Northern Lights, An Absinthian Glimpse

Northern Lights, an Absinthian Glimpse
Sometimes the lights are a sheet that is green and transparent, glowing in black darkness...you see through them to the other side but they are there, the lens to the sky above, a fixture, fleeting but threatening in their billowing flutter. Just the flick of imagination in the mind of those who haven't seen, but a haunting ghost to those who've walked under them on starry nights.
They make you unsure of all that is real, because they are so wonderful they must be an illusion, ready to become mundane at any moment.

icelandic camping = misery, sort of

I had an Icelandic experience this past weekend. On Friday afternoon I took off with Quart, Cliff, and Alex on a camping trip. The weather was clear but cold. We stopped for pizza in the small town of Selfoss. It’s a typical village style town but has a feel of, well-offness to it. I often wonder what kind a world view someone who grows up in such a place carries with them. Educated and literate but so sheltered. Our views aren’t built on knowing the facts. Villages like Selfoss seem to me to live in a world without pain, at least not the kind that is bigger than the human scale.
We camped at a place that starts with a TH- sound but I can’t remember its name. It was just a few kilometers past Vik and 14 kilometers back into the interior down a rough road where you have to cross a river a few times. On the way in and for the first hour after we got there the Northern Lights were out and it was cool to see them so bright. There was absolutely no other light around except for the stars.
Quart taught me to play euker and as usual with me and card games the short bus commenst started rolling. I don’t pick up things terribly fast. But, then again teams I was on won three out of four games. I did pretty well after the first couple of hours…just hard to follow at first. I’ve never seen a game where cards switch identity and there are so many rules.
We slept in two tents. My three season sleeping bag kept me warm but I felt cold listening to the icy sleet start coming down just after we crawled off to bed.
The next morning we hiked through the fresh snow ice up a steep gorge and sledded down a hill that was really too steep and ended with a ten foot drop into the creek if you didn’t crash yourself in time. We walked up to the water fall then back out to the campsite where Alex and I launched each other off of a see-saw that stood frozen in the snow. Watching the video later it looks like we were filming an episode of Jack-ass.
After see-sawing we hiked up a really high, steep (50 degree) hill which was surrpunded by higher, craggier mountains. Eventually I got freaked out by longitudinal hiking along the steep slope and freaked out. The slope disappeared and I imagined a drop off. Just back from Baghdad (where my compound is taking a nightly pounding now) I wasn’t into dying. Adventure/adrenaline stuff always makes me feel stupid when I think I could die doing it. Oahu was a close call that I don’t want to repeat again. So with shaky knees I headed back down the slope.
We packed up camp and headed back out to the highway. We stopped at the black sand beach in Vik where I filmed a commentary about Iceland. All my commentary has to do with nice place to visit but I’ll leave it to the locals type phrases. We stopped at the lighthouse in Vik and took a short walk to a cool glacier (Solheimjokull) just up the road.
We got back and it was awesome to relax around the house. Then I went to a party and the pretty girl was there and I couldn’t help but start thinking about her again, even after that dream that did me in.

Iraq - Last Call

Rain. Just one drop but it hit my hand. It hasn’t rained here since mid-May. The sky is fairly dark with clouds and low thunder rumbles over my head. The first clap made me jump but now it sounds good. Those little grey doves with the ring around their necks are walking around on the grass and the roses in the courtyard are in full bloom. Reminds me of working in garden centers stopping to smell the roses whenever I walked by. It’s a hokey thing to admit but I did it. I guess I never get too far away from the things I like. But I never smelled roses before with .50 cals going off like they are right now.
There’s other stuff I’ll be doing in the 36-40 hours before I leave Iraq. Tonight I’m supposed to go to the Bunker Bar with MSgt, John, Suha and some other friends I know and don’t know. Tomorrow night is my Going Away party at the pool. I may not get a flag because when LtCol went to pick it up today a mortar landed nearby and he had to abandon the mission.
But I’m going to end this thing now, at least the Iraq part. Come Monday I’ll have 151 days on the ground under my belt. Doesn’t sound too long, I’m sure people have been adrift at sea longer. But its enough for me.
Forget any political statements I’ve made, I’m sure I’ve contradicted myself along the way anyway. I have no statements to make, no higher truths to tell.
When I’m an old man with a flag flying in my yard I’ll remember Hong Kong and Ecuador, Australia and Curacao. But what people will ask me about is the time I spent in Iraq.
All I know I know is what I saw. A lot of that is written here, the rest I’ll carry around in my memory. In Iraq I’ve been lucky. I’ll watch the news to find out what happens next.

rockets reprise

The insurgents felt I needed one last round in the days before I left so last night they rocked us…a little. Of the first two rounds to impact one was a rocket that shock the walls of the room I was in. The alarms sounded sending us to the basement where I stood around talking with people. When I saw Amb Negraponte and his staff come down I figured we’d be there for awhile so I wandered into Saddam’s theatre and fell asleep.
Around 2200 I left the palace but couldn’t get past the gate to my camp because of unexploded ordinance nearby which had to be blown up. So I walked back out to the pool and sat talking with people until midnight. Pierce was there so we sang some songs. One guy kept requesting me to play “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” and I’d have been happy to oblige but under the circumstances everybody wanted to keep the show upbeat. One guy we sat with had been in his tent when an inbound mortar round landed in it between two guys who were on their laptops. Luckily it was a dud. I finally walked back to my trailer around midnight and slept well because it was a quiet night.
This morning I did some more turn-over with the new LtCol. He has an interesting job back home in Puerto Rico: he designs and cuts pattern’s for women’s dresses and then gives the patterns to women who work for him to sew in there homes. But NAFTA is hurting his business like it hurts everyone elses. This morning the LtCol said, “I’ve never been shelled before. If you think about that it could drive you crazy.”
Yeah it could I told him. Its best to take cover then let it go.

turnover and haircuts

Sooo close…and today I started turnover, unexpectedly. I walked in after lunch to find a LtCol sitting in the office saying he had just been told he was taking over Logistics. So we’ve been busy all afternoon getting him a badge, billeting, and an IT account. We accomplished a fair bit of turn over as well but we’ll be working on this up thru Sunday evening just before I leave. He seems like a good easy going guy.
I wanted to get a hair cut this morning but the insurgents have prevented it. They murdered one of the barbers and have been stalking the others as they come to work from their homes in the red zone. That’s a shame, these guys just want to come to work to give free haircuts for a dollar tip. They really do a good job.
October and the weather has turned. The temperature hasn't changed much but yesterday was overcast. Clouds...people were taking pictures of the grey sky.

guitars and good-byes

Today I lay in bed dreading getting up because once again I stayed up too late by the pool. I wanted to sit with Angie for awhile last night but I’ve been sick and not much fun. I don’t know if its bacteria or stress. Anyhoo, she wasn’t home. So I walked out to the pool and ran into Pierce and Tom, the two guys playing the Gibson mini jumbo guitar. I sat with them and we sang some songs and eventually were joined by a two more guitar players and another five on-lookers. We sang the good songs again, Hank Jr, Randy Travis and the Eagles…then some more modern stuff that we were surprised those guitars knew how to play. I sang some REM and 4 Non Blondes and then there was the Green Day songs which sound awesome in a guitar circle. Simple is where its at and Green Day and “This One Goes Out To The One I Love” are simple. I finally walked back to my hooch around one.
This morning I sat in my office waiting for 0900 when the DCMA guy (Cliff) and I would go to the Convention Center to get people to sign sub hand receipts at the user level. I sipped coffee and knew Angie would be in soon to say good-bye. She came in giddy and anxious, a car bomb exploded rattling the windows, she wrote down her email address and phone number in my notebook. We chatted until Cliff came in. Then I gave her a hug and said good-bye. It’s a word some people say they don’t use but its an action we can’t avoid. Angie I know you’ll read this so know that you, along with Shane made my trip to Baghdad more than bearable – in some ways it was…fun and a time I’ll enjoy remembering. Maybe we will get together and pitch that song to that pretty Canadian girl once we both get back to the great Northwest.
At the Convention Center the property we’d inventoried a month ago was scattered to the wind with my name all over the hand receipt…such is life. Someone else will sign for it soon. Cliff and I walked over to the Al Rasheed for lunch. While there I bought a really nice oil on cloth painting. The guy wanted $100, I offered $60 and got it for $75. Its got lots of texture, almost like worked leather around the border which encloses a dark eyed Iraqi girl wearing a yellow dress with two red flowers in her hair. She might be Mexican instead of Iraqi but the painting is by a local artist in Riav Al Kizi (sp). The guy rolled it up and shoved it in a tube which I’ll likely mail home rather than carry.
Back at the palace I made my commercial travel plans. Six days and a wake up.

guitars and good-byes

Today I lay in bed dreading getting up because once again I stayed up too late by the pool. I wanted to sit with Angie for awhile last night but I’ve been sick and not much fun. I don’t know if its bacteria or stress. Anyhoo, she wasn’t home. So I walked out to the pool and ran into Pierce and Tom, the two guys playing the Gibson mini jumbo guitar. I sat with them and we sang some songs and eventually were joined by a two more guitar players and another five on-lookers. We sang the good songs again, Hank Jr, Randy Travis and the Eagles…then some more modern stuff that we were surprised those guitars knew how to play. I sang some REM and 4 Non Blondes and then there was the Green Day songs which sound awesome in a guitar circle. Simple is where its at and Green Day and “This One Goes Out To The One I Love” are simple. I finally walked back to my hooch around one.
This morning I sat in my office waiting for 0900 when the DCMA guy (Cliff) and I would go to the Convention Center to get people to sign sub hand receipts at the user level. I sipped coffee and knew Angie would be in soon to say good-bye. She came in giddy and anxious, a car bomb exploded rattling the windows, she wrote down her email address and phone number in my notebook. We chatted until Cliff came in. Then I gave her a hug and said good-bye. It’s a word some people say they don’t use but its an action we can’t avoid. Angie I know you’ll read this so know that you, along with Shane made my trip to Baghdad more than bearable – in some ways it was…fun and a time I’ll enjoy remembering. Maybe we will get together and pitch that song to that pretty Canadian girl once we both get back to the great Northwest.
At the Convention Center the property we’d inventoried a month ago was scattered to the wind with my name all over the hand receipt…such is life. Someone else will sign for it soon. Cliff and I walked over to the Al Rasheed for lunch. While there I bought a really nice oil on cloth painting. The guy wanted $100, I offered $60 and got it for $75. Its got lots of texture, almost like worked leather around the border which encloses a dark eyed Iraqi girl wearing a yellow dress with two red flowers in her hair. She might be Mexican instead of Iraqi but the painting is by a local artist in Riav Al Kizi (sp). The guy rolled it up and shoved it in a tube which I’ll likely mail home rather than carry.
Back at the palace I made my commercial travel plans. Six days and a wake up.

LT of some womens' dreams

Today was a day of ceremony which was good because I stayed at the pool way too late last night. A local friend of mine told me she was drunk and felt free to tell me that I was every woman’s dream. So I walked around the pool testing that theory but found that not every woman has the same dreams. Around eleven thirty I started to go home but ran into some guys from Tennessee playing a Gibson jumbo guitar so I sat with there little party singing. It was awesome the songs we sang…Rocky Top, Waylon Jennings, Hank Sr, all kinds of good country and some fair renditions of Irish drinking tunes as well. Then one of the guys started playing Grateful Dead and it killed the mood. I’ve seen it happen before when I played in Luchenback…Grateful Dead kills a good round robin because its made to be played by a full band, usually the Grateful Dead.
This morning at 1100 Col M turned over DCMA to the new Col M. From where I sat at the change of command I had a good view of the swimming pool. CPT C and a 1LT friend of hers were laying out in bikinis right in front of me. Afterwards I went and tried to talk with them, asking CPT C if she had validated her inventory sheet. She told me to get lost. Later BMC (ret) asked if he could take their picture and they told him to pack sand. But the scenery at the change of command was talked about all day.
At 1300 my promotion ceremony was held in the ambassador’s conference room. Col S and I talked a while about philosophy of life and plans for the future then went in, published the orders and he pinned on my LT bars. He said kind words about each person’s obligation to give something back to their country. I thanked everyone for coming then cut a cake that LT B. arranged to have brought in. Very nice. Fat checks are headed my way.

dates and plates

Well, I’ve finally got my promotion…four months late but the back pay will be good. I think I’m going to buy a new guitar, a Taylor this time. Because sometimes a guy’s just got to buy a new guitar.
I’ve been covered up lately with work and today I was finally worn down and tired. I could tell it was coming. The allocation of hard armored vehicles has been the thorn in my side this week but unfortunately I took it out on a Captain who stopped by for a special billeting request. I think I got my point across that his flippant special request turned me into a bad guy, either by telling the billeting people to ignore the rules they are supposed to work by or for me denying his request for a special roommate. I’m not a big fan of special requests.
Today MSgt M, Angie, and I went to the National Restaurant in the Al-Rasheed for lunch. It was pretty nice…I kept my road rage on the way over to a minimum. I had the mixed grill but was too tired to be hungry. Angie had the curry chicken which was good but bland for curry. Afterwards I had a cup of coffee and the waiter brought out a plate of the crunchy, only partially rotten yellow dates. They were sooo sweet. MSgt M had this milk and yogurt mixture to dip the dates in but it tasted more like old milk from the back of the refrigerator than anything else. It reminded me of Iceland where traditionally meats were preserved in sour milk.
My grandfather used to hide money under people’s dinner plates when they’d have people over for dinner. I guess that’s why I picked up my plate and turned it over and saw that the plates were all made in Sweden and had Al-Rasheed stamped on them. Angie took one and stuffed it in her shirt for a souvenir. She was going to take an ashtray but the plate was better. When we got the $54 tab I figured we deserved something to take with us.
Bone tired I sat through two meetings this afternoon. I find meetings helpful when working with KBR and the State Department…it’s the only way to corner them and find out what they’re doing.
I put on the rank Friday…that will be good.

Peeps and Saddam's Playground

I’ll admit it…I’ve grown a little jaded in Iraq. I don’t look at the progress as much, don’t smile at the little street urchins trying to sell me chewing gum and porn, don’t really care about going back to the flea market to see what cool relics of the culture I can find. All I’m looking for now is a C-130 doing a combat take off to fly me and a handful of others to Kuwait.
Which is why today was…sort of cool. It was like everyday has been lately, come in, work and drink a pot of coffee. But then I realized how little some people do here, especially when they get short like me. So I abandoned all pretense and allowed short-timers syndrome to wash my stern bitter jaw-set aside, at least I gave into it a little bit. That was necessary for all the stuff that eventually made the day cooler than any have been lately.
First, 5000 boxes of patriotic Peeps came in. Yes, red-white-and-blue marshmallow chickens. Lt L walked around flinging cases of them into people’s offices. I ate a whole box, pleased as a fat kid eating cake. I posed for the mandatory pictures. The whole point of Peeps sending all the little chickens to us was to take pictures of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines biting in to the chewy goo of the marshmallow chickens.
Then, I thought about going to workout but instead got Angie and Lt L and drove them over to the crossed swords at Saddams old parade field. I’ve been up in the 60 foot tall tower of Saddam’s hand before but Angie needed her picture taken hanging out of the crack at the wrist so I stayed down taking pictures until she climbed the girders to the top with the help of the Iraqi police man with the Veterans For Kerry bumper sticker.
It was late afternoon so I was able to get some really cool shots, playing with the angle of the sun. We took pictures of the security guards holding the peeps we gave them and then took their one AK-47 they shared and climbed up on the concrete part of the memorial and shot various poses of us holding the gun. I can’t believe owning something like that is legal again in the U.S. I wanted to shoot the gun off in the air and yell, I just won a soccer game, I just won a soccer game…but that may have cost more than the $5 we paid the guards to look the other way, I mean show us around.
Afterwards we made an impromptu movie which…maybe could have used a script. But in a way I felt that old collegiate feeling out there today in the bright, slanted sunlight and crisp 98 degree air of Baghdad in autumn. Something about today made me say, its not that bad…and to paraphrase Garrison Keillor, sometimes not that bad is the best anything can be.

guageing my fun meter

Things have been very busy this week since LtCol V left and I had to step up to Director of Logistics. I hear I still get to leave on the 11th but I’m not going to hold my breath. Someone has to be here until somebody else gets here.
The mortars and rockets have been more quiet this week but in other ways it really feels like a war. The other morning I sat at my desk answering emails when a LtCol walked in and asked how to reach Gulf Services…he needed someone to come out and identify the body of the first American hostage that was killed this week. I sent him to the contracting office since I don’t do anything with the contracts. Those executions by al-Zuqaris group are really unnerving. I hope that kill that bastard soon.
Also this week I realized what a load of crap everybody is selling when they tell you how much the Iraqi people appreciate their “liberation”. These people remember kindness five minutes and a small slight to the death. There’s one group of sand baggers I see everyday in my trailer camp. This group is rough. I regularly stare down one fat one. The others are adolescent boys who sometimes ask for stuff. One kept asking for my CD walkman…I told him to pack sand. They are a rough group. The other day they told an Air Force Chief Master sergeant (and fellow rock hound) friend of mine they were going to kill him. But he couldn’t identify who said it. We should have rounded up the whole bunch and sent them to a detention camp until someone dimed out whoever said it.
And last night…two helos flew over followed by a bright light and a vapor trail. I don’t know if it was a flare or a rocket but somebody shot something at them.
Yeah, my fun meter is pegged. Happiness is Iraq in my rearview mirror.

On the cover of the rolling stone

Yesterday I walked to the PX to pick up a box of raisins and a Rolling Stone. On the way back I saw a lady in traditional black Muslim garb kneeling in front of the Hajii Super Wal-Mart which is what I call the little shack joined to the PX because they sell everything despite 160 sq ft of floor space. At her feet was a terribly small little kid with flies crawling all over his face and knobby joints of knees and elbows sticking out from malnourishment. I looked away and kept walking. Today if I get time I might go back over and give them a box of raisins.
My question…isn’t the mother exploiting her child by dragging him out like that? But how would we know about such situations without exploitation?

MASH and a country evening

Yesterday was LtCol V’s departure date…yet again I watch someone come in after I got here and already they’re going home. But LtCol V got extended 30 days so he definitely did his time plus some. He told me two nights ago he felt like he was bailing on us but I told him not to worry. Do your time and go home. He’s the first Director of Logistics I’ve seen here who truly cared…about the job and about the people working for him.
Unforseen events caused all ground transport to BIAP to be canexed yesterday so we found him a seat on an outbound Blackhawk. Lt L and I carried his bags to the helipad and on to the helicopter. Doing the low duck under the rotating blades we did a quick handshake and wave good-bye then in a swirl of sand the helo was gone…just like the last episode of MASH.
Quiet day all day yesterday. I worked out then went to a short farewell ceremony for YN1 C. Afterwards it was out to the pool to see Chely Wright in concert. I’ve known of Chely Wright for ten years but never followed her music much except for that one song, Jezebell. She also had a song called Single White Female which was a number one hit but I don’t much care for it. One song she sang last night was horrible – The River. It’s a song about two of her friends falling or having a car wreck into a river and drowning. Sad.
Chely is a pretty girl, 30-something as her web site says. I think we are about the same age. I remember years ago she said she used to play Minnie Pearl in a show at Opryland…Nashville’s defunct theme park which now is a big mall.
At the end of the show she sang a song she’d written about a lady flipping her of because she had a U.S. Marines sticker on the bumper of her SUV. It’s a true story but I really expect she must have cut the lady off in traffic or something…I couldn’t imagine a Marines bumper sticker causing anyone to flip someone off. But the song was very good. In my favorite part she talked about the places she’s been on USO tours (Korea, Japan, Kuwait, Iraq) and wondered if the people who always disparage U.S. military operations have ever been to any of the places they are so opinionated about. I know that many have but most haven’t. Experience goes a long way in my mind for validating someone’s point of view.
Chely did a great job and more importantly she came to a dangerous place to take our minds off of where we are for a couple of hours. We actually had a brief before the show to tell us what to do in case of an indirect fire attack…but we haven’t had one of those in three or four days.
Afterwards my friend Angie and I sat on my front steps critiquing the show and talking about…going mushroom hunting in Oregon. She said they could make $200 in a couple of hours selling mushrooms to restaurants.
Between Chely Wright and mushroom hunting if that ain’t country then tell me what is.

Why Iraq and where will it go

Yesterday the truth came out: the war in Iraq is an attempt to draw terrorist to Iraq and away from the United States. A certain general said that to my boss.
Is this a war we can win? Its a war we can pull out of. The Iraqi people as far as I can tell just want peace and they don't know who will give it. Its not in their charachter to fight for a democracy. Its not our business to force them to. The police and soldiers we have trained here face extremely dangerous jobs manning check points and going door to door but I think they take the risk because they want to take out the danger from the insurgents but I don't know that they have a sense of nationalism at the foundation. Iraqis operate in a group effort mentality. We were briefed on this before coming over here. Only when the nation as a whole decides to destroy the insurgents will it happen.

good-bye and property value

We had a going away for LtCol V. last night…he leaves Saturday. I sat up the party in the back garden and yesterday afternoon a me, Johnnie, LT L (Ken) and the new MSgt went up on the roof to fly an American flag which I presented. My speech was to the point. In the political world of the military officer LtCol V talked straight, said what he thought, told self serving parties they were full of shit straight to their face and always based his actions on the question, “Is this the right thing to do.” Extremely rare qualities to find in anyone anywhere. My dad is the same way…and me to. More than one person has complained that I’m abrasive but fairness and a policy that really questions exceptions is the best way to deal with people. In the military if someone follows a policy then they are the exception.
OPNAV still hasn’t approved my relief yet which had me get aggravated on the phone yesterday with a LCDR who told me he couldn’t do anything until my spot was approved. My question was simple: I’m here, the manning document says a Naval officer will continue to do the job I do, this has been approved by the JCS, so in all likelihood OPNAV will find this to be a valid requirement. So, I asked if he’d sent out a feeler to the commands to ID a replacement to come fill my billet…No.
Last night I sat out and talked with a PSD. He sat turning up a bottle of Jameson (Scotch?). Here’s how much money he makes: he lives on Ocean Beach in San Diego, is unemployed except for what he does over here, which is escort important people, but when he goes back he’ll have enough money to buy a house on the beach and be able to remain unemployed for awhile. Sounds like a plan. He said he gets up and surfs every morning and works out every afternoon then goes out at night. That’s living.

The Reform Party and Beyond

The Democrats and Republicans no longer have anything to offer our country. All they have a agendas, defected by inbreeding. Demopublicans…both serving corporate interests, the corporate geography with no love for, no idea what America is, and no concern for what Americans want. What separates the parties is religious fundamentalism on the part of Republicans and the Democrats desire to give away our tax money as handout to every open hand and whining mouth.
So I’ve done research, found a new party, the Reform Party. Here are some RP positions (according to their 2003 platform) and my commentary:

1) TRADE – RP says to repeal NAFTA, I agree…fair trade is a ploy for Big Business to get cheap labor by exporting U.S. jobs. STOP SENDING AMERICAN JOBS OVERSEAS.
2) CORPORATE TAKEOVER – RP wants heavy handed government regulation of mergers and to bust up monopolies, I agree. This is radical but I think there should be a cap on how much a company can have in assessts, arbitrarily lets say $5 million. Of course this ceiling would have to be raised for capital intensive industries like construction, airplane manufactureing, shipping and others but you get the idea. The best way to destroy the large corporations which currently control the U.S. and world economies is through relentless taxation. At the same time tax incentives and government aid should be offered to encourage small business start up to provide the services and products currently being supplied by large corporations. The only hope for America as we know it, its land and its people, is to destroy the corporate geography, the globalism that has been created through the cancerous, rampant growth of international business. Corporations have even taken over America when she goes to war, and its costing the tax payers billions. The war in Iraq is a joint effort between the U.S. military and Halliburton and its subsidiaries who charge the U.S. exhorbitant amounts to pay its often underskilled workers outrageous salaries for performing tasks which could be performed by military members making a third of what the contractors are paid. Additionally, these corporations make enormous profit and will promote campaigns which will keep them in business. As long as this new system of fighting a war is so profitable the powers that be will frivolously engage our country in war.
3) ENVIRONMENT – RP says we need to decrease our dependency on foreign oil by increasing our use and research for alternative energy sources. Further RP supports increased organic agriculture and decreased use of harmful biotechnologies and commercial, corporate farming tactics. I agree. Read Fast Food Nation and visit www.culturechange.org to learn more. RP also encourages privatization of land while protecting all land, even private land based on sound ecological ideals and research rather than blatant partisanship which plays to the sentiments of those who would scourge the land as well as those who would deem all land untouchable…I partially agree. Some of our vast public holdings should be turned over to non-profit organizations (much like public radio has done) to manage with the philosophy of sustained use. The thought of public land being opened for economic use makes many people cringe but the answer to responsible, non-devastating timber and mineral harvesting lies in capping the size of the harvester. Small companies will be limited to working smaller pockets of land. Make the many small companies bid on how they will protect and restore the land they will be working. The same philosophy applies to grazing rights with special incentives given to ranchers who raise native species such as bison and elk for commercial use. Science, not warm fuzzies or dollars is what should drive use of our pristine lands.
4) FOREIGN AID – RP supports reducing foreign aid. Dumping in more of our money won’t save the world…I agree. However, I do propose we aid the most impoverished third world nations by helping them build small scale infrastructures based on alternative energy, which could serve as test platforms for larger scale projects in the United States.
5) IMMIGRATION – RP supports a halt to all immigration until we figure out who really lives here. America is here to support and provide for Americans and not illegal aliens…I partially agree. I think we should set limits on the number of foreigners we let in. To totally cut off the ingenuity and new ideas coming into the United States, particularly from Asia would be to loose out on what others have to offer. Furthermore the RP calls for heightened border patrol and security. I absolutely agree. We have to get handle on our border with Mexico. Stagnant over crowded cities are not in keeping with the spirit of America. Only by controlling our borders and limiting our population can we clean up the squalor of overcrowding while preparing our cities for the high density living arrangements of the future. We must preserve jobs, opportunity, and room to breathe for all Americans citizens.
6) TERM LIMITS – RP is for term limits…I disagree. I think some people have a calling to politics and if they are effective I see no problem with them staying.
7) MEDICAL CARE – RP is for privatized medical where the user has absolute choice. They are also for tax-free medical savings accounts. I sort of agree. I think Americans are charged way too much for medical care. It is a basic human right. RP calls for universal medical coverage for all veterans, even if its not at VA hospitals…I agree.
8) SOCIAL SECURITY – RP is for privatizing social security while keeping contribution mandatory. They also call for a minimum safety net to be maintained…I agree. Let people invest how they wish with those dollars…so long as they save them some way.
9) FOREIGN POLICY and INTERVENTION – RP quotes John Adams, "Wherever the standard of freedom and independence has been or shall be unfurled, there will her [America's] heart, her benedictions, and her prayers be. But she goes not abroad in search of monsters to destroy."…I wholeheartedly agree. The time has come for America to stop being the policeman of the world. If look inside we have lots of stuff to fix at home. Other nations need to do their part to save poor countries and help oppressed people. Let France do something for a change.

I didn’t see any plank for the military on the RP web site. I would support a small decrease in military spending. Of course this can only be accomplished by pursuing alternative energy sources. If we keep Republican and Democrat administrations in power, both being hand puppets to the corporate geography, we will continue our dependence on foreign oil. Peak oil will neccesitate constant U.S. invasion of oil producing nations, a military draft to support these invasions, and increased military spending to support the behemoth oil machine that fuels our corporate state which will look increasingly like a military state. Honor, courage, love of country…things most Americans possess and emotions the corporations will manipulate. I think of Waylon Jennings singing,
And could you tell me why the hell we tried to win back in the warWhat we wasted in the last?Might just aint as righteous as it used to be beforeWhen your armys out of gas

And when its over the oil economy will collapse anyway.
That said I want to make one thing clear. EVERY American owes their country two years of service. Whether it be military service or service rendered rebuilding America’s infrastructure (through yet to be developed government programs in the spirit of the New Deal), every American need to leave home, leave everyone they know behind and discover the places and people who make up our country.
Nothing is more ridiculous to me than someone straight out of high school who attends a college two hours away from their hometown and suddenly becomes vehemently critical of their country which through the eyes of an adulthood they’ve seen nothing of and know nothing about. Education is a right of every American but every American owes two years of service to their country first. Only after the preconceived notions of different people, different places, and ideas which were passed on to us during our childhood have been challenged by experience, are we open to the benefits of higher education. At its best an education will help us form our own ideas which a new generation will challenge and take away the best parts of to build on themselves.
Just as the Whig party controlled and faded, the No-Nothings elected a president and fell apart, its time for the people of the United States to bring a new party into power…one that cares about Americans and wants to protect the our way of life…one for Americans.

destruction and coffee talk

Sunday, my day off. After sitting around the pool talking with the contracting guys till late in the evening I’d planned on sleeping in. But around 0600 the insurgents woke us up with their little bundles of joy flung over the river. I rolled around in my blanket trying to go back to sleep but two loud, close explosions that rattled my trailer like the tinny pop of a squeezed beer can made me roll out and throw on my helmet and body armor.
I stepped outside, a cool morning, almost chilly since I wasn’t wearing a shirt under my flak vest. There was a heavy plume of black smoke, so heavy I don’t know why it didn’t fall to the ground instead of raising into the the air. Something big and close had been hit. We’re supposed to stay in our trailers during an attack, putting our mattress over our bodies. But I walked to the bunker. I’d rather die under God’s open sky than inside a mobile home.
After an hour the ALL CLEAR sounded and my friend Angie and I walked over to see what had been hit. There was a big crater in front of the palace. The burnt out humvee which had bore the brunt of the blast sat 50 feet from one of the billeting tents. We got really lucky or unlucky depending on how you look at it.
Afterwards I sat out at the pool, drinking coffee, reading, and writing on my political manifesto which I will publish soon. Despite the morning’s activity the pool and grassy courtyard under the palms was crowded. If you’ve got to go to hell go there with a tan.
Last night I attended a charity book signing for the Iraqi Women’s Shelter. The book was Tamerlane, written about the conqueror by that name. He accomplished a lot of killing sounds like and never lost a battle. The author, Justin Marozzi, spoke a few minutes then turned it over to the events organizer, Major B, a pretty lady with clear skin and blue green eyes, not much older than me, who in real life is an attorney in Nashville. I lolly gagged too long deciding whether or not to buy a copy and just as I reached to pick one up some dude yanked it from my fingertips saying, “That’s mine.” I had a mild flash of rage but instead of ripping out his jugular with my hand I grabbed a Heineken out of the garbage can full of ice and walked into the shadows to talk to other people.
Later I talked to Marozzi about his writing process. He said he could never hold a regular job while writing a book.

Chief's Pinning

Its getting cooler in Baghdad. This morning felt like it was in the 70’s which is downright cool when you’re coming out of a 130 degree summer. But the insurgents sent a warm little boom flying over the Tigris to wake us from our fall reveries.
Yesterday was the Chiefs pinning ceremony. The position of Chief Petty Officer (E7) is a special one in the Navy. Its when an enlisted person retires the crow, takes of the crackerjacks and Dixie cup and dons khakis and a combo cover. They join the Chiefs mess on the ship and I think they are given a coffee mug with the admonishment to never wash it…just let that brown stain accrue as a sign of how long they’ve been a chief.
So a Chief’s pinning is a big ceremony. The middle of the desert has a small Navy footprint so we only pinned four Chief’s yesterday. A rear admiral gave the speech. Four retired Chiefs working over here either in government service or contractors stood on the side. After each Chief was pinned him and his Chief sponsor would walk over and stand with the retired chiefs. The Chief read the Chief’s creed…”Ask the Chief has become a household phrase both in and out of the Navy…”
I enjoy these ceremonies. These are the events that make being in the Navy the best job around. This was my fourth one. It was the third I’ve seen while on a deployment and the other one we were out at sea doing work ups. I want to see the next Chief pinning ceremony from homeport.
The event drew the handful of Navy personnel around here out of the wood work. One was an absolutely stunning LN2. She had red hair and green eyes and really is the kind of girl who can stop traffic or launch a thousand ships. A guy walked up to here and asked to have his picture taken. Afterwards I walked over to talk again. “What did that dude want his picture taken for?”
“Sir he said he wanted to have his picture taken with his Marine bodyguard or something.”
“That’s crap…you’re a pretty girl with red hair. That’s why he wanted his picture taken with you. That sort of burns me up.” Of course, I’ve done the exact same thing before.
“Sir, that happens here all the time. I want to tell them to get a life.” She used to be on my old ship, USS SACRAMENTO, but that was before I got there. She’s getting out of the Navy because she has two kids and nobody to take care of them when she’s gone. I wished her luck and walked over to the garbage cans to break up ice for the party we were having later.
Last night we had a going away party for SSgt N (Bob). We presented him his flag then LtCol V sang while I played guitar. It was a good event, laid back. But its pretty dark out by the hedge row of lime trees. The memorable line from last nights top ten list:
You know you’ve been in Baghdad when you go home and stop signs don’t mean a damn thing.

power of music

Yesterday morning Hiba cam up to my office to pick up the State Department work requests. She saw my guitar lying on my desk. “Do you play sir?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I love guitar music, very beautiful. Do you know the song by country music singer, uh, Garth Brooks?”
“I can play The Dance.”
“Yes, the Dance, very beautiful.” I picked up my guitar, a Yamaha classical (C-70) I bought at the souk (flea market). I had to tune it because walking from 100 degree desert air into an air conditioned building reeks havoc on strings. But it’s a uniform havoc, two twists on each string brought it back up and in tune. I played the Dance, one of my favorite country music songs of the 1990’s. It always reminds me of race car driver Davey Allison because when he died in 1993 this was the song to play as a tribute. I didn’t sing very loud and Hiba sang along with me. She has a soft, pretty voice with an Arabic flare on the words. “That was very nice. I want to learn to play piano…”
When she walked out the Master Seargent in our office said, “Sir, I think you could have an Arabic wife if you wanted one,”. Yeah, I guess I could forget about the Russian mail order bride.
I had my guitar in to practice with LtCol V on the song we were supposed to play later that night at Commander’s Call.. He wrote a song about Baghdad based on Jerry Jeff Walker’s London Homesick Blues. Trouble is I’ve never heard the song so had to figure out the chords from just him humming the tune. While we practiced Maj S (Sheldon) walked in and asked me what songs I knew. I told him mostly old school country which he said was right up his alley. It isn’t often you meet a black guy who knows an extensive catalog of old country music.
So last night Sheldon and I were the opening act. The event was held outside by the pool, there were about 120 members of the JASG there. We sang “Old Flame” by Alabama and everybody clapped. Then after dinner before we kicked off the awards ceremony Sheldon sang “The Dance” while I played guitar. Then at LtCol V sang his song. He started without waiting to get the pitch from me so while I played in the key we’d practiced in (E), he sang in various keys which I never found. But it was still a good song, he made up some funny words about Marines and how the State Department blocks progress on any issue they become involved with. Cynicism is sanity in the military.
To round out the evening, at the Commander’s request Sheldon sang “The Angry American” by Toby Kieth while I beat the hell out of my guitar. It sounded really good.
The power of music is amazes me. In one day it bridged cultures between an American hillbilly and a devout Muslim girl and later it helped galvanize a sometimes demoralized group of soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines into unified team, cheering, drinking near beer and having a good time. Years ago my grandmother told me I’d always be popular as long as I played my guitar. Well, at any rate I’m always the guy with the guitar.

Perspective

My friend Hiba was in the office this afternoon, dropping off and picking up work requests for State Department review. She’s a pretty girl, twenty three, with a soft voice and beautiful black hair, mostly hidden under her Muslim head scarf. She showed me how I could convert my keyboard to Arabic (اهلاش شممشا لاهممغ شممشا لاهممغ) by pressing alt/shift.
Lately a new mass email has been going around talking about Iraq’s role in Bible prophecy. One part of the email supposedly quotes the Koran Chapter 9, verse 11. Yeah, 9/11. In this translation it talks about middle easterners awakening a great eagle who will “cleanse the land of Allah.” Because of the intricacies of the language The Koran can only be truly read and absolutely comprehended in Arabic. Everything else is just a translation. I asked Hiba to read that verse to me and see what she thinks it says. So she said she would bring in a copy of the Koran from the al-mutanabbi book market when she goes there this week.
Appearantly this is a famous place in the heart of old Baghdad. Foreigners commonly go there. But, I’m stuck in the international zone (not necessarily a bad thing) so will not get to see that side of Baghdad. She sent me a picture and the attached email:

You are welcome … maybe in the future when every thing become good and peaceful you can come in a visit and see all the beautiful site in Iraq and go wherever you like to go

Its good to see an Iraqi girl who risks her life coming thru these checkpoints every day have so much optimism. Last night a rocket hit 100 feet from my trailer but didn’t explode. I don’t have optimism…but then, Iraq is only my problem for another month. Its all about perspective.

perspective

My friend Hiba was in the office this afternoon, dropping off and picking up work requests for State Department review. She’s a pretty girl, twenty three, with a soft voice and beautiful black hair, mostly hidden under her Muslim head scarf. She showed me how I could convert my keyboard to Arabic (اهلاش شممشا لاهممغ شممشا لاهممغ) by pressing alt/shift.
Lately a new mass email has been going around talking about Iraq’s role in Bible prophecy. One part of the email supposedly quotes the Koran Chapter 9, verse 11. Yeah, 9/11. In this translation it talks about middle easterners awakening a great eagle who will “cleanse the land of Allah.” Because of the intricacies of the language The Koran can only be truly read and absolutely comprehended in Arabic. Everything else is just a translation. I asked Hiba to read that verse to me and see what she thinks it says. So she said she would bring in a copy of the Koran from the al-mutanabbi book market when she goes there this week.
Appearantly this is a famous place in the heart of old Baghdad. Foreigners commonly go there. But, I’m stuck in the international zone (not necessarily a bad thing) so will not get to see that side of Baghdad. She sent me a picture and the attached email:

You are welcome … maybe in the future when every thing become good and peaceful you can come in a visit and see all the beautiful site in Iraq and go wherever you like to go

Its good to see an Iraqi girl who risks her life coming thru these checkpoints every day have so much optimism. Last night a rocket hit 100 feet from my trailer but didn’t explode. I don’t have optimism…but then, Iraq is only my problem for another month. Its all about perspective.

Surfin' Sasquatch

I accomplished a lot today, helping the State Department come to grips with the fact that they’ve lost accountability for what work is being done around here from a facilities perspective. But I gave them a solution as well and we’ve all agreed to go from there.
I also surfed the web a lot today. This evening I did a google search for cheap land in Cumberland County, TN and came a cross a page dedicated to Bigfoot sightings in Tennessee, specifically Scott, Cumberland and Putnam counties. I followed links and found Bigfoot Central.com, and went on to discover they were at war with another web site: Bigfoot Researchers Organization (BFRO).
Evidently BFRO, which is run by a lawyer from Oxnard CA has used intimidation tactics against Bigfoot Central to kep them from showing certain articles of evidence. Its worthy to note that Bigfoot Central is run by what looks like fundamentalists Christians, the Bible figures heavily into their site.
From past Saquatch research I was familiar with BFRO so I surfed to their web site and printed and article about Gigantopithicus, the early hominoid, 9 feet tall, 1000 pounds. A few fossilized remains have been found in Asia.
Then I surfed back to the Gulf Coast Bigfoot Research Society web site and found a link to the Tennessee Bigfoot Lady. Mary Green of Overton County, TN has experienced Bigfoots in her basement and claims they have taken fruits and vegetables from her gardens and orchard. But she makes a case for hunting Bigfoot with cameras and not guns: “It is my wish to be one of their protective ambassadors in order to educate the public to their needs,” she writes.
All told I blew about fifteen minutes then went back to work…I’m a good steward of your tax dollars.
As for Bigfoot, Sasquatch – most cultures have their myths of dragons and old man of the forest type creatures, I think part of our collective memories from a long time ago…but when I move back to Washington, yeah, I’ll be looking.

First Day In Iraq

We stood around a long time that morning in the desert in Kuwait. Long enough to get bored. We put on all our gear and held up our weapons posing for pictures outside our tent at little Camp Wolverine. YN2 and IT1 hit their head with rocks, testing their helmets. I threw a small pebble in the air and waited for it to bounce off mu helmet. It hurt. I’d taken off my helmet and was wearing my boney hat so the rock bounced off my head. No shame. I was still in the funk of the 20-some odd hour plane ride from Ft Bliss, El paso Texas which had taken us to Baltimore and then to Germany. Now Kuwait, where we’d spent the night, wrapped in blankets, cold from the over charged air conditioning that chilled the tent like a freezer with slabs of meat. But the days were already hot.
Finally the little bus with the big windows showed up to take us to the airport. Like the plane ride over we sat cramped into the bus. The trip to the airfield wasn’t far. We got there and laid out our bags once again for the dogs to sniff, mostly Belgian shepards, mailnois I think they call them. Then we stood around in the shade of a dilapidated hanger and waited. We stood around until we got tired then one by one we all laid down, occasionally drifting off to sleep. After three or four hours they came and got us for the big jump, the hour long hop to Baghdad International.
We loaded into the C130 and I was lucky to find a spot with a electric wench in front of me so nobody could sit there. I propped my feet up on the winch and let the sound of the motors and the heat make me drowsy, but I didn’t sleep. Locked and loaded, we were all expecting the time had come to rock and roll.
We maintained altitude all the way into BIAP then did the steep, circular decent, battlefield landing. On the ground YN2 bolted off the plane with stomach cramps. We all pulled our three duffle bags off the large cargo pallets and laid them in a pile.
Baghdad hung heavy around us, this being the first visit for most of us. A big plume of black smoke rose up in the distance. “Sir, check it out,” said YN2 pointing to the black smoke. “Do you think that’s for us?”
“Hard to say,” I responded. We walked into the little PX they had set up in a trailer. I bought a Sprite and a bag of beef jerky. The CDR with us bought a can of SPAM and ate it with a plastic spoon. The red faced guy sitting next to me slugged back two St Pauli Girl non-alcoholics while we sat there. “I’m retried Navy, “ he said. I could tell. Just a handful of sailors sticking together in an Army world, doing the hurry up and wait which is the Army modus oparendi.
After two hours the buses and luggage truck showed up for our ride to the palace. All the military on our bus put rounds in the chamber of our M9’s and M16’s and we took off. The driver said the week before an RPG had flown over the bus. All I saw was scrubby foliage, shepherds and goats near the road and pale, deserted looking buildings in the distance.
We got to Steel Dragon parking lot staging area and waited a little while, filling out forms while more dogs sniffed our luggage. Then we walked the now familiar walk up to the north end of the palace and found our tents. We got our blankets and pillows from billeting. A pretty airman carried two of my seabags for me, while I carried one. “Sir, we all get sick here.” She was right. In a few days I had the crud.
That first night I found the office I would be working in – AIRTRANS. I walked in not having any idea what to expect so I was pleasantly surprised when I walked in and saw my friend Shane from OCS and Supply Corps school sitting there. A familiar face goes a long way to make you feel better in unfamiliar circumastances. Of course the Colonel who ran the office had no idea why I was there or what I would do. That took about three weeks of sitting around to figure out.
That evening around nine o’clock Shane took me over to his trailer and we sat out with some other people from the office and had a Carlsberg. Then I said good night, wanting to be fresh for my first full day. I got lost in the trailer camp but finally found my way back to the tent. I slept right under an air conditioner and froze. The next day I moved to a different bed.

Rocks

Walking back and forth to my hooch everyday I like to step off the brittle concrete they pour here for roads and sidewalks and kick around in the dust and gravel. I look for rocks. We are in an oxbow of the Tigris where I am so there are all manner of good, rocks, smoothed and rounded by millennia of running water. Some I find that have a good shiny surface that will look good when polished. These rocks are green, blood red, brown, and opaque. Others are smooth and thin and I carry them in my pocket to rub on, like a stress reliever. Once in the nursery I used to work at an old lady used to come in occasionally and by lambs ear, it’s a perrinial with very thick, velvety leaves. She said she took them to her friends at the nursing home…rubbing the leaves had a soothing effect. I don’t know. I rub rocks.
A few weeks ago I found a what I thought was a rock embedded in some fossilized coral. I took it in for Harold, my state department friend and a resident rock expert to look at it. Before Harold could see it Duane, the contracting guy who has some interest in rocks, said “What you’ve found is a rock with calcified crap all over it. Did you find this under somebody’s toilet?” My hands felt suddenly, foul. But then Harold looked at it with great interest.
“What you have found my friend is a tooth. It looks like the canine of a saber tooth cat or maybe a camel. Very interesting.”
So yesterday I walked around kicking rocks on a break from my office and found another, larger “tooth”. I found another, flat rock with the same calcification under it, maybe it’s a molar. I should it to Jana who was out having a cigarette break.
“Billy, tell Harold he’s full of shit. That’s a rock with some coral on it.”
I don’t know what they are but they are interesting rocks.

* * *

You might wonder if I don’t have more important things to think about than rocks. But I learned a long time ago that rocks are cool because having an interest in them doesn’t cost anything. Now I know they also give focus in a place where focus is easy to loose.

hookas and drums

Last night we had dinner at the Chinese restaurant. I had hot, hot General chicken and beef stuffed egg plant. A yellow gecko looking lizard climbed on the yellow bricks behind me, dates threatened to drop on my head from the palm tree under which we sat our table. A little kid, Saif, kept asking me for my flashlight. He ran around with it shining it at stuff but I made him give it back. I’ll get one at the exchange and give it to him in a couple of days. But nobody gets my blue minimag.
Then we drove down to the Green Zone Café and sat with three local guys: Tarif is the only one whose name I remember. He said it meant rainbow. Bob told him that in the States rainbow is the symbol for being gay. Once again my group manages to be the ugly Americans. He didn’t understand so his buddy translated for him then laughed at him.
We ordered a hooka pipe to be brought out to the table. A hooka is what the worm smoked in Alice in Wonderland. It’s a large water bong. You burn hot coals in the top of it. The ones we smoked last night were apple flavored and really good. We all took deep hits and rolled the cool smoke out our nostrils like human dragons.
There was some Arabic music playing on the television and occasionally a little drum band would get up to play on very sized local folk style bongos. They did a good job meshing all kinds of rythms and sounds using just their fingers.
The music made me think of all the sand bag guys who sing while they work. Tarif said those guys are singing traditional folk songs. I like the tone structure and scales of this music…its organic to this landscape.
Today I have to walk down to the flea market and order Bob’s embroidered thanks for your interest in national defense going away flag. I’ll miss him to. Man, its always a good bye.

day of bugs and the slovak woman

Eleven years ago I wrote a story about a man who was slightly crazy and lived with a praying mantis that had taken up residence on his window sill. Tonight as my friend Angie and I sat on my front steps talking, one of these noble beasts flew across my chest, bounced off her knee, and landed between our feet. She thought I’d thrown down a cigarette. The we stood up and studied the five inch mantis, pale like a wax bean.
Today was a day of nothing significant so maybe it was the day of bugs. This morning while inventorying at the Convention Center I watched a young Iraqi janitor kick a large cockroach across the marble floor like it was a soccer ball. I don’t know why he didn’t step on it. He just kept kicking the cockroach with the inside of his feet, driving it toward some goal, what I don’t know.
Or was it the day of the Slovak woman. A pretty Croatian girl named Yvonna accompanied Bill and I on the inventory today. I said Dorbra din, dorbra jutro – words Janka had taught me. I tried to say naz- the Slovak word for cheers but got it all wrong.
We talked nd she convinced me to go to Croatia to really experience the Adriatic, pristine still from the 50 years of industrial tourism that has plagued the rest of Europe.
We had lunch in the Al Rasheed once again, a nice break from the DFAC. I had a club sandwhich which was good except for the fried egg on top. Bill had a lamb burger and vegetable curry, and Yvonna had mezza salad and half a grilled chicken (on the bone) whixh she slathered with ketchup. Slovaks must love that stuff. Janka put it all over her pizza. She said it was Italian style.
I told Yvonna I’d bring her back to the National Restaurant one night and I’d buy her a bottle of red wine, even if it was French. The best reds around here come out of Lebanon…very dry. But she told me to try Croatian wine too. Okay, twist my arm.

Jewel, dates, and knives

Well, that answers that question. Now I know why last week whenever I’d try to peel a boiled egg half the egg cam eoff with the shell. Way back on a work up cruise on the SACRAMENTO I remember Wade saying to me, Billy, that egg is kicking your ass because the shell came off in little flakes and white started tearing away as well. But the past week whe I’ve peeled the eggs the shell has come off in broad patches – ideal. The Marine master guns who sat with me this morning told me he brought the bad eggs to the contractor’s attention last week. He told them how to shock the egg with cold water immediately after boiling it . It worked.
I think I’ve been extended in Iraq, at least that’s what the email said. Not very good news. This ultimate gated community I live in isn’t too unlike a minimum security prison and we’re the ones locked in.
I sat out last night processing this information, listening to Jewel and Cowboy Junkies (infusion of Margo Timmins therapy), staring at the tops of the date palms over the T-walls. The moon is one day past full so the night was blue bright.
I spent yesterday at the convention center inventorying. Once again the personnel over there blew off the preparation I’d requested they do so it is and will continue to be a long, tedious process…for KBR. I mostly walk in the offices, act as liason then sit and talk with the prettiest girl there while KBR counts.
In one of the offices yesterday they had dates fresh off these $25,000 palm trees. The red/brown wrinkled ones were mushy and tasted like ripe plums with syrup poured over them. The yellow green ones which one of the locals assured me was ripe was soft and brown at the bottom but very fibrous and crunchy to bite into. It was just as sweet as the red ones however.
At lunch I walked over to the Al Rasheed looking for deals. I found a 100 year old karanji(sp) knife from Oman. The guy wanted $1000 for it. He told me he paid $700 in 1998 for it. I looked those knives up on ebay but nobody is selling one so I’m not sure what its worth. Their prices tend to run high at the Al Rasheed. I’ve found ivory around here for pretty cheap but the Rasheed’s is high. But I don’t buy ivory.

41 and a wake-up: in the arena

I had yesterday off but couldn’t bring myself to do much for the most of the day. Working seven days a week, and now six days a wekk drains a body, and when I have any down time I just crash.
Eventually I pulled out my Thoreau and a notebook and went and sat in the sun by the pool. But Thoreau bored me even though, as always I found a couple of classic ideas to hold onto. I wrote some in my notebook but what I’d intended to be an essay on the dichotomy of me and Thoreau and military culture turned into yet another rant, self realization that I don’t want to work more than six months a year…someday, if I aspire I will be partially unemployed. Unfortuanetly that means unpaid as well.
So I just pulled out a dried out Cuban cigar and smoked it, watching the lithe girls in the distance run up and down the length of the pool…as the teacher who spent 8 weeks with us on my last cruise and became a friend of mine once said, Billy, you and I were the kids who spent too much time in time-out in kindergarten.
He’s right, I’ve always resisted jumping into the arena. As a kid in Chantay Acres I have somewhat fond memories of crawling down into man holes to stand in the sewer. But when my friends wanted to do it, roll the cover off the man hole, I said we ought not. Only when I saw they were going to pick up that heavy metal lid anyway did I help. Looking back now I guess it could have fallen on us and cut off our fingers…would drastically slow down my typing.
So I made up my mind, stubbed out the foul cigar and walked back to my trailer to change into my swim trunks. I got to the pool and dove in. I flopped and languished and just as I was about to get out to dive in again my friend Andy(rea) swam up. We talked I told her I was afraid to go off the high dive. She got out and dove in from the sort of high dive but I just stayed in the pool and floated on my back. Then I talked to the Dutch girls that are here for NATO. I invited them to the Chinese restaurant with me and Andy, Johnnie, and a navy Master at Arms I’d met while floating in the pool. They said they had to work but maybe next time…maybe next time. I like the Dutch women, with their brown hair and dark eyes. I still need to make it to Amsterdam sometime.
So there was Chinese afterwards, pleasant but filling. Now I’m getting ready to head over to the Convention Center and try to account for U.S. government property. But really, the only thing I’m counting is the days. Forty-one and a wake up.

Peace is a Vacuum

I sat in my hooch last night, half reading James Hillman’s The Terrible Love of War, half thinking about my recent close calls. Just as this good but slightly dull book was putting me to sleep another helicopter flew over, shaking my trailer like a tornado, albeit a small one.
24/7 they fly 100 feet, 50 feet above my trailer, above my office in the palace, bringing in the medivaced wounded. They shake the thin aluminum wall, they rattle the windows. Tuesday I was going to walk down to the hospital with my roommate and visit the wounded soldiers and Marines, take them beef jerky, candy, and lemonade mix that I have left over from care packages.
But I didn’t go. I couldn’t think of what to say. Inherently I’m not a talker with people I don’t know…when there’s no reason to talk I don’t talk. But I also knew if I went I’d draw on my officer skills, ask the soldier how he was doing, give him a forum, a chance to say whatever was on his mind.
But I didn’t go. I went running instead.
In his book Hillman says peace is a vacuum – an absence of, a freedom from. Nature hates a vacuum. What will we fill it with? The sound of helicopters flying low and fast.

the bunker bar - a speakeasy

Last night was my roommate Jim’s going away party. He’s almost completed his arduous three month Air Force tour. I will admit he put in a lot more late nights than I ever would.
We had his party at a place called the bunker bar which we formed a small convoy of unarmored vehicles to take us there. The best part I thought was getting to talk with mine and Shane’s friend Suha. We always see eachother and say hello in passing but I’m awful about stopping to talk to people when I work so I don’t think we’d ever had more than a two minute conversation.
We drove down the road toward BIAP but not far and turned onto a small side street, you know the one: it’s the one where the Iraqi guy sells beer under his carport from the back of his van…there’s an overturned boat in the yard. We stopped by a small window and Iraqi guy stuck out his head. “We’re here to see Tony,” yelled Jim out the window of our Suburban. With those words a large metal gate slid open and our convoy drove into the compound. Inside the Bunker Bar as its called the walls were white bathroom tile and lined with an assortment of automatic weapons, rocket launchers and unexploded ordinance. There were pictograph signs instructing children of varying nationalities not to touch anything that looked like this because it may blow up. Invariably the kid threw a bomb into the air then the last frame would be a blast of fire with the kid’s head and shoulders sticking out. The gentle side of war, taking care of the children, helping them play nice.
Early on Jim broke out the Romeo y Julieta Cuban cigars but only he and I smoked them. They were dry so he got a small tumbler of cognac to dip the ends into. After dipping I stuck mine in my mouth but nearly gagged when a stream of the foul liquor shot into my mouth like I’d bit into a sponge. After a couple of minutes it soaked in and the cigar became smokeable.
Although they had a pool table I never got to show off. I spent most of the evening talking with Suha about our blog pages, the Iraqi neighborhood where her dad lives and stuff. She grew up in Iraq but after high school spent several years in the states, going to college in the Midwest. She told me she’d talked to the journalist who’d just been released by kidnappers. She had met him at the Convention Center where he had been working on a documentary. Independent filmmaking in the new Iraq can be a hazardous enterprise but luckily his adventure turned out alright.
We came back to the compound before midnight and I went to bed. I was sleeping well until some kind of blast shook my trailer and woke me up. I didn’t sleep very good after that. I had expected celebratory fire but never heard any. I don’t know how Iraqs soccer game against Paraguay turned out.

fire fire fire

Yesterday I walked to work looking at the black smoke rolling up to the sky. I figured the Haji flea market with its fifty wicker booths had finally bit the dust – Persian rugs offered to a Persian god. But I got closer and saw that it was the palace. I little shack we built on the second deck mezzanine was fully engulfed in leaping orange flames. The water trucks still hadn’t shown up. A total loss.
By the time the fire was completely out the area was destroyed. The chandeliers had crashed down and the fascia stone was falling off, concrete flaking off revealing the cheap, forced construction Saddam had mandated when he rebuilt this place in 1991. “Rebuild what the Americans destroyed in three months or I will kill you,” was his mandate, or something like that.
Once they let us go inside I walked up to my office thru swishing water and heavy smoke and saw that two rooms inside were totally gutted by the fire – all plaster and wood completely charred. My office was unharmed except for the smoke smell and lack of AC. What could have been a bad situation turned out to be not so bad as it could have been. The DFAC had to serve MRE's for lunch. I got cheese tortellini, among my favorites from the governments collection. And peole carried on with what they had to do. I chaired a meeting to establish an SOP for submitting work requests. And the IT's did a great job. Despite their offices being destroyed by the fire they had the palace back online in a matter of hours.
Nothing further to report.
When I walked to work this morning there were high white cloudes in the sky. They turned the sunlight a grey pink in places where it passed thru them. I haven't seen anything like that in a long time.

happiness kills

Last night I went outside after work and watched the Olympics. I meant to just pass thru but wound up staying for an hour because eit was really entertaining. I watched womens’ pole vault (fascinating how the stick bends and they don’t fall off), womens’ swimming, and womens’ running. There was a mens’ running event as well but I wouldn’t give you fifteen cents to watch mens events. Sort of like I watch baseball sporadically but I remember one time really getting into the womens college softball championship a few years ago…I don’t know why, I just do.
So apparently the Iraqi soccer team was playing and winning at the same time. They must have won. Around ten o’clock the sky over the compound lit up with tracers streaking thru the sky, the air snapping and popping with the sound of jubilant AK-47’s. Celebratory fire…fairly common lately. Most of us sat out watching the fireworks and continuing to watch the games but I noticed the fire was coming from all directions and converging over our heads. These Iraqis’ were happy but they must have some idea that happiness kills so from around the city they aimed for our compound.
I stood out with a major who was trying to catch the streaking sky on his digital camera but decided I’d walk on back to my hooch and change clothes and maybe come back out when all this was over. The Giant Voice switched on: WE HAVE REPORTS OF CELEBRATORY FIRE – ALL PERSONNEL ARE ADVISED TO TAKE IMMEDIATE COVER. I continued walking. Then in thesand five four feet to my right I heard a dull thud. I little cloud of sand swirled a foot above a small hole. I looked up and thought maybe it was a date. But I pulled out my minimag flashlight and found the projectile from an AK-47 round. It was half an inch long, copper or brass, scraped by the rifling on the barrel. Good souvenir.
I never thought about how dangerous a falling bullet was before I got to Iraq. I figured they just fell. But then I talked to people who’ve had rounds fall into their trailers. That means it pierced a thin metal roof and particle board ceiling before plopping down on someone’s bed. Thin metal and particle board aren’t much of a barrier but then neither are our bare heads. One specialist came running by me last night to take cover. In June a falling round went through his cell phone and hit him in the face. When I went back out last night showing off my near miss one lady told me the success of the Iraqi soccer team had put nearly fifty people in the hospital due to celebratory fire. And its simple really – just remember your physics: terminal velocity for falling objects is 32 feet per second (sq?). Not nearly so fast as they fire out of a weapon but plenty fast none the less.
So I’m not terribly excited about this good Iraqi soccer team. I hope they do well, give a destroyed country something to rally around. But I temper that with the thought that happiness kills.

damage assessment and Nick Berg

Last night around nine o’clock the KBR rep and I went up to the room where the mortar hit to assess the damage. Clean up had already started and plywood applied and the real heavy work will begin today. Missle damage freaks people out if they look at it too long.
I was technically there to assess what kind of work orders would be put in for the repair work but lets face it…we love to rubber neck and gawk. I’d always imagined rockets and mortars scratching the surface and then bouncing around on the palace roof/ But this one blew a two foot hole in the roof then blasted out an eight foot whole thru the plaster and rebar of the ceiling. My jaw dropped, not the least because this happened 60 feet from my second story office. When I walked into the room I couldn’t believe the people lived thru it. In fact the only reason the woman wasn’t killed is because she had walked over to the copier.
After looking at the damage and being amazed that the AC was still flowing thru the smashed up duct work I walked on back to my hooch. I sat outside drinking Tuborgs with my neighbor Mike. He’s an older guy, retired Air Force who is here now as a contractor. He told about being in Somalia and Vietnam then we talked about Iraq and rebuilding the infrastructure etc. Then we laughed at all the people who work in the compound and carry around pistols, even when they don’t go out. I told him all I carried a hunting knife because no SOB was going to cut off my head. He said he carried a machete in Vietnam for the same reason. “Speaking of cutting off people’s heads I worked with Nick Berg back in the winter. We were up in Mosul together.”
He said that Nick came to their compound and stayed with them for a few weeks.
“He was a free spirit, well, read and smart but he didn’t have any sense…One day we were out looking at the comms tours up around Mosul and he said he was going to climb to the top of the tour to check out the wiring. I told Nick, you can’t go up there, there’s an inch of ice on every rung of that ladder’, well he climbed it anyway, part of the way then came back down and told me I was right.”
Berg had an uncle by marriage who taught at the university in Mosul. He went out to visit him sometimes, said he’d just catch a cab. I told him not to do it. I said, “Nick you got curly hair and that Jew nose, and light skin, you’ll stick out like the balls on a dog. But he went anyway.”
Mike said he couldn’t believe it when he saw Nick Berg on television, being held hostage.
So often Iraq seems harmless but then you have to do damage assessments, figure out what needs to be done, and how much Americans will have to pay.

enviro-musings and army money

Last night I didn’t put in any extra time after the eight o’clock knock off time. It had been a slow day, sometimes physically painful to stay awake. And I’d accomplished my mission for the evening:
I’d called Washington D.C. and got a DoDAAC – which is what the Army uses to charge items against. In the Navy we call it a line of accounting. LtCol V. was sort of surprised all this could be accomplished over the phone without me ever having to prove who I was. I had them create both an agency UIC and DoDAAC just because I asked politely.
Afterwards I walked out to the pool where MWR chick Andy was showing Monty Python’s Search For the Holy Grail. A funny, funny movie even if it is British humor. My favorite line is where they guy says the witch turned him into a Newt, “I got better”. I watched it for and hour but have seen it many, many times so walked back to my hooch.
Back at the hooch I sat outside talking with the guy next door. Chris came in and wanted to show me his new gun. I went in his trailer and he handed me an Iraqi made version of a Berreta 9mm. Pretty cool weapon but the only thing “different” about it was the Arabic writing engraved on the barrel. He said he knows of one legal way to get it back to the states and he’s going to try that before he resorts to illegal methods.
Over in the corner were 14 boxes of books. I looked thru them…all title about free speech in Australia and how to evade the tax codes in Canada – donations from some organization. I did find one called It Takes A Hero – the Grassroots battle against Environmental Oppression. I could tell by the title I wouldn’t agree with much of it but I took it anyway. I always like grassroots movements…I’m a Populist like that.
The first story was about a guy in Idaho who fought for the right to ride his motorcycle on public land. No problem. I agree we should have designated areas for off road vehicles…they are lots of fun. Of course as much as I love the ying ying ying ying ying of a two-stroke engine they are loud. Motor vehicles of all kinds should be kept out of hiking and horseback riding areas. We can’t all play together…I refuse to. Give me a gun and I’ll shoot the sign that tells me I have to.
The next story was about logging in the Shawnee National Forest. The loggers claimed the forest needed the maples and hickories cleared out because the oak trees needed full sun and this would make for better wildlife habitat. Well, I think anyone interested in trees in the southeast and Midwest knows the climax community is the oak hickory forest. I really think forestry is the only science people know the answers to before they do the research – the prologging camp says health is in the clearcut and the environmentalists say leave it alone…lets create a fire hazard.
I am actually sympathetic with the loggers these days in most circumstances. We have lots of protected forest land. We need wood…save our old growth (or at least second growth) in the protected areas…responsibly cut the rest. Of course in Washington the sick little farmed out trees (last harvest 1985) and clear cut scars across the land drives home the point that there is a better way.
A few years ago in February I was between ships so I drove down to northern California to camp in the redwoods. I love it down there. But the rain started on the second day so I found stuff to do inside. In a brewpub in Eureka I watched vintage NASCAR racing, cr 1974 and got to talking to a logger named Jess. He said he was probably the youngest old growth logger I’d ever meet…he was in his early thirties, solidly built, big guy.
He lamented the loss of logging in NORCAL, the death of the little mill towns. He blamed it on people from outside coming in and telling them how to run their communities. He claimed Redwood National Park was the least visited park in the country and though I disagree I will say that on rainy days in February I’ve never seen many people there. But apart from the natural bitterness that comes when your livelihood is taken away he also expressed an appreciation for the life he was able to live, out in the woods. I asked if he was familiar with that girl who sat up in that tree called Luna for two years.
Yeah, I know ol’ Julia he said with a grin. You know she claimed to have stayed in that tree for two years but my buddy saw her several times in bars in Fontana during that same time.
I heard she got pregnant in that tree?
Yeah, that’s what they say. He smile, not saying the rest.
Jess also told me about the guy who was killed a few years ago during a tree sit.
I know the guy that felled the log that killed him and he felt really bad about it. He never meant to hurt anybody.
I suppose not but it takes a hero no matter what side you’re on. One thing is for sure – in the U.S. we have more natural beauty in our land that any other country on earth could ever dream of. How we use it is our legacy to the world. Jess needs a job and college students with time on their hands need a cause.
Later that same night I was a place in Arcata talking to this girl who was a photographer. I came here to be an activist she said.
Why?
Because these people here don’t know what they’ve got…they need us here to show them.
Jess, I fell your pain ol’ buddy.

lunch at the palace

Issues the last couple of days with the palace dining facility – D-Fac. The people with the new contract an’t keep up, can’t get their act together. I went down at noon today to pick up an MRE but there were about three hundred people in line. No thanks. I won’t stand in that line. But I did see the super hot (in a quiet way) Army captain. She has blonde hair and is very plain. With the crowd the most I could do was cut in front of her and say hello. It would have stupid to stand there beside the line talking…filling up the silence.
So I walked back up the grand staircase and went back to my office. I had some homemade, hot hot beef jerky somebody sent in from Texas. I also had ruffles and French onion dip and Pepsi. And a box of raisins.

bricks and mortar

Yesterday I talked with the guy I’ll probably be working for in Washington. He’s a Commander, just taking over the position. We have several mutual acquaintances but that’s to be expected with the PACNORWEST navy. So in a few days that should be set.
Just got an email from my friend Susan the other day that she is getting married, after ten years of dating, to Sam. Their wedding is mid-October and its possible I’ll get out of B’daddy in time to get to Charleston to attend. I think when people get married after being together ten years its forever. At least it would seem that way to me. I’m happy for both of them. She and the Doctor just returned from a trip to the southwest. I’ll have to pick his brain about what new stuff he found out in Abbey country. I hope he brought me back a rock.
This job has slowed down, waiting for the hectic rush thjat will come when we get the go ahead to put the new property data base online. So I sat surfing the ‘net, glazed yesterday afternoon when a guy comes in needing a CIF form to get a new helmet.
“Mine was stolen.”
Have you filled out a statement at the Provost Marshall’s office yet?
No. I’ll do that.
BTW – where did they steal it from you?
I left it at the shuttle stop. I noticed I didn’t have it so I took the shuttle back and it was gone. Somebody stold it.
No, YOU lost it.
Someone took it from where I’d left it.
No, you were negligent and lost it. It doesn’t matter to me…just don’t go to the provost Marshall to do the statement.
Anyway…that’s how these exchanges go. Me being a steward of your tax dollars.
TV’s get a big fat NO. A certain general always asks for things – air conditioning, move this wall, buy $20K worth of furniture…my favorite – replace the cardboard in that window with plywood because the dust destroys my allergies. That one I approved.
Of course lets face it: if someone really wants it after I invalidate their request they submit a waiver to my commander and get what they want anyway. But I really wonder how many of my tax pennies went into buying the nearly $50K worth of furniture in the main General’s office(s).
We build so much here then tear it down again. Its all fluid, this rebuilding of Iraq. I’ve learned more about brick laying here than ever before. But even these brick structures are shaky and built for a day. Then they’ll tear it down and chip the dried mortar off the old yellow bricks and build something else.

sundays and my cowboy ways

I had the day off yesterday. I’ve changed my day to Sunday because I really don’t like working on Sunday’s. It goes beyond the religious to the cultural…day of rest day of relaxation day when I don’t work and won’t work in the near future. This excudes all home projects like gardening etc. But no throwing any chicken in the bucket working for the Man on a Sunday. I did that at Lowes and used to find it physically painful to be at work on Sundays. I have car racing to watch, walks in the woods to accomplish.
Yesterday I continued reading The Fool’s Progress by Edward Abbey. I sat n the sun reading sweating tanning. Much the same way I did reading Desert Solitaire in 1993 in the mornings before I had to be at that air conditioning factory (that wasn’t air conditioned) in Lewisburg to work the second shift. Fool’s Progress is like finding out what Abbey was doing when he wasn’t being that solitary park ranger at Arches National Park. The funny thing is is the book takes place in 1980, poor sick Henry and his sick dog driving hss worn out pick up truck back to Stump Crick West Virginia to die at his brothers house. This book is like the dash between the born on and died on dates on Abbey’s tombstone. Of course Abbey has no tombstone…he was rolled up in a sleeping bag and secretly buried in the desrt by some of his friends. A few days later they had a Bachus like festival near the site…Ed’s wishes.
After reading and walking to the flea market I sat down to watch a movie. I put in The Godfather. I’ve started the movie several times but never have made it all the way thru. Yesterday I never got past the opening scene. It was boring. And I don’t like ganster movies – Casino, the Sopranos, anythingby that all shock no talent schmuck Quentin Tarantino – they are way tooo violent. In my old age I really don’t like useless violence. So I put on the ultimate spaghetti western, For A Few Dollars More. Its really is a great movie…drama with nice scenery. There is a buck toothed red head in the movie that I find rather attractive. I don’t know why.
The other day I watched Unforgiven because it is on my same pirated DVD disc.Thats a really good one too. Clint Eastwood understands the way to play a cowboy, a drifter, a man who isn’t really nice but not terribly mean. His character in Unforgiven kills a lot of people in the end but you get the feeling they had it coming to them. “Don’t you go cuttin’ up any (women with entrepreneurial tendencies).” He’s out to protect and serve. Unforgiven also has some outstanding landscapes in it as well. What is a movie if not something beautiful to look at.
That’s what I miss most about the United States right now. I could get in my truck and drive to some wide open space…I’m tired of saying excuse me. I’m tired of breathing everybody elses air. Three thousand people crammed in one little palace. It s kinda gross when the sewer back up.

addendum: now I know why the tracers flew overhead

In its first Olympic competition since its country was shattered by war, Iraq upset star-studded Portugal 4-2 on Thursday in a gritty, come-from-behind victory as about 200 chanting fans cheered

Loretta Lynn and Northern Lights

I got a pretty good sleep last night but I think I’m coming down with a cold. Johnnie and I hung out at the pool listening to music. She told me more details about her trip to Amsterdam…sounds like a great trip. We also knocked around the idea of me joining her and her friends in Las Vegas when I leave here and she goes on R&R but I think I’ll be ready to get back to Iceland by that point…ready for 50 knot winds, sleet, and the Northern Lights. It will actually be good to get back. Sigurdur emailed me the other day and told me it was 80 degrees but I think he was joshing me.
Last night was quiet except for the celebratory fire. I don’t know what they were celebrating, getting thie butts kicked in Najaf I guess. At any rate the pink tracers flying through the air sent us to take cover because falling bullets kill.
I talked with my detailer yesterday and I think I’ll be getting orders to Whidbey Island. I’ve been stationed in Bremerton and Everett, WA in the past and I really like the area. I want to buy a house up there and actually get a dog. Thirty one years and I’ll finally buy my best friend. Really that sounds pathetic but its not. The billet opens in July but I may can slide in in May which means I’d detach from Keflavik a month early. I’m not sure what they’ll have me doing when I get back to Kef so hitting the lava trail a little early probably won’t matter.
Yesterday I got two CD’s. One was Jimmy Buffet’s License to Chill which my mother sent me. Its really good in the Jimmy Buffet way. Though I prefer his music from the 70’s when he was an angry young man casually giving the world the finger License is his best album in years. It’ll be one I keep in my truck for a long time to come. I like the whole aging, mellowing feel to the album.
At the PX I bought Revelation by Joe Nichols. I like it sort of. He’s got a good voice and there are a couple of really good songs on there, especially the classic tear-n-beer Farewell Party. But Nichols has one half of whats wrong with Nashville’s country music these days – this album gets heavy handed with religion and preaches at times. This religious kick I guess started with the roots of country music and I like those old songs and Roy Acuff too but salvation isn’t what I’m looking for in a contemporary country song. The other kick country has sold out to is the war anthem/song. Recently online I read The Nashville Scene’s YOU’RE SO NASHVILLE IF… contest. My favorite:
You’re so Nashville if you need a war to sell your records.
Toby Kieth is a clever song writer but he seems to exploit the sentiments of Americans. Daryl Worly did the same thing with Have You Forgotten. John Micheal Montgomery’s Letters From Home is actually a bit more sincere and holds up as a good song. Alan Jackson’s Where Were You When The World Stopped Turning is far and away the best country song to be inspired by September 11 and the military action which has followed. That song captures loss and devastation and I get a lump in my throat every time I hear it.
But if you really want to hear the best country album of the year pick up Loretta Lynn’s Van Lear Rose. Its produced by Jack White of the White Stripes and I think he captures what Loretta Lynn always wanted to sound like if Owen Bradley hadn’t of got in the way. Its raw and real.

sandbags and silent nights

Coming of a quiet night (silent night holy night) and feeling a little better rested. Though its my fault why I’m a little tired. I cleaned my trailer with Clorox wet wipes then started reading on The Fools Progress but remembered I had to visit someone’s hooch to pick something up. On the way I ran into a friend and she came back to my hooch with me and we sat out talking until midnight. Then my roommate comes home right as I’m ready to crawl into bead (dark, blissfully silent) and turns on the light. I cover up my head with my Korean blanket but eventually have to tell him to turn off his lamp. Sleep…but not enough hours.
I had sand bag detail yesterday. The idea is to sit outside supervising local nationals while they build or refurbish existing sand bag wall s in the trailer park. That worked for the morning. SrA A. and I found shady spots to sit where we actually could watch the action and track where the Iraqi teenage boys and old men who made up the detail wandered off to. Iraqis are generally hard workers. They work with a group mentality which we were briefed on before deploying. They’ve filled about 3 million sand bags in the last few months. Occasionally some of the younger kids who carried trash and tend to know more English would come over and talk with us. One kid showed me how he broke his arm in three places playing football and can’t bend it all the way back now. He kept offering me More menthol cigarettes which I puffed on with him although I don’t smoke. Its very offensive to an Iraqi to refuse an offer. Others just asked us for shoes because theirs were falling apart. If you want to do something good send some old (but not worn out) shoes to Iraq. I’ll probably leave all mine here but for my boots.
Then my friend Jackie, a pretty blonde with tortoise shell cat eye glasses wandered out of her hooch and stood talking to us while she waited on her laundry. I decided to make a picture…mistake.
The guys dropped their sand bags and surrounded us asking to have their pictures taken, mostly with Jackie, some with me because I wear gold warfare pins and they thought I was important. I’ve never ordered the subdued patches and pins we are supposed to wear and with 60 days to go I probably won’t now.
At 1145 we broke for lunch and when we came back the 130 degree heat made us drop all attempts at looking like we were supervising. Me, SrA A, a SSGT, and a Major sat in the shade of a eucalyptus tree and waited out the day.
Due to the heat the LN’s knocked off at two fifteen. All eighty of them gathered under the eucalyptus tree where they handed their badges in to a former captain in the Iraqi army. They sat their patiently, some singing, some laughing, until they were paid their $7 or $8 dollars worth of Iraqi dinar. Supervisors got $10.
I had to go back to work for the rest of the day but I think I’ll volunteer for sand bag detail again, I’d like to do it about once a week. Staring into the sun is a nice break from staring at my HP 1702 computer monitor.

drums and fleet footed animals

You are so Baghdad if…
After a long day at work yesterday I took off early and changed clothes. Shane’s last night in town and we were taking him out to dinner at the Al-Rasheed. We rode over with Jill in her Pajero – me, Johnnie, Shane, and Kerry from the State Department. I remember the sun made the sky yellow then darkened to orange near the horizon as we walked down the pock marked sidewalk to the Rasheed, with its beautiful fountain which Shane thinks I want to pack it up and put it in my front yard. That would be cool.
Jill suggested we play some pool before dinner. I hadn’t eaten since my salsa drenched hash browns at breakfast so I was hungry.
We played three games. Ultimately Kerry and Johnnie beat Shane and I for the championship of the world. It was getting on nigh nine o’clock so we decided to go eat. We decided to go to the Chinese restaurant instead of the fancy National Restaurant.
We sat down and ordered quickly because they were about to close the kitchen. After we ordered Jill gave Shane and I presents she brought us back from her trip to Africa. Shane got a box and I got a cool drum with an impala skin stretched across it. We passed it around experimenting with different beats – drum circle Baghdad.
The first mortar hit fairly near and loud:
Woow, that was close.
Then came the whistle – long and loud in terms of a traveling mortar. I’ve never seen plastic lawn chairs fly out from under people’s butts so fast in my life. I fell to the ground but saw Jill running, yelling GET INSIDE GET INSIDE…reminded me of a platoon leader or something. We all got in to the rickety little concrete bathroom and laughed. After two minutes the waiter brought me my change from the $50 I’d given him.
We drove back but had to park in the big parking lot because the sirens were going and the palace was on lock down. We were able to come into the pedestrian gate.
Johnnie, Shane, and I walked back to my trailer to round out the evening. I walked inside to grab a couple of Carlsbergs and found my roommate in helmet and body armor taking up residence in the bathroom. We talked a minute then he got back in bed to read. The rest of us sat with King and a Jewish lady who complained she was being hit on too much here by anti-Semitic guys. Must be tough to pick up a woman when throw out racial slurs at her. Jews, the other white people she kept saying, pleased with her sloganeering.
In a replay of the night before a few more mortars dropped in, the Big Voice said TAKE COVER TAKE COVER so we walked around the corner to the bunker but didn’t stay long.
Bored with the intrusive mortars I picked up my drum and made up a song – I’m an impala, I’m a Chevrolet. Shane’s big send off courtesy of me and Johnny, Jill and Kerry, all the people he’d had to interact with everyday in our sour customer service way…he summed it all up with a twist as I finished my song. “You’re going to miss this place,” he said.
I know. In Baghdad everything ends with a bang.

ghurkas and severed arms

Today I bought two of the infamous Ghurka knives from the guard downstairs. He wanted $90 but since I bought to he came down to $80 a piece. These are good knives, heavy steel with a crooked blade. The handle end is wrapped yak leather as is the hard the sheath. Two little knives come with it, one sharp, one a sharpener. The guy told me in broken English that these were the national weapon of Nepal.
The Ghurkas have an intimidating reputation though most of the ones that work for Global are older and a few are overweight. But, they are tough. The reason the Ghurkas don’t carry their knives when on duty is because of an incident a few months ago. A drunk American coming through a check point grabbed a Ghurka on watch from behind. Reflexively the Ghurka grabbed his knife, gave a whack and the guys arm had to be surgically reattached.
Its all part of the legend – if a Ghurka draws his knife it MUST draw blood before it can be returned to the sheath. Back in the colonial days, the British used Ghurkas for crowd control in Hong Kong. They’d form a line, fix bayonets and walk into the crowd. That’s how the Ghurkas came to be working here today.When the British decided to take over India most of the subcontinent rolled over for them. But as they approached the Ghurka region of Nepal the locals fought savagely, nearly to the last man. This gained the respect of the Crown and Ghurkas have employeed as elite units in the British Army ever since.