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.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
Who are the Terrorists...?
A snippet of a news story I read this morning...
Funeral Procession Bombed in IraqUnless 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.
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.]
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
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...
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...
Monday, May 21, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
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.)
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.)
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
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.
(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.
Friday, May 11, 2007
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...?
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...?
Thursday, May 10, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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.
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