's field."
(pause)
"You mean it's a real cow? Like, moo?"
"Yes, sir, you got it. The Taleban shot an RPG at us, but missed and hit the cow. We thought it was important at the time."
"An actual cow? How is that BDA?! Do you realize that you've twisted in knots the entire operations team from here to Kabul? What were you thinking, man!?"

Our ops cell reports this update through the chain, and as expected, each cell above us was even less satisfied with the answer than the level below it. They were not amused.

What could be in this book?

2009-07-06T13:35:00.004-05:00

Collies? Mayonnaise? Camping? Phil Collins? Ski vacations?

Once bitten, twice annoying

2009-07-05T12:36:00.004-05:00

I had a new team come through recently, and they had an inauspicious start. The vast majority of teams have the foresight to pack their rucksacks with enough gear to sustain them for a few days, so they don't need to disturb their duffel bags while in transit. This team did that, but it didn't help them. Their plane into Kabul was so full, they couldn't fly with their rucksacks with them, but had to palletize them as cargo. Sadly, the pallet with all their gear didn't get on the plane. They arrived in Kabul with what they were wearing -- no socks, no toothbrush, no bedding. Camp Phoenix is a logistical hub, but we don't keep much stockage. Everything here is on its way elsewhere. I managed to score an undershirt for each of them, but that's all we really had to provide them while we arranged for that pallet to move forward. For three days, that's all they had. They endured the hardship with far more aplomb than I would have. Strangely, they behaved better before they received their baggage than after.

This experience colored the rest of their time with me, before I could move them out West. Every subsequent plan, event, sequence, and timetable revolved around the threat of separation from their baggage.

"How will we know our baggage will get on the plane?"
"This is a ULN move. This is your plane. The whole reason this plane is flying is to take you and your baggage."
"But what if it doesn't get on?"
"It's a C-130, you'll be able to see the gear from where you sit. It'll be within arm's reach."
"Last time they wouldn't let us keep our rucksacks with us, we had to palletize them. Will we need to palletize them this time?"
"I don't know, that's really up to the aircraft loadmaster. Nevertheless, even if he decides to palletize the rucksacks to free up room to sit in comfort, they'll still be on the same plane as you."
"But what if they're not?"

But what if gravity ceases to exist and your rucksacks float away? Had you considered that possibility? What if time suddenly speeds up, and you go through your three pairs of socks much quicker than you had planned? What should we do then? Sheesh.

The team and their gear arrived safely out West earlier today, so they can hopefully start their therapy.

Combat Badminton

2009-07-02T13:33:00.001-05:00

We're ready in case we go to war against Malaysia.

Everyone's a bigshot

2009-07-01T14:41:00.003-05:00

I just processed an Air Force team. They're clueless, but that's to be expected, because they're new here. I have no problem with that. I do have a problem with people that have been here six, or nine, or twelve months who get stupid again on their way out.

Americans (particularly in the military) just can't accept that some things simply won't work out the way we want them to, and there's nothing we can do to fix it.

"I need to be in Herat on Tuesday."
"That's great. You fly on Thursday."
"But I need to be in Herat on Tuesday!"
"I don't dispute that. Nevertheless, you've already missed the plane for today, and there isn't another plane until Thursday."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"Put you on the plane for Thursday."
"That's unacceptable. Can't you call someone?"
"You expect that I can somehow alter flight schedules? I can call Santa Claus, it still won't change the fact that the plane flies on Thursday. You are not the only game in town. Thirty thousand other US personnel make demands on those aircraft every day in one form or another."

This is what I deal with all day long. I don't make the air schedules, I don't encourage the Europeans to cancel flights or change times, I don't prioritize US Air Force cargo moves. I do get to deal with the torqued-up Type A personalities, and chase the same rabbits with them that I chased with the group three days prior to them. The answers haven't changed, and in fact the situation has gotten worse.

Spooky

2009-06-25T12:56:00.000-05:00

So Farah Fawcett and Michael Jackson die on the same day. Spooky. It's like during my first mobilization, when Princess Diana and Mother Theresa died on the same day. The Army really should stop mobilizing me, because all the good people die when I'm on 10USC12302 status.

French Change of Command

2009-06-25T12:45:00.001-05:00

The French detachment invited me to their change of command ceremony. While in formation, we had to remove sunglasses (formations are exactly one of those times when sunglasses become most necessary), and had to all wear patrol caps (no boonie hats) so we'd all look the same. I found this odd, since the French had half a dozen different headgear among them. No one passed out, but we did have a bird fly right into our formation and light upon a Soldier's knee! Afterwards we had a little soirée, with the obligatory cake.

Here's a tip: if you ever need to give a speech to anyone in a NATO mission in Afghanistan, keep it very short; whatever you say must be repeated into English, French, and Dari, so your speech will last three times as long as you expect.

Pricing Strategies

2009-06-24T12:28:00.003-05:00

I just finished my 2000-word paper on pricing strategies. Hey, it's a neglected topic! It's not as glamorous as product design, but it's the only one of the Four Ps of marketing that generates revenue. The other three are cost-centers. No matter how low your costs, you can't achieve a profit without revenue, and that's a function of price.

Well, I think it's fascinating.

Perhaps I'll serialize my paper in this blog, so you all may benefit from my brilliance.