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?"