Notable Quotes

In God is Not Great - How Religion Poisons Everything, author Christopher Hitchens begins Chapter Two ('Religion Kills') with the following:

"His aversion to religion, in the sense usually attached to the term, was of the same kind with that of Lucretius: he regarded it with the feelings due not to a mere mental delusion, but to a great moral evil. He looked upo it as the greatest enemy of morality: first, by setting up factitious excellencies - belief in creeds, devotional feelings, and ceremonies, not connected with the good of human kind - and causing these to be accepted as substitutes for genuine virtue: but above all, by radically vitiating the standard of morals; making it consist in doing the will of a being, on whom it lavishes indeed all the phrases of adulation, but whom in sober truth it depicts as eminently hateful."

~ John Stuart Mill on his father, in the Autobiography

"Tantum religio potuit suadere malorum."

("To such heights of evil are men driven by religion.")

~ Lucretius, De Rerum Natura

Another Reason I Avoid Swimming in Rivers...

I was scanning the news this morning and came across yet another sick and twisted tale.

Cops: Man Shot Mom, Brother and Cut Them Up
N.Y. Police Say Chopped Up Bodies Dumped in Harlem River
Associated Press

"A 24-year-old man told investigators he shot and killed his mother and brother, then chopped up their bodies and dumped them into the Harlem River..."

"...they found a trail of blood in the apartment and Platt outside, who admitted to killing his mother, 45-year-old Marlene Platt, and brother, Nashan Platt..."

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21989886/

This is precisely why I avoid swimming in rivers. And lakes too. People dump bodies in lakes too! Haven't people figured out by now that bodies and body parts inevitably float to the surface or wash ashore? Yuck! Put them somewhere else! Sane people like to swim!

A Great Man Once Said...

Elie Wiesel, my hero, is a man I was honored to meet twice, a man who makes one feel like the smallest person in the world in comparison to his overwhelming greatness and purity of heart and soul, a man who believes in the goodness of humanity - even after suffering through the greatest tragedy and loss one can possibly imagine (the Holocaust). His soft-spoken, calm, soothing storytelling ability cannot possibly be matched. He's an equally fantastic writer. When one day he passes, it will be a great loss for humanity - for those who listen, who acknowledge, who refuse to forget.

Some links...

http://www.eliewieselfoundation.org/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elie_Wiesel

Some quotes...

“Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Whenever men or women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must – at that moment – become the center of the universe.”

“Take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.”

“The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference.”

Some quotes from Night (1958), one of his most popular novels...

“Never shall I forget that night, the first night in camp, which has turned my life into one long night, seven times cursed and seven times sealed. Never shall I forget that smoke. Never shall I forget the little faces of the children, whose bodies I saw turned into wreaths of smoke beneath a silent blue sky. Never shall I forget those flames which consumed my faith forever. Never shall I forget the nocturnal silence which deprived me, for all eternity, of the desire to live. Never shall I forget those moments which murdered my God and my soul and turned my dreams to dust. Never shall I forget these things, even if I am condemned to live as long as God himself. Never.”

“I was the accuser, God the accused. My eyes were open and I was alone – terribly alone in a world without God and without man.”

Control Freak

Merriam-Webster defines 'control freak' as follows:

control freak (noun) (date: 1971) - a person whose behavior indicates a powerful need to control people or circumstances in everyday matters.

Enough said...

The War is Good for Some

An article from The Economist (October 20th-26th, 2007), one of my favorite publications.

The War is Good for Some
Ugandans Join the Ranks of Private Security Firms in Iraq

While Americans and Iraqis argue over the merits and defects of private security companies in Iraq, for David Golola, a former private in the Ugandan army, Iraq's war means seed money for his mango-juice business. For he is one of 3,000-odd Ugandans who have been working in Iraq as security guards on American military bases, thanks to a contract with EOD Technology, a Tennessee-based firm that specialises in dealing with unexploded bombs and provides general security services to the Pentagon.

Like the other Ugandans who have been in Iraq, mostly former soldiers and policemen, Mr Golola considers himself lucky. Many have used their salaries of around $1,000 a month, about ten times that of a private in the Ugandan army, for starting businesses and buying property. One began a maize-grinding plant; another now has his own soap factory.

Not everyone, however, is keen to pack off thousands of Ugandans to guard American soldiers in a dangerous and distant desert. President Yoweri Museveni, the only leader among the 53 countries of the African Union to send peacekeepers to Somalia as well as Darfur, has been criticised by some Ugandans for putting his soldiers in harm's way to curry favour with the Americans in their proclaimed fight against global terror. To make matter worse, a scandal involving alleged underpayment and bad treatment of the security guards has dogged several of the Ugandan firms (one of them close to the president) that have been chosen by the government to recruit the men.

All the same, thousands of eager Ugandan men have put themselves on the waiting list to join the firms. "Even though it's a war zone," explains a guard back home on leave, with plans to start a dairy, "Iraq is a better option than Uganda." None, so far, has been killed.

For the record, I've seen Ugandan women here as well as men. And on another note, they scare the crap out of me. They're perfect for the job!

A Good Day to be an American

I read an interesting article on MSNBC today. It reminded me how good it truly is to be an American.

Sudan Arrests Teacher Over 'Mohammed' Bear
Briton Allows Her Class of 7-Year-Olds to Choose Teddy Bear's Name

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21973378/?GT1=10547

So a teacher, Gillian Gibbons, who works at Unity School in Khartoum, Sudan, was arrested and "accused of insulting Islam's Prophet by letting her class of 7-year-olds name a teddy bear Muhammed..." She's been "charged with 'blasphemy', an offense... punishable with up to three months in prison and a fine." Apparently, she's being charged "under article 125 of the criminal law, which covers insults against faith and religion."

The course plan for the second graders was to learn about the habitat of the bear. A teddy bear was brought into class by one of the students as part of the project. "The bear itself was not marked or labeled with the name in any way." The students in Gibbons' class voted on the name for the teddy bear. (Voting - how strangely democratic.)

While reading this article, I recalled that my ex husband's uncle once had a dog - a black lab - that he named Nigger. Whether or not the man is racist is irrelevant, I suppose. The dog was black and so he felt the name was appropriate. He certainly wasn't arrested for offending anyone (and I'm sure he offended many).

Yep, it's definitely a good day to be an American...

Get Me to Baghdad Quick!

Dubai International Airport. Terminal 2. I'm waiting with 100+ co-workers for the chartered aircraft that will take us into Baghdad. After a very weak screening checkpoint, the ticket counter, passport control, and yet another weak screening checkpoint, we are dispersed throughout the waiting area. Like many airports, there is a separate holding area that will open shortly before boarding time. I am sitting on the end of a bank of chairs. There is an aisle that separates me from a co-worker sitting on the end of the next bank of chairs. He is reading. I am listening to my iPod. Our attention is soon drawn to an Indian (or perhaps Sri Lankan) man who approaches the counter in front of our holding area. He has a boarding pass and small rolling suitcase in tow. Observing the airport staff members' hand gestures, it is evident they are telling the man no, that he missed the flight, and that he will have to take it up with someone else. He becomes furious. He is moving closer and closer to the counter, at one point standing practically behind the counter, so close to the employees that they become uncomfortable and again, more forcefully, they tell him to leave. He sets his suitcase down, steps back, pulls out his cell phone, and begins a very heated exchange over the phone. One of the airport staff members motions for the man to move his suitcase away from the counter. The man picks it up and moves it about 5 feet, then continues pacing during his phone conversation. The man sitting across the aisle from me glances over with one of those 'good grief' looks and we continue observing the angry man. He again approaches the counter, waving his ticket wildly about and throwing his hands up in the air. They finally convince the man that he is not boarding the aircraft and he'll have to speak to someone else. He picks up his suitcase, looks around the waiting area, and decides to set it down in the aisle between myself and my co-worker. And then he walks away! We watch him walk down the hall on his cell phone. He eventually disappears. We both glance down at the suitcase and at each other. "Are you as nervous as I am right now?" I ask. "I'm getting there," my co-worker responds. Approximately 5 minutes pass, and there's no sign of the man. My co-worker approaches the counter and tells them the man they were speaking to earlier left his suitcase unattended. Walking back, shrugging, he says, "They say he's coming right back for it." Hmmm... Another 15 minutes pass. Still no sign of the man. Now my co-worker and I are very nervous. I decide to approach the counter. I tell the uninterested man, "There was a gentleman here earlier who was very upset about missing his flight. He left his suitcase over here and walked away and we haven't seen him for some time now. Could you please track him down or have the bag removed?" He wiggles his head and says, "Madam, it is fine. He will come back." I said, "Sir, I can appreciate that you're busy with other things, but I'm very uncomfortable with this unattended suitcase near me. It is a major security issue and, all things considered, I would think you'd be at least slightly concerned. Should I track down security, or will you call them?" He rolls his eyes and picks up the phone. I assume he's calling security, thank him, and walk back to my seat. Still no sign of the man. No more than 2 minutes later, my group is called to enter the holding area. As I walk down the hall, I notice that the man is still missing and there's no sign of security either. At this point, my co-worker and I are absolutely stunned at the crass, careless behavior of the airport staff and the apparent lack of security elements. Once inside the holding area, we both rush to the boarding door and check our watches and tickets to see how much time is left. "Come on, come on," he mumbles. "Yeah," I say, understanding exactly what he means. "Just get me to Baghdad quick!"

Government Fraud, Waste, and Abuse

Imagine, if you will... You muddle through 3 security checkpoints at Dubai International Airport before finally reaching the aircraft. You're clean, along with all your fellow passengers. You embark upon a 15+ hour journey. You arrive in Atlanta. Before reaching the terminal, you must first clear passport control and customs. There are signs everywhere that indicate you are in a controlled area and cell phone use is prohibited. You retrieve your luggage from the carousel and transport it to another because you have a connecting flight. Passengers who have reached their final destination are ushered through a separate exit. You are still in a controlled area. There is no Cinnabon. No Starbucks. No Duty Free shopping. You have delivered your luggage and are ready to head to the gate to catch your next flight. Oh, but wait - what's this? A security checkpoint? You mean you have to remove your shoes again? Your coat? Remove your laptop from the carrying case? Show that your lipgloss and travel hand lotion are secured inside a zip-loc bag? How is it remotely possible that anything has changed since the last security checkpoint in Dubai? You have been in a secure area the whole time! Did you pick up items that resemble weapons during your secure 15+ hour flight? Or between the luggage carousel and the connecting luggage drop point? Did you buy a pack of cigarettes and a few lighters between passport control and the luggage carousel? No, of course not! You haven't even turned on your cell phone to call family because the sign says you're in a controlled area! How does any of this make sense? I have thought and thought and thought about this. And no, it doesn't make any sense. So here's my summary explanation in five words: Government Fraud, Waste, and Abuse. Yes, please, Uncle Sam, use more of my tax dollars to hire more TSA agents so that I can watch them drink coffee and chit-chat while I stand in line for 25 minutes for absolutely no good reason. I'm in the wrong line of work...

Pass the Double Stuf Oreos!

I have discovered that my internal means of dealing with feelings of insecurity are not internal at all. On the contrary, I seek out external satisfaction, most notably in the form of shopping. I bought diamond earrings yesterday - nothing fancy, just little studs. I also bought a designer handbag and matching wallet. I bought makeup today. Will I feel more beautiful? I feel semi-attractive after having my hair and nails done this morning. The hair, I surely cannot replicate tomorrow morning, fresh out of the shower. But it works for my ego today. The earrings? So small, no one will notice but me when I put them on each day. The handbag? Practical. (Right?) The makeup? Merely a facade to shade the sadness and insecurity that reigns beneath. Now someone pass the Double Stuf Oreos, please.

I'll Have What He's Smoking, Please

I was scanning through the news online this morning and happened upon an interesting article... 'S. African Bishop: Condoms Tainted With AIDS'.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20999747/

The article begins: "The head of the Catholic church in Mozambique said on Wednesday he believed some European-made condoms were deliberately tainted with the HIV/AIDS virus to kill African people. 'I know of two countries in Europe who are making condoms with (the) virus on purpose, they want to finish with African people as part of their program to colonize the continent,' Archbishop Francisco Chimoio told Reuters."

Is he delusional? A conspiracy theorist? Suffering from a brain injury? Or is he just smoking something that completely eliminates his ability to think rationally? I'll have what he's smoking, please...

Travel - Gripes & Grins

I'm at Dubai International Airport. I've made it through the initial luggage screening circus and I have my boarding pass. I'm entering the passport line - the shortest one, naturally. A Japanese man already standing in line throws his hand up at me and motions for 3 men behind me to join him in line. Excuse me? Mental reminder - I'm a woman in an Arab world. But wait, this guy's not Arab! As it turns out, they were all delayed once we got to the security checkpoint because they couldn't figure out how to remove their belts and shoes prior to walking through the security archway. Funny how that works out, huh?

Now I'm on the moving walkway, approaching the main terminal. I glide past an Arab family who decided to walk on steady ground instead. A man, his wife, their Filipino nanny, and 2 small children, both under 3 years of age. As I pass them, I can't help but notice the man looks remarkably cartoonish. He has larger than life features. His nose is huge. His black hair almost glistens (but not like it's greasy) and is styled as though he brushed out Shirley Temple ringlets that morning. His body is massive and hulking, draped in a beige thobe with a white wrap around his shoulders. A crocheted cap of sorts teeters atop his unusually large head of softened ringlets. His hands, too, are quite large. I am reminded of large breed puppies, the kind that are soft and cuddly, but have huge paws they haven't quite grown into yet. But this man has definitely grown into his hands. And he's not nearly as adorable as a large breed puppy! His wife, by comparison, is a waif. She is tiny and petite and cloaked in black from head to toe. Ironically, she is smaller than their Filipino nanny.

So our flight was late departing Dubai. Immediately, I calculated the time I would have to transit through passport control and customs before meeting my connecting flight in Atlanta. I'm already worried, but decide to watch some TV, enjoy dinner, and then pass out for 10+ hours. We experienced some delay during the flight, apparently, and arrived in Atlanta a full half hour late. Passport control and customs went as well as could be expected - great, in fact, considering I was about 5th in line and my bag was first off the conveyor! So instead of freaking out, I move to Plan B. I approach the rebooking desk and tell the nice middle-aged man wearing a smile, "There's absolutely no way I'm going to make my connecting flight. And even if I do, I have a hard time believing my luggage will make it with me. So, when's the next flight?" He laughed at me, fidgeted on his computer a bit, told me, "Sorry, no seats are available on the next flight," then fidgeted a bit more, checked my boarding pass again, then, "Oh, it turns out you're already booked for the next flight. I'll just change your luggage tags and issue you a new boarding pass." (Turns out, they called ahead for some of us with short connection times.) Could it really be this easy...? I feel so relieved, so relaxed. The alternative: I race 'til my little heart wants to jump out of my chest. I make my flight, just as the doors are about to close. On the other side, I am last at the baggage claim - with no luggage - and then fury ensues. Yeah, this was much easier. Thank you, Delta Airlines.

So I'm in the terminal now, in one of the few smoking rooms the Atlanta airport still makes available to addicts like me. And I have to lower my head so that my huge grin isn't visible. There are literally 5 people in the smoke-filled room (which is worse than a pool hall) with their laptops out, actively working! Several others are fiddling with a Blackberry - or some other fancy phone. I find this strangely amusing - that (a) they can't wait to get to the gate or lounge to work on their laptops because they are workaholics (and I thought I was bad); or (b) they are so addicted to nicotine that they intend to spend quite some time there and might as well work!

As exhausting and frustrating as traveling can be, I must admit I quite enjoy it. This trip proved very entertaining at times, just in observing people. I also taught myself a valuable lesson: Don't try to force things - remain calm and work around what you can't control. Now if only I could apply that lesson in other areas of my life... Then I'd surely be set - and would surely have nothing left to complain about!

Contractors Accused of Firing on Civilians and GIs

Interesting article. Once again, Blackwater is making a reputation for itself as an organization comprised of rogue thugs.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20231579/

When it comes to firing upon GIs (whether intentionally or carelessly), I agree that private security firms need to watch it and should be in touch with the military. Communication and coordination is key. If we're on the same team here, what's the problem? And why can't the military shoot back? If the security firms are putting our soldiers at risk, or potentially revealing their operational positions, then I think our soldiers should have the authority to fire right back at 'em - whether we're on the same team or not. Bottom line: don't mess with the soldiers!

When it comes to civilians, I guess my attitude might be considered fairly crass: war is hell. The media (and our spoonfed society) go nuts when civilians are injured and killed during firefights. But I would suggest that if some of those civilians had more common sense or placed more value on human life, they wouldn't be exposed in the first place. Stay inside! If I'm a civilian living in a war-torn village cram-packed with 'insurgents' (aka 'terrorists') and I hear bullets and bombs whizzing overhead, I'm sure as hell not wandering outside with my three half-clothed children to check out the scene. Instead, I'd be headed to the innnermost portion of my house to hunker down and hope Uncle Sam didn't send a smart bomb my way. This seems relatively simple to me.

Furthermore, I would suggest that many civilians are doing it on purpose. Think of the outrage when images of dead women and children hit the media! If you can make liberal, spoonfed Americans doubt their servicemembers' actions, that in itself is a small victory. Besides, these people believe in martyrdom. Why am I concerned? Pretty soon, they'll be dipping bread into 77 bottles' worth of extra virgin olive oil - or something like that...

'Manage' Defined

Merriam-Webster's Online Dictionary defines 'manage' as follows:

MANAGE (verb)
Etymology: Italian maneggiare, from mano hand, from Latin manus.
(1) to handle or direct with a degree of skill as (a) to make and keep compliant; (b) to treat with care; (c) to exercise executive, administrative, and supervisory direction of
(2) to work upon or try to alter for a purpose
(3) to succeed in accomplishing
(4) to direct the professional career of

I thought I worked with and for managers. But I was clearly wrong.

I read recently about a 'management seminar' of sorts. I think they should all attend - our managers - and leave the worker bees to run the program for a while. We'll do fine. They need a few lessons.

Grrr... Another day in paradise (aka 'Iraq').

Connecticut is High

I read an article today entitled "City Offers ID Cards to Illegal Immigrants" (link below), and I can't seem to wrap my brain around it...

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19935856/

The City of New Haven, Connecticut is issuing "ID cards specifically designed to bring illegal immigrants out of the shadows..." No, not to round them up and have them deported for crossing our borders illegally, without authorization, for breaking the laws of our United States of America... but to "give them access to community services."

Huh?

The article indicates that nearly 10% of New Haven's population "are believed to be in the country illegally." So why are we handing them ID cards and welcoming them to utilize community services? Is a huge field of pot plants on fire somewhere in Connecticut and everyone's judgment has been altered into a state of 'hey man, who cares'...?

Now this is grand... "Ray Sanchez, a 36-year old laborer... said the card would also let him get a library card, use banks and learn English." That's great! I'm all for learning the language. Why should I have to speak Spanish when I visit Wal-Mart? Mr. Sanchez goes on to say, "For me, I feel better. If the police catch me, I have identification now." Uh... where are the police? What an easy catch for them all! Are they too busy eating donuts and sipping coffee to round up all the illegals gathered in one spot at one time? What a break this could be! The largest illegal immigrant round-up in history! They'd surely be recognized for years to come, given a parade even!

A protestor at City Hall held a sign that read: "You have cheated on those who have been waiting to enter the country legally." I'm with you, darlin'!

Reading further, the article says that "New Haven already offers federal tax help to immigrants and prohibits police from asking about their immigration status." Let's repeat that: "...and prohibits police from asking about their immigration status." That has got to be one of the most insane things I've ever heard. So the cops aren't busy eating donuts and sipping coffee - they're probably standing outside City Hall with clenched fists, wondering how the hell this ever happened and waiting oh so patiently for their shifts to end so they can go home and kick the cat.

Yep, there's definitely a field of pot on fire.

Another Dose of Reality

It's 1730. We've been running a few errands for work on the other side of base. Our last stop was the PX, where we picked up stuff we probably didn't need, including ice cream on a stick. We're joking, laughing, satisfied from the sweet, cool ice cream on a day that probably reached a high of 115 degrees (we rarely keep close track anymore).

We reach the intersection to the perimeter road. Humvees fly through the 3-way stop at full speed - QRF, headed toward the South Gate. About 30 seconds later, 2 medic choppers blast overhead, disappearing into the horizon over the southern fields.

We drove on in silence.

Contractors Back From Iraq Suffer Trauma From Battle

My mother sent me a news article link:

Contractors Back From Iraq Suffer Trauma From Battle
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/07/05/us/05contractors.html?ex=1184472000&en=0be90f31729caf27&ei=5070&emc=eta1

Is she trying to tell me something?

So here are some thoughts... I haven't been involved in anything dangerous - not personally. Yes, I've lost some friends to violence over here. Yes, I've seen some ugly things at the Combat Hospital. Am I at risk of suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder? I doubt it, but I'd like to think I'm bold enough and smart enough to realize if it hits and do something about it.

The article is interesting. It talks about how civilians' battle stress isn't taken as seriously or treated as vigorously as soldiers' battle stress. One could argue that civilians working in Iraq are better equipped financially (than our working-class-income soldiers) to handle it on their own. However, it might not be a bad idea for contract employers to conduct exit physicals and mental exams when employees depart. A huge money eater, I'm sure. But one day, I foresee a big can of worms opening up and spilling onto the table. And it won't just be Halliburton and KBR in the news - it'll be all of them.

Stranger at Pemaquid

I took this photo at Pemaquid Point, Maine, during my travels in late June. The woman is a complete stranger to me. I wonder what she's thinking...

"Did I remember to unplug the toaster this morning?"

"Did Johnny pull the clothes out of the dryer like I asked?"

"What should we have for dinner tonight?"

"What is the meaning of life?"

Spoonfed Americans

I read an article on an MSNBC WorldBlog today, and a streaming mess of crap that followed it...

http://worldblog.msnbc.msn.com/archive/2007/07/10/264350.aspx

Some of the comments were logical and intelligent - there were facts upon which they based their opinions and comments. But most were from my favorite group of people - spoonfed Americans, most of whom have no clue what's really going on in the world outside their white-picket-fenced backyard (and don't truly care either). They believe everything they see on television and a majority of them are 'Reality TV' junkies. Thinking outside the box is a foreign concept to them.

So here's my comment about pulling out of Iraq, the 'innocent' victims of the war, etc...

Sure, let's pull all of our troops and all of our contractors. We'll retreat to the borders of our bad-ass, world-dominating nation, complete with Starbucks and Cheesecake Factory. And then we'll all sit back in the evenings and watch human rights groups' video coverage of the latest and greatest dictator in Iraq, and his 2 inbred sons, one of which likes to feed his live prisoners to lions (just like the last dictator's son). And we'll sit on our porches with our families, drinking lemonade and waving to passing neighbors, and read about the mass graves discovered, all the bodies contained within them ironically bound, tortured, and shot in the head. And then we'll read more left-wing, bleeding heart crap about how we need to take our pampered, privileged, rich asses over there to help the poor, 'innocent' victims of oppression - help the people who are too oppressed to take up arms and protect themselves like Americans did back in the 1700s. And we'll laugh and say, "How about you go? And then send me a freakin' postcard!"

And maybe after seeing this stuff first-hand, digging a little deeper, those people will start eating with a fork and knife.

Arlington National Cemetery

Arlington National Cemetery is a beautifully sad place. I don't think I whispered a word or cracked a smile the whole time I was there. Except when I watched a robin rooting around in the ground for worms, and noticed a nest in the huge shade tree above me. In a place of death and grief, it was an interesting reminder that new life springs forth each year.

Many of the stones were singular and ignored, save for the daily grounds crews who maintain the surroundings to near perfection. In one segment, a lone bundle of yellow flowers stood out amongst the stark white headstones, one family who still remembers, still visits. Most of these stones are just stories now, if that.

People flocked to observe the changing of the guard and to see Kennedy's gravesite. I didn't. Instead, I wandered amongst the old stones and shade trees. It was better.

My Own Worst Enemy

One of my greatest character flaws is perfectionism. Although it can prove an asset at times in my work, it sometimes leads to failure. A prime example: School was fairly easy for me. However, if I was not completely satisfied with my performance on a paper or project, any tasking, I simply would not do it. Or I would find a way around it in order to avoid submitting what I believed was less than perfect. This tactic, obviously, was far from logical. One might assume that, after 28 years, I have learned to harness this characteristic and can now accept "good enough". Unfortunately, I remain my own worst enemy.

Not many outsiders know this about me. Only those closest to me - for instance, my parents, my bosses - know how hard I am on myself. I am lectured on a fairly regular basis about accepting "good enough". If it's good enough for everyone else, why can't it be good enough for me? Does this trickle over a fine line into arrogance? Do I really think I'm better than everyone else? Not necessarily. Admittedly, there is a touch of arrogance in my nature. But my mind plays tricks and I prefer to view it as an individual demand for excellence in all that I do, whether or not it's expected of me. If I cannot provide the best possible product, I feel as though I have failed - and then I am particularly hard on myself. In my mind, I am constantly berating my performance or work product. This certainly cannot be healthy. I am effectively depleting my self-worth on practically an hourly basis.

I recently received a performance evaluation. I was rated 9.22 out of 10. By all standards, this is excellent. And I believe that I perform at a level of excellence. However, another side of me believes I am not really worth 9.22. I set my own standards, of which many are not aware (perhaps even myself, consciously), and so I know that some of my work is not excellent. In comparison to others' work product, it may be outstanding. But oftentimes, it's just not good enough for me.

I wonder if people really can develop ulcers from self-induced stress. Or is that just a myth...?

Thoughts

Is it possible to care so much for someone that it actually hurts - makes you almost miserable? Is it easier to just go through life alone - not touching or taking or harming or hurting anyone else? Is the life of a recluse really so bad? Everyone has a path in life...

Nearly Half of Iraqis Marry Their Cousins...?

An excerpt from Parade (April 29, 2007):

"What the U.S. Missed in Iraq - A fact of life in Iraq has gotten little press here: Nearly half of all Iraqis marry their first or second cousins. The preferred union is for a daughter to wed the son of her father's brother. In fact, Saddam Hussein married his first cousin, Sajida. 'That's why the shrewdest forecasts about what would happen in Iraq come not from the foreign-policy experts but from sociologists,' says journalist John Tierney, who reported on this phenomenon. Back in 2003, those sociologists warned that Iraq would never be like post-war Japan or Germany, because Iraqis are loyal to their clans and tribes - not to the Iraqi nation. Even today, much of the violence runs along clan lines. The army and police have an uphill battle to prove they can protect Iraqi communities better than the local militias..."

Traveling...

Dubai International Airport. There is a sign outside the initial security screening checkpoint that clearly states, in several languages, that ticketed travelers are the only individuals permitted beyond this point. Yet, as I approach the screening belt, I am forced to wait for 3 local men, who are obviously not traveling, while they argue in Arabic with the security guard and wave and point incessantly at the bank of ticketing desks beyond the security checkpoint. This is certainly a secure area, I think to myself incredulously, amongst a few other thoughts I won't repeat.

Once safely inside, having finally been waved ahead of the local men, I am stopped by passport control, a customs agent, whatever. He asks me standard questions, like, "Did you pack your own luggage? Was it in your control at all times? Did anyone give you a package to carry?" I notice a crowd forming behind me. People don't typically observe the bold yellow lines on the floor that are supposed to scream, "Wait here until it's your turn!" So when he asks me where I've been, where I'm going, what business I'm in, etc., I answer him in a low voice. He leans in to hear me when I nearly whisper, "Iraq." He repeats, "Iraq?" in a voice loud enough for the strangers behind me to hear. I nod in affirmation. I nearly whisper, "Contractor", and he repeats, "Contractor?" Again, in a voice loud enough for strangers behind me to hear. "Let me see your military ID," he says. He is obviously familiar with contractors and our identification. I discreetly pull it out of my bag and hold it before me, my back to the crowd. He holds it up, visible to all. I then say, "Sir, can we please step to the side a bit? I would prefer to remain discreet about all this. I don't want everyone knowing my business." I motion my head back to the crow behind me. He follows my nod and then understands and steps forward with me. Of course, it would be too much for him to ask people to step back from the line.

Later on, I'm in line waiting to enter the gate area for my flight. A man behind me, who is obviously a contractor in Iraq - I can tell from the backback, boots, etc. - asks in a friendly manner, "Where ya' headed?" Still frustrated at the indiscreet display of my personal business downstairs, I decide I will not have this conversation and instead say, in a friendly, upbeat tone, "Same place you are, apparently!" and smile big. He appears a bit confused and chuckles. I then turn my attention to the progress of the line and he doesn't say another word. Inside the waiting area, I overhear several conversations around me. I know more about these people and their business than I care to - where they work, what they do, pay rates, camp locations. Don't they realize we're easy targets here...? Don't they realize that anyone here could be listening and taking notes? Maybe it's just me, but I prefer to be the most anonymous traveler in the airport. I even keep my passport in a plain black leather case so that i don't flash my Americanism at every security checkpoint. And I keep my boarding pass in my bag until the last possible moment prior to boarding. Perhaps it's paranoia. Or perhaps it's simply observation of opsec and taking responsibility for my personal safety and security when in strange places or vulnerable positions. Here's an afterthought: these people who discuss their jobs, locations, employers - which happen to be very similar to my own circumstances - are putting me at risk as well. Good grief. Where did common sense go?

Another interesting observation... Atlanta. Gate A-14. Smoking lounge. A woman enters with her child, who appears to be approximately 12 or 13 and is clearly developmentally challenged. The mother is frenzied as she pulls a cigarette from her purse, lights it, tries to keep her daughter outside the smoking lounge doors, but within sight, within reach. She is wearing khakis, complete with the signature well-traveled wrinkles, and a black tank, her hair pulled up into a loose, disheveled, last-minute clip. I notice a nicotine patch on her upper right arm. She catches my eye and we exchange a glance. She is frazzled, exhausted, overwhelmed. I smile at her. I don't blame her one bit. Have two, I think to myself.

Paris Hilton

One question: WHY?

WHY do I go to the internet to view newsworthy world events and see the face of Paris Hilton - both striking a pose for her police mugshot and in dreadful tears - plastered everywhere? How is it that a "Paris Hilton" headline tops out a story about another dead soldier in Iraq? Or a story about a 15-year-old girl found in a hidden room in a house in Connecticut, having been missing for a year...? I'm sorry, but the incarceration (or re-incarceration) of a starlet - one who just happens to come from a wealthy big-name family - is really quite irrelevant to me.

Is our society really that shallow? I guess I always knew on some level that we were a society generally obsessed with stars and stardom. But this is getting to be ridiculous.

And now I've wasted 15 minutes writing about her. Good grief...

Terror, Defined

Merriam Webster defines terror as follows:

Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French terrour, from Latin terror, from terrEre to frighten; akin to Greek trein to be afraid, flee, tremein to tremble...

(1) a state of intense fear;
(2) (a) one that inspires fear: scourge; (b) a frightening aspect (the terrors of invasion); (c) a cause of anxiety: worry; (d) an appalling person or thing
(3) violent or destructive acts (as bombing) committed by groups in order to intimidate a population or government into granting their demands (insurrection and revolutionary terror)

More Terrorism

Many people repeatedly ask why we are here. Perhaps a good question, because as hard as we try, as many troops as we place on patrol throughout the streets of Baghdad - and every other hostile city or village in Iraq - to protect the innocent victims of oppression and terror, the killing continues en masse. An article I read recently...

21 Killed in Car Bombing at Baghdad Market
The Associated Press (From Stars and Stripes - Mideast Edition / Tuesday, May 29, 2007)

BAGHDAD - A suicide car bomber struck a busy Baghdad commercial district Monday, killing at least 21 people and wounding 66, setting cars on fire and damaging a nearby Sunni shrine, police and hospital officials said.

The blast went off at 2 p.m. in the Sinak market area on the east side of the Tigris River.

Insurgents carried out several mortar and car bombing attacks throughout the capital Monday and even waged a lengthy gunbattle with police in broad daylight. The wave of violence, which killed 36 people across Baghdad, came despite a nearly 15-week-old U.S.-led security crackdown in the city.

Earlier Monday, a battle raged between militants and police in the narrow alleys of another central Baghdad neighborhood after insurgents highjacked two minibuses and kidnapped at least 15 passengers, police said.

At least three policemen were killed in the fighting, authorities said.

The buses were traveling from Baghdad's main bus station to the city's eastern Shiite neighborhoods about 10:15 a.m. when gunmen in three cars forced them to stop as they passed through the Sunni enclave of Fadhil.

The attackers took the passengers to a nearby abandoned medical center. A gunbattle broke out when Iraqi security forces arrived 30 minutes later, police said. Nine militants were arrested.

After 45 minutes, Iraqi security forces stormed the building, but the militants had already left, apparently with their hostages, police said.

Also Monday, another 33 bullet-riddled bodies were found handcuffed, blindfolded and showing signs of torture in different parts of Baghdad.

Although the judging masses (primarily liberal, left-wing Americans) appear to be horrified and angered by the daily chaos that ensues, I would argue that they are generally desensitized and have no idea how cold and calculated the terrorists (pardon me, "insurgents") really are. Their liberal media will show numbers of dead, use buzz words and phrases, highlight the negative, insinuate our servicemembers are responsible for the chaos... If they really wanted to portray the true state of affairs, they would show the grisly photos of torture and decay found on the streets of Iraq on a daily basis, photos of servicemembers collecting bodies marred by torture dumped in the open (bodies that locals step around on their way to the market as though it's a normal day) and delivering them in body bags to local hospitals and morgues so that families can collect their dead and lay them to rest the proper way. Then perhaps more people would understand exactly what's going on here - that we are aiding the people, not inciting conflict, that we are trying to protect them from the terrorists who lurk in their neighborhoods and threaten their peaceful existence. But maybe there's something to be said for being spoon-fed. Many people don't like to think outside the box - it requires energy, some level of intelligence, analytical skills, etc. And so continues the general state of affairs of our ignorant nation.

Disturbing Headlines

I was sifting through the news tonight on the internet. But I'm not sure why. Everything was negative. Here are some examples of headlines I saw:

~ Fight Between Father, Son Turns Violent
~ Two Kids Charged in Beating of Dad, Son at Middle School
~ Baby, Father Killed in Shootout
~ Man Who Killed Wife, Son Upset Over Breakup
~ Babysitter Set to Die for Death of 3-Month-Old
~ Police Say 3 Shot Dead, Including Woman, Child
~ State St. Victim Killed by Single Gunshot
~ Man Attacks Woman on City Street
~ Boyfriend Arrested in Toddler Death
~ Child Victim of Hit and Run in North Las Vegas
~ Woman Thrown From Second-Story Apartment
~ Charges Filed Against Caretaker Who Left Child in Hot Car
~ 2-Year-Old Baby Dead
~ Teen Sought After Preschooler Punched to Death
~ Police Name Suspect in 4-Year-Old's Death
~ Boy Beaten to Death While Mom Serves in Iraq
~ Mom of Malnourished Girl Pleads No Contest
~ 2nd Body ID'd in Grisly Attack on California Family
~ Body Found in NE May be Part of Murder-Suicide
~ NJ Shooting Leaves 2 People Dead
~ Reputed Klansman Set for Trial in '64 Deaths

They had real plates and real silverware at DFAC today - not plastic. That's good news.

Who are the Terrorists...?

A snippet of a news story I read this morning...

Funeral Procession Bombed in Iraq
By: Steven R. Hurst, Associated Press Writer

BAGHDAD - A bomb hidden in a parked car struck the funeral procession of a Sunni tribal leader who was gunned down earlier Thursday, killing at least 26 mourners as al-Qaida appeared to turn up its campaign of frightening its growing opposition into submission.

The attack in Fallujah, 40 miles west of Baghdad, targeted the passing procession for Alaa Zuwaid, a 60-year-old restaurant owner who was part of a Sunni tribe that had formed an alliance with other tribal leaders against al-Qaida. Police and medical officials said 45 other people were wounded in the bombing.

Zuwaid was killed that morning when militants shot him in front of his house, police said - nearly a month after his 25-year-old son was slain as he walked down the street.

In all, 87 people were killed or found dead in sectarian violence across Iraq on Thursday. [Emphasis added.]

Unless we're using new terminology to describe our US servicemembers, I don't see any indication that we were involved in the deaths or violence described in the article above. I see "al-Qaida" and "militants shot him" and "sectarian violence". When Rosie O'Donnell likens our servicemembers in Iraq to terrorists, I have cause to wonder what exactly she's smoking.

Rubbing Elbows With Celebrities at DFAC-4

Well, maybe not rubbing elbows exactly... 8 of us went to DFAC-4 for dinner tonight. Turns out Gary Sinise (aka "Lieutenant Dan" - can't tell you how many times we heard that tonight) is signing autographs and posing for pictures with the soldiers. I noticed there were no civilians in line - as it should be. He didn't come for us, he came for the soldiers. So we eat our meal - not a very good one - and our DPM is saying he thinks he's taller than Gary. We passed him on our way to get ice cream for dessert and the DPM was sure he must be taller than Gary. Our IT Manager says, "Yeah, of course - Gary was sitting down!" So the DPM bets he really is taller and says we're going to find out for sure. We clear our trays and march right up front. Our DPM says, "Excuse me, Mr. Sinise. Would you mind settling a bet for us?" (By the way, if our DPM loses, I get to keep the next batch of crackers from mom.) So Mr. Sinise asks, "What's the bet?" Our DPM responds, "We need to find out who's taller - you or me." So Mr. Sinise stands up next to our DPM and, sure enough, Gary is taller. So I win the crackers. Our DPM is shocked. He gets to laugh and shake hands with Gary. And everybody's happy. No autographs, no photos - but that's for the soldiers. We just wanted to settle a bet.

Pondering the Nature of Man and Woman (Briefly)

Anthropologically, it is the male's purpose in life to seek out mates and procreate. Traditionally, I have not had a problem with this kind of behavior. In fact, even now, I do not seem to have a problem with this kind of behavior. The funny thing about humans is that they allow feelings to get involved. There are mating rituals, many of which are a complete waste of time. There are glances, coos, brief contact of hands or feet, efforts to move in close in order to take in the prospective mate's scent. And when it clicks, you know it. It is instantaneous and electric. You want nothing more than to be close to that person. Physically, both men and women have an intense urge to procreate - or at least conduct the act which (without precautions) leads to procreation. But the mating dance can go a number of ways. Presently, it is predominantly socially unacceptable in western societies for women to engage in acts of instant gratification. Emotions tend to wiggle their way into the mix, and a type of courtship ensues. Realistically, it can be theorized that the man is merely following the rules of the courtship - the rules set in place primarily by women - in order to achieve his opportunity for copulation. This can go on for weeks, even months. Most men are willing to play this game. And most men find that, once they do achieve the ultimate act of physical contact, they want more. I would even suggest that, instead of seeking out another potential mate and enduring another mating ritual that could last a number of weeks or months, many men prefer to stick with what they know they can have, thereby ensuring their opportunity for procreation - if not pleasure as well, at least during the initial phase. And this is what we call a long-term relationship.

Where some may scorn men who constantly seek out mating opportunities, others may view this behavior as opportunistic, ambitious, anthropologically inherent. It has become more and more socially forbidden over time for men to behave in this way - perhaps because the urgent necessity to populate humanity is virtually eliminated. We are a society of partnerships, bonded humans. Those who stray from the norm, cannot fit into the norm, or who shun the norm are considered outsiders, nonconformists, even socially immoral. But why must people hide or be ashamed of their deepest physical root of humanity?

Admittedly, although I encompass some opportunistic qualities, I am intrinsically a partnership type. I find it interesting, therefore (and perhaps worth greater exploration) that I have spent a majority of my partnerships (or potential parterships) alone, or with men who can be typecast as opportunistic. I do not find great fault with the nature of these men. It is clear, however, that I will never have a truly meaningful partnership in life until I gravitate away from instant gratification and allow the man who shares an interest in human bonding (not just physically and temporarily) to find me and turn on that instantaneous, electric spark. I believe it is also possible that I harbor an internal fear of commitment - not necessarily the act of commitment itself, but the potential for loss. And that's another ballgame entirely...

Reality Gnashes its Teeth

I'm bitching and moaning and playing the woe-is-me routine today. Until I read the news. We're missing 3 soldiers, kidnapped back on May 12 from their observation post. 4 of their comrades were killed during the assault. We lost a soldier who is part of the search effort, and another one was severely wounded. The wounded soldier - I believe he was shot in the forehead by a sniper - was flown here to A1 for medical care. They say we're probably the best medical facility in theatre. We even have a neuro unit. He's just across the flightline right now. He may have already been shipped off to Germany, or back home. I'm assuming, of course, that he was stable to fly. I'm assuming, of course, that he is not dead. But I have no idea. My problems don't seem so dramatic anymore. This is the moment when reality bites - and it bites hard.

Vacanza Romana

Random dribbles during a visit to Rome, Italy...

10/12/06 @ 3:25pm
I just had what must have been the best pizza ever made. It was so fresh and wonderful. The dough had a slight sweetness, and the oils and tomato were ripe and delicious. Soft, chewy, absolutely perfect. I topped off my meal with a dish of superb stracciatella gelato. The chocolate flakes melted instantly upon contact with my tongue. I imagine the sweet cream came straight from a cow out back. It was marvelous! The name of this place: Dagnino. Remember this moment always. It gets no better than this.

10/12/06 @ 9:25pm
It's very interesting the looks I get from people when I dine alone. Like their eyes are saying, "How sad," or "Poor girl." Of course, if I were a man, no one would look twice. This is amusing to me. Naturally, I am performing my own people-watching routine. That couple directly opposite me: from England; newlyweds; appear to be struggling students; talk about art; small diamond on her finger; absolutely madly in love; their first trip together.

The group behind me: retired American women; from Virginia maybe, or as far north as Pennsylvania; cacklers; talk incessantly about grandchildren and knitting and wayward youth and the glory of the Sistine Chapel and where they will visit next; church group perhaps; and the weather - what group of women doesn't comment on the weather? - how perfect it has been, and "I shouldn't have bothered with my raincoat and rainhat," and "Don't say that! Murphy's Law says it would rain the whole time if you left your raincoat behind." Only Americans reference Murphy's Law.

So I may appear sad and pathetic sitting here alone with my Jack and Coke, but chances are, they think I'm a starving writer as I scribble furiously in my little black lined Moleskine. Or maybe they think I have a rich daddy and I'm over here with his platinum card. This place isn't necessarily cheap. How amusing.

The couple in the corner: obviously French; all they do is whisper and kiss; she has a cold, and he obviously adores her in spite of the tissue between smooches; he's wearing loafers without socks; only European men - and maybe men who live in Florida - would sport such a fashion statement; she is wearing a camouflage-print frilly skirt; although this fashion may have worked its way Stateside, she is definitely not American; her hair is too European, and her complexion screams of late nights in bars and lots of harsh European cigarettes; she is also sporting those tall, sexy Italian leather boots. I would love a pair, and have seen several very reasonably priced; however, I fear they would not work well with my Eddie Bauer khakis and LL Bean button-up. I must stick out like a sore thumb American in my yuppie garb, complete with comfortable hikers.

My favorite patrons to observe: the middle-aged man with his young, collagen-induced escort. New wife? Mistress? She is always flawless, and he is ruddy-faced and clearly loaded; he sports either a very pricey watch or the gold chain he believes knocks at least ten years from his age; he likely drives a Porsche, or perhaps a Z3, or maybe even an Audi TT; and he probably dreams of the Autobahn or long drives down the Italian Riviera; he buys her whatever her little heart desires; and he feels powerful.

I need to find a real notebook. This is precisely when my laptop would come in handy. I'm so much faster when I type. My mind seems to be racing lately, whether processing observations or thinking that perhaps I should write more.

I've been here two and a half days and have taken only a handful of photos. I'm not sure why. I'm typically a shutterbug. I took a shot of laundry hanging from a balcony to dry. It just seemed so... Roman. Otherwise, I've merely wandered around and watched people and traffic. I have a gazillion photos from my last visit, so I don't really feel as though I'm missing out.

I broke down and decided to take a tour to Tivoli. I'm sure I'll take lots of photos there. I hear the waterfalls are gorgeous. I may also take advantage of Capri, and maybe even Naples and Pompeii. I've thought about a day trip to Tuscany - maybe stop in Cortona, the small village made famous recently in "Under the Tuscan Sun". I'll be surrounded by tourists, so the shutterbug routine will be expected. So far though, I've just been decompressing...

10/16/06 @ 6:15pm
There is a distinct difference between those who utilize public transportation and those who utilize taxis. I've noticed there is a very large gypsy population. They are found mainly at bus or tram stations or on the steps of a Basilica, begging for money. Many of the women have infants and toddlers in tow. Many of the men are selling odd wares or, worse, displaying grotesque physical deformities to further encourage passersby to drop a few coins into their cups. There is also a large Far Eastern population. Men mostly. They peddle chestnuts on street corners or roses through the piazza. A man today would not take no for an answer and even proceeded to follow me and lightly clutch my arm. I quickly reminded myself that decking him would not be appropriate. After all, this is Europe. People stand close in lines and brush against each other on a regular basis. Instead, I stopped, firmly said, "No," while looking him square in the eye, and continued on my way. Luckily, no means no in Italian too!

I think there's a crime boss somewhere in Japan, and his racket is organized tourism. If I had one Euro for every Japanese tourist I've seen here, I would be independently wealthy and would never have to work again. If I had one Euro for every Japanese tour group I've seen here, I could at least retire early. It's fun watching them download from a tour bus - like a clown car at the circus, they just keep coming! And then it's snap-flash-snap-snap-flash!

I think Roman women are amongst the best-dressed in the world. Unfortunately, they tend to be much taller than I. What I thought was a great pair of black dress slacks turned out to be about 3 inches too long! Although I'm dying to have a pair of hot leather Italian boots, I don't want 3 inch heels! And the tailor service takes 6 days - 4 more than I have remaining. Oh well. They weren't meant to be.

Apparently Nicole Kidman is in town. I heard rumors here and there, but then noticed a throng of young people crowded behind barriers across the street from the entrance to Hotel di Russie - a very upscale place obviously. I thought it might be more intriguing to watch the people than to catch a glimpse of the starlet, so I settled into a cafe on the edge of Piazza della Popolo and observed. After about an hour, and halfway through my gelato, the screams and cheers echoed of the walls of the piazza. Ms. Kidman did, in fact, make her appearance, but was promptly whisked away in a convoy of Mercedes and Alfa Romeos. What a hoot! Needless to say, the crowd quickly thinned out and the cafe likely had its best business of the entire week! Cinema festa internazionale di Roma... Wonder who else is here.

10/17/06 @ 5:45pm
I was taken for a ride by a taxi driver - literally and figuratively. I could have strangled him. The total fare was 24 and change. I handed him two 20s. He promptly exited the vehicle and came around to open my door (which is highly unusual for Italian taxi drivers). I asked him for my change and he showed me his fist, in which he clutched a 20 and a 5. What a jerk! I know what cash I have in my wallet. And I know I spent my last 5 earlier today on gelato. I told him no, that I gave him two 20s, and he gave me that deer-caught-in-the-headlight speakie-no-inglese look, thrusting in my face again the 20 and 5. Aah! What a jerk! I told him I knew exactly what I gave him. "You're cheating me," I said. And then, "Okay, fine." I glared at him - the look of cursed death - and slammed the door. "Tu criminale!" I spat at him. I may be a stupid rich American in his eyes, but I work hard for my money too. The thing is, I'm a generous tipper. He didn't have to steal from me. That's okay though. He'll get his. They always do.

She Said What...?

I don't usually make an issue of stuff I see in the news. It's rarely newsworthy anyway. I saw something last night though that made me scowl. On "The View" the other day, Rosie O'Donnell equated our US troops in Iraq to terrorists.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3036789/

I think Ms. O'Donnell should be thankful and show a little gratitude to the men and women serving over here. The men and women who ensure her right to speak such slanderous nonsense on television. The men and women who are working to ensure those same rights are available to the people of Iraq, a nation lacking those rights for several decades. The men and women who maintain duty, honor, pride, and patriotism - no matter what their personal opinions might be.

I think she should be kicked in the teeth by a set of boots that carried a fallen soldier across this despicable desert landscape. And maybe even kicked in the ass by the same pair of boots for good measure.

I'd suggest to Rosie that if she has nothing nice to say, she shouldn't say anything at all. But I've clearly violated that rule myself. (See above.)

Hurry Up and Wait

Travel can be a bitch in Iraq.

Mission: Travel from C5 to C3 with C5/C3 Site Manager

Saturday, May 12, 2007:
- 1930... Report to C5 OPS to sign out; board bus for transportation to PAX Terminal.
- 2000... Sign in at PAX Terminal for standby status on flight to A1 (requested in advance); add name to list for standby to C3 as "Plan B"; told A1 flight should leave at approximately 2200, and C3 flight projected for approximately midnight.
- 2015... Weave through throng of soldiers and plop a squat on a bench to wait.
- 2030... Weave through throng of soldiers to smoking area for a cigarette - or maybe two.
- 2045... Rejoin Site Manager; chat with soldiers on bench across from us; one is named Pickle; can't remember rank; he's cute, talkative, personable; he's heading out on R&R.
- 2115... Site Manager hoofs it to Pizza Hut for some chow - we're starving!
- 2145... Eat pizza; share with several soldiers.
- 2200... Informed the flight has been delayed 2 hours; on weather hold at A1; projected departure time is now approximately midnight.
- 2230... Weave through throng of soldiers to smoking area for a cigarette; chat with a few soldiers over several cigarettes. "What do you do? How long have you been here? Why have you been here so long? Where are you from? How long have you been stuck waiting here...?"; chat with Pickle; he shows me photos on his digital; some are up close and personal shots of Strykers; I growl and purr in approval; he laughs.
- 2315... Rejoin Site Manager; chat with soldiers on bench across from us (including Pickle).
- 2350... Weather hold lifted; soldiers on bench across from us are called to grab gear and line up for incoming flight to A1; watch line of soldiers peeking at flightline over the top of T-wall barrier; reminds me of a bunch of kids hanging out by the fence watching a ball game, and I smile.

Sunday, May 13, 2007:
- 0100... Site Manager and I are called to grab gear and hit the flightline for ride to A1 via Chinook.
- 0130... Blackhawks already on flightline finish loading and take off; Chinooks move in; hustle to the pad; wind is gusting; heat is intense; noise is overwhelming even with earplugs; flight is packed; crew members motion to move down, move down, move down, pack it in, pack it in, pack it in; Site Manager and I are situated near the very end of the row, creating a perfect vantage point out the open back of the chopper where the gunner is perched at the ready; watch the city lights dwindle into darkened farmland; doze off.
- 0200... Arrive at Catfish at A1; mild chaos; cluster in gravel area just off flightline; told to get into formation (this is a first for me, but I'm not going to argue or be the one idiot who doesn't comply); pass ID down the line for check in; listen to incomprehensible direction from Staff Sergeant tasked to lead our formation; follow formation to PAX Terminal; thank my lucky stars I'm at the end of the line.
- 0215... ID is returned to me; Site Manager suggests I head inside to call for our ride; I ask if I'm dismissed from formation and she laughs (like I said, I don't want to be the one idiot...); head inside to make call; no answer after several tries.
- 0230... Go outside to smoke a cigarette while Site Manager tries to call; she has success and our ride is on the way; in the meantime, we've checked on flights to C3 and have decided to stick around, hoping we may be able to catch one; our ride arrives, we chat for a bit, and then send him away.
- 0300... Informed that our potential flight to C3 (originating at C1) is on weather hold; updates will follow.
- 0330... Informed that "they're sending someone"; we may make it after all!
- 0400... Informed that our potential flight is on weather hold again and that it doesn't look good; we decide to stick around for the next update, just in case.
- 0430... Informed the flight has now been cancelled; we're not going anywhere; call for a ride; informed by "Jim" on the other end of the line that "this is a really bad time" for him; I want to scream at him through the phone, but opt otherwise; I instead thank him for his time and tell him we will be outside waiting.
- 0440... "Jim" arrives, reminding us again that "this is a really bad time"; we thank him again, through grinding teeth; I ask him to drop us off at our office instead of Billeting so that I can secure my own vehicle and take the Site Manager to Billeting myself and get this guy back to his "good time" that we've interfered with.
- 0500... Site Manager has billets for the night; I drop off my own gear, grab laundry to be turned in, and then return the vehicle and keys to the office.
- 0520... Drop off laundry on the way back to my own hooch; set obnoxious alarm for 1000; sleep.
- 1000... Obnoxious alarm sounds; hit snooze.
- 1015... Obnoxious alarm sounds; hit snooze.
- 1030... Obnoxious alarm sounds; reset to 1200.
- 1200... Obnoxious alarm sounds; hit snooze.
- 1215... Obnoxious alarm sounds; hit snooze.
- 1230... Obnoxious alarm sounds; turn off alarm, get up, stretch, wonder why I feel like crap and then immediately recall the previous 24+ hours; shower; dress; head to the office.
- 1400... Check mail; received college graduation announcement from my cousin; won't be able to attend, but I'll have to think about something to send as a gift - probably money.
- 1800... Have spent a good portion of my time at the office receiving updates from Deputy Program Manager and sitting in on a conference call; have not accomplished many of the tasks I need to now that I finally have connection again; have long discussions with two individuals (separately) who are going through workplace conflict.
- 1915... Head to chow with Site Manager and our new IT Database Analyst.
- 2030... Call Mom to wish her a happy Mother's Day.
- 2100... Hitch ride to hooch to pick up luggage and then back to Catfish to check in for standby status on flight to C3.
- 2145... Informed at Catfish that "it doesn't look good"; C3 flight already booked and everyone has shown up, so standby passengers will not be allowed on; contemplate alternative flight plans; heard before we left the office about a possible Marine flight into C3 that Army-run Catfish wouldn't post or track; decide to use Marine flight as Plan A and get on the list for a flight a little later to F2 - more connection possibilities through F2.
- 2245... Informed we definitely will not be on the flight to C3.
- 2330... Observe and shudder as soldier crunches massive bug that has made its way into PAX Terminal; it literally crunches; there are several outside - some dead, some still alive; decide not to go outside for a cigarette because I now have a severe case of the heebie-jeebies.

Monday, May 14, 2007:
- 0030... Marine flight is announced; grab our gear and head out to flightline with other passengers; ask Marine crew member if he can take 2 more passengers to Warhorse with them; denied; flightline rep tells me he "told me so", and I respond, "It's always worth asking."
- 0230... Called to line up with gear for flight to F2; dropped on flightline at Blackhawk parking bay; receive safety briefing from crew member and told to standby - scheduled departure 0315, but "we're gonna' try to take off a little early"; observe pre-flight check; enjoy comfort of T-wall and what feels like 125-degree weather with all this gear on.
- 0300... Board Blackhawk; secure a seat in front, behind the right-side gunner, for a better view.
- 0305... Depart A1 en route to F2; watch lights dwindle and finally fade; doze off.
- 0330... Arrive at F2; check in with flightline reps; call for ride to our company office; smoke a cigarette.
- 0400… Arrive at company office; check in; go to Billeting; issued key to Room A-1; key doesn’t work; go back to Billeting; issued a different key to Room A-1; key doesn’t work; go back to Billeting; tell women behind counter that the key doesn’t work, or else it’s operator error (because I am exhausted), or else someone has a key in the lock on the inside of the door; issued a key to Room A-5; key doesn’t work; now I’m really frustrated; run into our company rep; he tries key; doesn’t work for him either; he goes to Billeting and is issued a key to Room A-10; the key works.
- 0430... Finally in a room now along with 3 other women; only top bunks are available, and the women on the bottom bunks apparently thought it was appropriate to take pillows from top bunks so they'd have extra; think briefly about waking them up to get one, but decide instead to use my bugout bag as a pillow; set obnoxious alarm for 1000.
- 0630… Women in the room are rustling; try to ignore them because I’m sure I disturbed them when I entered the room at 0430.
- 0730… Cleaning crew is here; door is left wide open so that I can hear foot traffic on sidewalk outside; the Filipino woman wakes me to ask, “You check out? You check out?” I grumble, “No, I sleep,” and roll over; they continue to sweep and mop and change bedding.
- 1000… Obnoxious alarm sounds; hit snooze.
- 1015… Obnoxious alarm sounds; hit snooze.
- 1030… Obnoxious alarm sounds; turn off alarm, get up, stretch, wonder why I feel like crap and then immediately recall the previous 24+ hours; wait – is this déjà vu?
- 1045… Report to office to check in and inquire about status of flight to C3; nothing new; looks like it’ll be late tonight; still just standby; hang out in A/C for a while and listen to iPod while I observe the chaos surrounding me.
- 1130… Site Manager shows up; she gives me key to her private hooch so that I can rest for a while in peace, shower, and change.
- 1430… Return to office and work for a while; Site Manager brought me a sandwich from Subway; good thing too – I’m starving!
- 1730… Run into our Foreman from B3; he’s demobilizing; ask him why and get an earful of interesting info; we’re losing a good one and management seems clueless; definitely a pattern here.
- 2100… Pack up computer and head to flightline to check in for standby status on flight to C3; told by movement team member that it “doesn’t look good”; tell the guy to “shush” and not jinx it for us; tell him 3 is a magic number and this is our third try darnitall – we will make this flight!
- 2330… Called to line up with our gear; we’re at the end of the line, so naturally we’re a bit apprehensive considering the pattern so far.
- 2345… Move to flightline; led by a few different people with chem lights to several formation points along the way; we notice they’re loading Chinooks, which is definitely a spirit-booster because they hold a lot more people and gear than Blackhawks; manage to get ahead in line because some other people have lots of gear and tell us to move along, no worries.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007:
- 0015… Strapped in, fingers crossed, and finally a successful liftoff; the soldier across from me appears quite relieved; the guy next to me says, “Thanks for the optimism,” in reference to my “shush” comments earlier inside one of the tents.
- 0100… Land at C5 to fuel up; confused faces everywhere; told we can leave our bags but we need to download; wait on edge of flightline; a few guys light up; a member of the fuel team races over to bark at them and demand they put out their cigarettes; they comply without incident – well, I didn’t hear anything anyway; Site Manager and I laugh as we struggle against the intense wind; the hot Iraq wind is cool compared to that produced by the Chinooks, and the two temperatures dance together in a mysterious swirl that does not combine, creating brief moments of relief amongst hot blasts to our faces.
- 0145… Board Chinook and fly to C5; the other Chinook unloads passengers and gear; we stay put.
- 0200… Fly to the heavy lift pad at C5; the other Chinook is loading pallets and the pilot doesn’t want the choppers running; crew tells us we can stay put or get out and stretch – it might be a little while; several get off; Site Manager and I pull out our iPods and get comfortable; no complaining allowed – at least we’re on the bird; I undo the front of my vest to put my iPod in my pocket and realize how heavy and constricting the gear really is; I feel like I can breathe now, but quickly wrap myself back up in it; we watch our crew members shed their gear and take a much-needed break from the heat and toil; they break out sodas and snacks and joke and horseplay while a forklift loads pallets onto the other Chinook.
- 0245… Depart heavy lift pad and head to C3.
- 0315… Arrive at C3; met by company rep on the flightline; once we’re loaded into the SUV, she tells us we won’t have the executive hooches we were supposed to have; apparently our strategic partner company has lots of VIPs visiting right now as well; naturally, we don’t rank as high – she doesn’t say this, but it’s understood; we sign in at OPS and she shows us to our quarters, which are not VIP but have been rigged with internet connection; we let her know how grateful we are for the accommodations and for installing lines just for our visit.
- 0330… Site Manager and I comment on back strain, shoulder strain, dark under-eye circles, and clear pores from all the sweating; we check out the goodies left for us in our “VIP” hooches; they left granola bars, chicken salad lunch kit, microwave popcorn, chocolate candy, fruit candy, bottled water (of course), cold coffee drinks, sodas, and near beer; we each open a near beer and offer up a little toast to “arrivals”.
- 0400… Set obnoxious alarm for 0900 and sleep… finally.

Stupid

Merriam-Webster's definition of "stupid":

(1) (a) slow of mind; (b) given to unintelligent decisions or acts; acting in an unintelligent or careless manner; (c) lacking intelligence or reason;
(2) dulled in feeling or sensation;
(3) marked by or resulting from unreasoned thinking or acting;
(4) (a) lacking interest or point; (b) vexatious; exasperating;

Synonyms:
(a) dull: suggests a slow or sluggish mind such as results with drink
(b) dense: implies a thickheaded imperviousness to ideas
(c) crass: suggests a grossness of mind precluding discrimination or delicacy
(d) dumb: applies to an exasperating obtuseness or lack of comprehension

I particularly like the definitions numbered (1)(b) and (1)(c) above. Unfortunately, I am forced to observe firsthand this type of behavior on a daily basis. And it is simply overwhelming. I feel trapped. I find myself trying to escape - even if only to the bunker to hide for 5 minutes and smoke a cigarette. My mind races. My heartbeat quickens. I'm sure my blood pressure increases dramatically, even if only temporarily. I try to apply logic wherever and whenever possible. I try to show policy, pattern, potentials down the line. It rarely works. And so I wonder to myself: (A) Why do I continue to tolerate this? Why not just move on to another project? Of course, I know I will eventually discover I am surrounded by stupidity there as well. It seems to be an infectious affliction. (B) Why do I let it get to me? I should be able to handle this - especially considering how long I've dealt with it in this God-forsaken armpit that is Iraq, suffocating with corrupt big government contractors.

I was reading news online earlier and noticed a link in the sidebar to "the stupid quiz", which I thought was aptly appropriate today. However, it's one of those ridiculous sign-up-for-junk-mail-and-give-us-all-your-personal-info-before-you-get-to-see-how-stupid-we-think-you-are things. I hate that. Yet another stupid thing today!

I think the best way to avoid a serious spike in blood pressure and a potential massive stroke (it runs in my family) is to leave the office early and spend some quality time with my self in my hooch. I need to finish packing anyway for tonight's trip back to A1 via Blackhawk with the C3/C5 Site Manager. If the stars are properly aligned and the Gods deem it will be so, we'll hop another chopper to C-3 with minimal layover. Otherwise, it's back to my own hooch and my own shower and my own feather pillows - and sleep. Worst case scenario says we don't get out tonight at all though. The weather is really strange today. Part sandstorm, part rain, part cloudy, part sunny... High winds and low visibility equals no flights. Fingers crossed it clears.

In the Stars...

My horoscope for May 11, 2007:
You may feel a bit of restriction working to hold you back from your current plans today. It could be that your mind is feeling restless and that you are anxious to go, yet there is a feeling of discipline and caution that is nagging you, urging you to slow down. This might not be a bad idea. Discipline and willpower may be exactly the things you need to get where you are going.

Despite the fact that this is vague and can just as easily be written for anyone on the planet, it's remarkably coincidental. I had very specific plans today. A meeting ran much longer than expected, thus interfering with the individual goals I had set for today. My mind has been feeling very restless and I have been very anxious to go, go, go (in fact, my nails are completely obliterated as a result, a total mess). I also feel the urge to slow down, breathe, sleep for more than just 3 or 4 hours each night. I know it's not a bad idea; it's just a difficult idea to solidify. Everyone needs discipline and willpower, but where the heck am I supposed to be going...?

Simple Conversation - Big Questions

Word of the Day:
Atrabilious (at-ruh-BIL-yus)
1) given to or marked by melancholy: gloomy
2) ill-natured

I visited the Org Maintenance Shop today with the Site Manager. I chatted with several of the employees. As is typical during these meetings, I was asked how long I've been in Iraq. "Over 32 months," I told the mechanic, casually yet somewhat proud. "Where is home?" he asked. "Row 38," I responded with a chuckle - my standard response. To answer his confused facial expression, I told him that I have no home, I have no car, I have no family. Having grown up military and moving quite a bit over the course of my life, home is where I place my head on the pillow each night.

And I began to ponder...

How sad that I am 28 years old and have no home, no car, no family. At one time, life was blissful. Sure, we had our occasional issues, but life with my husband was everything I ever wanted. Things happen for a reason, I tell myself, and I refuse to harbor any regrets or ill feelings. It has been more than 2 years since we were divorced - 2 years spent entirely in Iraq attempting to rebuild my self, my sanity, my clarity, my world view. Iraq has certainly changed me in the course of these 32 months. Where once, years ago, a heart was visible on my sleeve, it has transformed into a skull and crossbones. I am hardened and rougher around the edges. Certainly, I have maintained a compassionate side, but it is rarely seen of late.

I suppose on one hand this experience has done wonders for my maturity, my self-sufficiency, and my esteem when it comes to my professional capabilities. But will I suffer in the long run for the negative impacts to which I subject myself on a daily basis? Will I suffer for the many intolerances (some quite unreasonable) that I have developed?

I left the shop feeling a bit downtrodden and remote. What am I doing here? Am I addicted to this chaos? Is this what I need to feel alive? Am I so lost (still) that I cannot establish a solid future plan and make steps toward achieving long term concrete goals?

But, as I tell myself over and over again, things happen for a reason. And there is surely a reason for all of this. One day, hopefully in the not-too-distant future, I will perhaps understand once and for all what I am supposed to do from this point forward.

And now I will put my atrabilious countenance to bed, for the chaos is due to resume dark and early tomorrow morning.

Wake Up Call

May 10, 2007 - 4:00am in Iraq

I am up - sort of. And then I hear the guns from Firebase Mayhem unleash their fury. (They normally do this at night. I say normally, but I've been a visitor at this camp for only 5 days. The pattern has been late at night.) I step outside for a cigarette. I can hear the "thwap" of the round exiting the tube. There is a flash of orange light in the dark sky and a thunderous roar as the round is sent hurtling through the sky. Several seconds pass and there is a low, gutteral rumble miles in the distance. Something has been destroyed. A house? A business? Are there people inside? Not anymore... About half a dozen booms shake the ground within 10 minutes or so. I hear chanting from a mosque amid the distant rumbling explosions. It sounds like miserable, dying cats. I field strip my cigarette and get ready for work.

Semantics

I am an Absentee American. For some reason, this feels like a slightly negative identifier...

Merriam-Webster's definition of "absentee":
(1) one who is absent.

Merriam-Webster's definition of "absent":
(1) not present or attending: missing;
(2) not existing: lacking;
(3) lost in thought: not attentive;
synonym: see abstracted.