Life in X Minor

Lions in Autumn

2005-09-20T21:34:00.000+02:00

Home is where the heart is.

That is what they say. What happens when you don't know where your heart is anymore? What happens when Home just doesn't feel like "Home"? There is warmth, there is goodness, and all manner of blessings, yet something is missing.

Once, home was a part of me. Something that made me whole and right. Now, I just don't feel that anymore. Its not the distance, nor the people there. On the contrary, I love my family and they are the greatests gifts given to me by God.

Its just not home.

I remember an old show on Animal Planet I saw some time ago, where they followed a pride of lions on a Kenya game reserve. These lions, who's life, strangely resemebled our own. Had every moment of their existance filmed for the period of two years. During the second year, something happened that stuck with me for some odd reason, and know I think I know why. There were two young male lions, who had reached the point in their lives where their manes were full and their size large. The Alpha of the Pride, began to fight with them, forcing them from the pride. Basicly, sending them out to find their own way in the world. The two young males, however did not fight back. They kind of just went. As if they some how knew it was time for them to go.

My father has never kicked me out or anything, he actually wants me to stay at home. Weird.

I digress.

I have not really discussed this with anyone, but somehow, I just feel like those young lions. Something inside me tells me that it is time to go. It is time to make a new "home' where ever that may be.

I have traveled half the world. Seen sights that most people dream of seeing. I wander, but I am not lost. I know I will find what ever it is I am looking for.

These mountains, this land. It is not home, nor will it ever be, but it is home for now. Texas, doesnt feel like home anymore. I dont know where it is. I know I am here. Here is home. Here in me.

Michaelangelo

2005-08-26T20:49:00.000+02:00

"We at war with terrorism, racism, most of all, we at war with ourselves."
--Kanye West

Scars. How many scars do we have. Superfical, mental, and spiritual. The essence of a scar is in its permanence. Forever. They have...become a part of us. As such, they define us. We are our laughter, our thoughts, spoken and silent, and so much more. Above all these, are our scars.

Where do we get these scars? Our enemies. It has been said that the only teachers who teach us anything worth learning and remembering are our enemies. Wether you find them at the end of a rifle or point of a pen. Our enemies are the blacksmiths who forge us from raw earth into the instrument that we choose to become...or let them mold us into against our will.

I have a scar on my left knee from reconstructive surgery. I tore my ACL in a sacrafice to the Football Patheon. I was told that I could not join the military because it would not let me perform to the rigorous Army standard. There is a dark patch of skin on my right elbow. It was red with clotted blood after a friend told me that I could not skateboard down a ramp. Now its hardly noticable, but I know its there.

Challenges, Dares, Obstacles real and imagined....enemies all. It always comes down to you versus it, him, her, or them. What do you do when that happens? What synapes fire in the deep and dark corners of your mind? What nerves begin to send signals to your muscles in reaction to the barks of your mind and spur you to an action? Fight or Flight.

Fight.

Only through conflict of the self versus everyone and everything do we learn anything about ourselves. Your strength of will against the whole fucking world. Like a slab of marvel in the hands of Michaelangelo. Each conflict chips away at you like a hammer and pick. Each drop of blood. Each tear of frustration. Every single cry of pain. The acidic burn of the taste of your own blood flowing down your throat from biting your tounge to keep from screaming out. Slowly shapes you into who you were meant to become. Each scar is another piece of marble gone. After time we begin to realize that all these scars have created the masterpiece that is the self. The person of belief and self assurance.

You see, when you avoid conflict for fear of the scar. You deny the artist the chance to mold you into the work of art we were all supposed to become. A life devoid of conflict is no life at all. Face your enemies. Let them knock you down...

When you are knocked down, you prove to the world that you stood for a reason.

It is in that instance. That divine moment of clairity when your clothes are covered in dust, when you are soaked in sweat, when you can't take another breath. In that perfect moment when the world has tried to knock you down...you take another step.

Yes, we may fall again and we may fail.

There, our enemy has taught us of our most valuable lesson, our weakness. Now, we can go about confronting our weakness. So that when the time comes again we will be ready. We will have the scar from the last confrontation, and will have LEARNED from it.

It is when you do not confront your enemies, that they become something far worse. Demons. Demons of regret, guilt, and loss. Unlike our enemies they teach us nothing. Instead they haunt us. Constantly tormenting us of our past failure and our inability to think or act when we needed to. Demons beget man nothing. We all have a few of these. Times in our lives when we refused the chisel of the artist and chose to remain content with our misshapen form.

People say that pacifism is the answer, and they mistakenly associate this with a life without conflict, a life of harmony. Ghandi and MLK come to mind. Their lives were born of conflict. Even to the end of their days, their enemies forged them into the great men they became. Why, because they did not shy from chisel. They stood. They were knocked down, they got back up.

A life of peace is an empty life. Inner peace is being a wall. A wall that has a self confidence and understanding of what it is and what it wants to do in this world. Knowledge of the self.

How do we attain the knowledge of the self? By letting our enemies teach us.

A difficult mid-term, a job interview, a difficult relationship...all enemies. Enemies that we must learn from. If not, they will become the demons of our past and haunt us till the end of our days.

We are at war right now. A continuous conflict with an enemy. We will learn from this. We must learn from this. The cost of this lesson has been great. The price of this knowledge is more than some are comfortable with. That is not my place to decide.

The chisel continues to fall upon this country, these people, and those of us among them.

We are the sum of our scars given to us by our enemies.

Learning to go 'sans'

2005-08-17T00:32:00.000+02:00

One of the first things you learn when you join the Army is how to go without alot of the things you are used to.

In basic training, you are kept sheltered from the outside world. No television, no newspapers, no internet. No privacy...but that goes without saying.

On a deployment, I thought it would be worse, but it wasn't. I had pretty much everything I needed to be comfortable, save whiskey and women, but hey, I can deal. Not too long ago I was sent on a new mission to establish communications at FOB Red Falcon here in Afghanistan. This was a brand new base. In the military, new is not nessecairily a good thing. This place was pretty damn barren. No kitchen, no showers, and no AC.

Doing without hot chow is easy. MRE's are tolerable for a time. Especially when you get creative with them. Coco mix+Peanut Butter= Ghetto Reese's Pieces mix. No AC, is adjusted too quickly. Eventually your body runs out of water to sweat, so you dont have to worry about that.

Showers...

That was the roughest. When was the last time you 'scraped' dirt off your skin? Babywipes help alot, but still, they can only cover so much. I mean they start off white and end up black. You learn to adapt though. You become one with the dirt. It becomes a part of you. Everyone else adapts as well. Your sense of smell loses its 'Funk' detector. Around the clean and polished you might reek, yet among your soiled peers, you are brothers in funk.

Your smell is normal for the situation, so is everyone elses, hence...funk is normal.

Luckily, we recently got showers, and by recently I mean today. These 'Showers' have already aquired a quaint nickname. We call them 'R.Kelly Showers.' You see the pumps they use to pressurize the water are not very strong. So the water pressure is horribly and agonizingly weak. So the water comes out in a steady single thick stream.

Like if R.Kelly was peeing on you.

We are doing okay though. Spirits are high, thanks to a Xbox and Madden 2005. Im not a big fan of Sports games. Mainly because I was never that great at them, an episode concerning BaseballStars on the NES comes to mind, but thats for another day.

So we started a Madden tournament to help kill time. The funny thing is we refer to it as if it was a living breathing, Sports Center worthy event. We will sit around eating, saying, "What? you didn't see that game? Oh man, you missed a good one."

It never ceases to amaze me how we adapt so quickly to our surroundings. The mind finds ways to occupy itself, it finds ways to deal. You learn quickly to live outside of your previous lifestyle. Your mind finds way to compensate for what was lost. No TV, you read. No books to read, you write. No paper to write, you make cave drawings. In itself it is a form of survival. You need to adapt and overcome or you will go insane. I think that is the true strength of a soldier. The ability to ignore hunger, fatigue, sleep, and internet depravation, and 'drive on.' It is a return to the basics. Not in the hunter gatherer sense, but the old Tribe system. Where your whole existence is based around survival. You do not create anything of substance or art. You simply do what needs to be done to make it to the next day.

Drive on.

Perpetuating the Cycle

2005-07-10T19:47:00.000+02:00

So here I am. Another week gone by, another grain of sand passing through the hour-glass.

Only 3 months ago I became a Non-Commissioned Officer (NCO), Sergeant to be exact. Traditionally this is no small feat. Many soldiers work their asses off to get the chance to become a NCO. In my own defense I had to put forth a bit of effort to earn my "stripes" the three Chevrons of the Sergeant.

This is where the soldier begins his career as a leader of men. No longer is he taking orders consistantly. He is now giving them. Those orders must be obeyed and executed in an expedient and professional manner or the mission fails. In the military when the mission fails...people die.

Imagine that burden?

You are a 22 or 24 year old young man, still with a half-cocked alcohol glazed view of your little world. Now, you are responsible for the health, training, and morale of other young men who look to you to have ALL the answers. If you dont have those answers, you damn well better find them fast.

Throughout the military, no matter what the job. A supply NCO who doesnt order proper equipment for soldiers on patrol increases the chance of those soldiers dying in the field. A Motorpool Sergeant who doesnt properly train his crew on vehicle inspections, lets a vehicle go on a convoy that wont be able to maneuver properly. What happens if that convoy gets hit and the vehicle cant react in time to a RPG?

How do you know if someone is ready to shoulder that responsiblity?

My soldier and best friend is going to the Promotion Board tomorrow. He will stand before the Sergeant Major and other First Sergeants of the base and have to prove to them he is qualified to wear the stripes of the NCO.

He will knock on the door to the board room three times. He will hit that door so loud, that the entire base will think that we have rounds incoming. He will then say...

"Permission to Enter."

They will tell him to enter. He will march straight and true to the President of the Board, the Sergeant Major, salute, and say...

"Reporting to the Board as Ordered."

The senior NCO's there will then inspect him. Uniform, shave, boots, weapon, every aspect of this being will be critiqued in those few seconds. For them it will be hours. Trust me I know.

They will take him through facing movements. Left Face, Right Face, About Face, Forward March...all the while watching him for any flaw, hesitation, or lapse. When they are satisfied he will be ordered to take a seat in the only free chair in the room. Usually directly in front of the Sergeant Major, but far enough from the table to see all the senior NCO's.

He will then be ordered to give a brief biography of himself, but the board doesn't really care what he says, but how he says it. With confidence and strength.

From here he will most likely recite the Creed of the Non-Commissioned Offier...

"No one is More professional than I, I am a Non-Commisoned Officer, a leader of soldiers..."

It continues for about 50 more lines.

Now the NCO's will begin to ask him in turn, different questions relating to the Army. Its history, the schematics of weapons, camoflaging techniques, and everything else under the sun. He will be exepected to answer quickly and without hesitation. Hesistation is death on a board. Lack of confidence in oneself will result in a non-recomendation for promotion. He will have to wait till the next board for another shot.

I have no doubt he will succeed and make a fine NCO.

Our job is not easy. The pay is bad, the hours are long, and by the time the shit has rolled down hill to get to you...its pretty big. As subjective as I take the military, I do take pride in being a Non-Commissoned Officer. I do not buy into alot of what the Army sells, but I do know not everyone can do what we do.

But I know my soldier and friend can.

Good luck Cris, not that you'll need it.

Afghan Sauna

2005-06-30T01:12:00.000+02:00

Whack shack,
Sweat shop,
Shithouse,
Urinal Oven,

It has a million names, but every soldier knows the torture and sweet relief of the FOB port-o-pots. Blue, White, Mauve and so many other drab yet calming colors in the shape of a rectangular temple to human enginuity. The port-o-pot is truly the greatest thing since sliced bread.

How could such a wonderous creation, designed by God himself and handed down to man as a sign of mercy, be associated with death himself.

This fucking heat.

To venture into the port-o-pot for any period longer than the 10 seconds needed to unbutton, whip, release, shake, tuck, and button spells doom for the unwary soldier. Much like Dante venturing into the Inferno, above the doors reads the inscription:

Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here.

It gets up to 120 degrees here...on a cool day...in the shade. If you have the unfortunate circumstance to have to spend some "quality time" in the port-o-pot, you might as well attach an I.V. to your arm. The entire water stores in your body evaporate whilst you drop the kids off at the pool. Or as I like to believe, the Sarlac Pitt like in Return of the Jedi.

And why do people look into the pit? You know you do. Everyone does it, but no one speaks of our hidden fascination with the abyss of piss. Sometimes we even lean forward a bit and tilt our head ever so slightly to check out just whats going on down there. What are we looking for anyway? I mean one time a saw what appeared to be a nice watch, but I sure as hell wasn't about to repel, ranger style, down into the pit. It was like a strange oddity, circus-like in appeal.

"Well isn't that interesting" we say as we question how it got there.

One of my buddies here, who shall remain nameless, actually dropped his hat into the pitt. Valiantly and with no regard to his own sanitary well-being reached in to save his own little piece of government issued property. Like a small child fallen down an abandoned water pipe in Buttfuck, Arkansas the hat had to be saved no matter what the cost. Yea, there was no media circus or cheering when his hat was brought out of the pitt to bask in the glorious rays of Afghan sunlight and perch upon the head of its owner, but it was the stuff of legends, of that I have no doubt.

I digress...

Soldiers fear the port-o-pot. I saw one rather large soldier go in only to emrge 20 minutes later and 20 lbs lighter! Not just from last weeks Cordon-Bleu, but from all the sweating done while held captive by the whack shack. Now, he goes in there after work outs, with a towel over his shoulder and in flip-flops. He takes a water bottle and splashes the water around on the inside to create more steam. Its nuts. Though he has lost alot of weight. I guess we should be thankful. I mean people pay good money for access to a world class sauna. So be it.

I for one have managed to strike an uneasy alliance with the shack. I reserve time in the early morning before the sauna is open for business and has not yet reached its briskett roasting temperatures for me to spend quality time with in its confines. In return, I have promised to tell its tale of mystery, tragedy, and wonder.

The port-o-pot: soldiers health spa and torture chamber.

Before I Forget

2005-06-14T08:57:00.000+02:00

Here I am, where I’ve been
I’ve walked a hundred miles in tobacco skin,
And my clothes are worn & gritty.
And I know ugliness,
Now show
me something pretty.
I was a dumb punk kid with nothing to lose
And too
much weight for walking shoes.
I could have died from being boring.
As
for loneliness,
She greets me every morning.

At the most I’m a
glare,
I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there.
I’m the open sign that’s
always busted.
I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted.
--Patrick Park

Its so empty here. There are people here, who bustle about from hovel to hovel, like ants carrying the strangest items in some attempt to prepare for a disaster that will never come. Paranoia is served every morning here along with a side of anal retention. So many lives, well engineered pieces of shit, and imported bottled water dancing in a well coregraphed hustle to the rythym of "hooah."

But its still empty.

There is no reflection here. Like a vampire in a bad 80's movie, we are there, but not.

What is here, are rocks. Lots of wonderfully jagged and ankle-twisting rocks. So plentiful and each one unique with a personality and character all its own, like retarded snowflakes. I think that this country, in all honesty, has more rocks per square foot than any other place on God's green earth. Seriously, you can't throw a rock here, well...without hitting another rock. Rock on rock crime is a big problem here by the way. The Igneous rocks have a long standing grudge with the ultramafic rocks on the east side of base. Its a cultural thing I suppose.

Rocks have been here for awhile, and apparently these upstart Afghan's, as they like to be refered by, call this place home. This land belongs to the rocks. No one else should be here. There is no water, no shade, and no foliage suitable for adequate sustanance of today's livestock. So why in the Hell would anyone live here? Honestly. Its like how when some one tells me they are from Alaska, Arizona, or Canada; I'm like "Why, it sucks there."

Home is where you make it I suppose. So home for me I suppose is here with the rocks. They are not the most gracious of hosts, but they don't seem to ask too much of us, their guests.

Squatters in an empty land that belongs to no one but the sun and inhabitable by no one except the children of pressure and time. So it is that little by little with lots of pressure from the idiots who run this place, and a year of time, we too become like our stoic hosts.

Unique, boring, and unfeeling. Retarded snowflakes.

And I know ugliness, Now show me something pretty.

Home-oginzed

2005-04-19T07:03:00.000+02:00

The worst thing about mornings is PT (physical training). Every Monday through Friday morning we wake up about 0120, rub the boogers out of our eyes, lick the roof of our mouths trying to get that weird taste out and get dressed up for PT. A disturbing number of the people I live with sleep nekkid, not naked, nekkid - naked is beautiful, nekkid is scary. So any how, formation is at 0130, so from the time we get done scratching, we need to be formed up to begin another day in paradise. This is a struggle.

The best thing about the mornings is breakfast. Thanks to the wonderful American tax payer and the gernerous personel of Kellog Brown and Root, we get awesome chow here. You can get omlets made anyway you want, fried eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, hashbrowns, grits, biscuts and gravy, fruit, cereal, waffles, its like the buffet at Shoney's. It rocks!!!

Now this is gone from me. We just had an influx of personel and the lines for breakfast are huge. It reminds me of that old film footage from the USSR where the people used to wait in line for four months for a half of loaf of grub eaten rye. I mean c'mon man! I want my frosted flakes and some expiered orange juice( most of the prepackaged food is borderline expired, but hey, the law of the lowest bidder.)Now, we trudge through the line everymorning, its like Space Mountain without the futuristic music and photos at the end. Egads!

So now, we sneak in through the exit, skipping the hot food, and make a b-line toward the ceral rack, grab some milk, enriched with vitamin R, whatever the hell that is, and go out the other door. The cereal comes in sealed cups about the size of a coffee mug, it takes about two to make a half decent breakfast.

We then head back to our hut, plop down on the couch and watch TV. Dont ask how we got the couch, you dont want to know, and the bodies haven't fully decomposed. So we plop down, and proceed to consume the best that Kellogs has to offer! They're GREAT!

Its funny becasue this reminds me of home alot. I remember early mornings before school, when my mom would wake me up way too damn early, 4 hours before my first class, and I would eat breakfast in the living room. I'd grab the tupperware bowl, you know the one you use to mix cake, the 5 gallon bowl. Fill that bowl up with half a box of cereal, use the whole carton of whole milk, yes, I said whole milk you communist skim milk drinkers. Then watch MTV or Sports Center till the cereal was shoveled away and it was time to get to class. We dont have MTV but we manage to substitute it with DVD's of Family Guy or Friends.

Now breakfast is back to the best part of the day, because its the only real normal time. Everything here is just too damn weird, ignorant, or just plain wrong. Its good to know that every morning for 30 minutes, me and the rest of my section get a little closer to home. Except we wear body armor and carry rifles to school.

Despit it all sometimes, 30 minutes of home is enough to last a lifetime.

Manberries

2005-04-11T16:36:00.000+02:00

Cause and Effect. Action and Reaction. This is the law of the universe. It governs our everyday humdrum lives as we trudge through time on our way to oblivion. This is an absoloute. Man I could go for some Absoloute...

So here's the deal. Action: A Colonel is walking through our main site, the one with all the fun boxes, computer screens, and blinking lights. Anyhow, this guy manages to, with all of his extensive military exprience miss the large black cable runnning across the ground.

He proceeds to do a faceplant into the hard Afghany terra firma.

I'm not sure what transgressed after that momment, but I am sure it consisted of alot of swearing, yelling, and tending to a bruised ego.

Reaction: We have to bury all the cable on camp in three days. I'm not one to give out sensitive information, but im sure that "Shitload" doesn't qualify as quanitative data that the enemy can use against us. So, in short, there is a Shitload of cable here on camp, and we have to dig trenches to bury it all.

This land is practicaly one large mountain. Have you ever tried to take a pick made by the lowest bidder and break through SOILD ROCK!!! Also, its hot here, not Paris Hilton hot, I'm talking child locked in a station wagon at the mall parking lot in August hot. Retarded isn't the right word, but its the right word for right now.

Im thinking about trying to use the Jedi mind trick on the colonel. I've been working on it using small mammals to small effect, I wasn't ready to go right into human testing, but this leaves me no choice.

Colonel: Why isn't this cable buried sergeant?

Me: These aren't the droids your looking for.

Colonel: Who the hell is talking about hemroids?! I want that cable burried!

Me: You don't need to see their papers.

Colonel: Are you listening to a word I'm saying?

Me: We may pass.

Colonel: Are you taking Malaria pills?

I'm pretty sure it will go smoothly. If not, well, there is always truck driving school.

Across the Pond

2005-04-05T15:35:00.000+02:00

I just happened upon this while I should have been working, shhhh!

I like to get insight from other countries on how they view America and Americans. However short sighted and ill informed their conclusions might be, they do give us a new twist on things. Like any second pair of eyes, sometimes they catch things that we might overlook due to complacency or sheer idiocy.

Then again...most of the English are just plain gay :p

the light of your failure to elect a suitable President of the USA
and thus to govern yourselves, we hereby give notice of the revocation
of your independence, effective today. Her Sovereign Majesty Queen
Elizabeth II will resume monarchial duties over all states,
commonwealths and other territories. Except Utah, which she does not
fancy. Your new prime minister (The Right Honourable Tony Blair, MP
for the 97.85% of you who have until now been unaware that there is a
world outside your borders) will appoint a minister for America
without the need for further elections. Congress and the Senate will
be disbanded.

A questionnaire will be circulated next year to determine whether any
of you noticed. To aid in the transition to a British Crown
Dependency, the following rules are introduced with immediate effect:

1. You should look up "revocation" in the Oxford English Dictionary.
Then look up "aluminium". Che! ck the pronunciation guide. You will be
amazed at just howÊincorrectly you have been pronouncing it. The letter
'U' will be reinstated in words such as 'favour' and 'neighbour',
skipping the letter 'U' is nothing more than laziness on your part.
Likewise, you will learn to spell 'doughnut' without skipping half the
letters.

You will end your love affair with the letter 'Z' (pronounced 'zed'
not 'zee') and the suffix "ize" will be replaced by the suffix "ise".
You will learn that the suffix 'burgh is pronounced 'burra' e.g.
Edinburgh. You are welcome to respell Pittsburgh as 'Pittsberg' if
you can't cope with correct pronunciation.

Generally, you should raise your vocabulary to acceptable levels. Look
up "vocabulary". Using the same twenty seven words interspersed with
filler noises such as "like" and "you know" is an unacceptable and
inefficient form of communication. Look up "interspersed". There will
be no ! more 'bleeps' in the Jerry Springer show. If you're not old
enough to cope with bad language then you shouldn't have chat shows.
When you learn to develop your vocabulary then you won't have to use
bad language as often.

2. There is no such thing as "US English". We will let Microsoft know
on your behalf. The Microsoft spell-checker will be adjusted to take
account of the reinstated letter 'u' and the elimination of "-ize".

3. You should learn to distinguish the English and Australian accents.
It really isn't that hard. English accents are not limited to Cockney,
upper-class twit or Mancunian (Daphne in Frasier). You will also have
to learn how to understand regional accents - Scottish dramas such as
"Taggart" will no longer be broadcast with subtitles. While we're
talking about regions, you must learn that there is no such place as
Devonshire in England. The name of the county is "Devon". If you
persist in calling ! it Devonshire, all American States will become
"shires" e.g. Texasshire, Floridashire, Louisianashire.

4. Hollywood will be required occasionally to cast English actors as
the good guys. Hollywood will be required to cast English actors to
play English characters. British sit-coms such as "Men Behaving Badly"
or "Red Dwarf" will not be re-cast and watered down for a wishy-washy
American audience who can't cope with the humour of occasional
political incorrectness.

5. You should relearn your original national anthem, "God Save The
Queen", but only after fully carrying out task 1. We would not want
you to get confused and give up half way through.

6. You should stop playing American "football". There is only one kind
of football. What you refer to as American "football" is not a very
good game. The 2.15% of you who are aware that there is a world
outside your borders may have noticed that no one else plays
"! American" football. You will no longer be allowed to play it, and
should instead play proper football. Initially, it would be best if
you played with the girls. It is a difficult game. Those of you brave
enough will, in time, be allowed to play rugby (which is similar to
American "football", but does not involve stopping for a rest every
twenty seconds or wearing full kevlar body armour like nancies). We
are hoping to get together at least a US rugby sevens side by 2005.
You should stop playing baseball. It is not reasonable to host an
event called the 'World Series' for a game which is not played outside
of America. Since only 2.15% of you are aware that there is a world
beyond your borders, your error is understandable. Instead of
baseball, you will be allowed to play a girls' game called "rounders"
which is baseball without fancy team strip, oversized gloves,
collector cards or hotdogs.

7. You should declare war on Quebec! and France, using nuclear weapons
if they give you any merde. The 97.85% of you who were not aware that
there is a world outside your borders should count yourselves lucky.
The Russians have never been the bad guys. "Merde" is French for
"5hit". You will no longer be allowed to own or carry guns. You will
no longer be allowed to own or carry anything more dangerous in public
than a vegetable peeler. Because we don't believe you are sensible
enough to handle potentially dangerous items, you will require a
permit if you wish to carry a vegetable peeler in public.

8. July 4th is no longer a public holiday. November 2nd will be a new
national holiday, but only in England. It will be called "Indecisive
Day".

9. All American cars are hereby banned. They are crap and it is for
your own good. When we show you German cars, you will understand what
we mean. All road intersections will be replaced with roundabouts. You
wi! ll start driving on the left with immediate effect. At the same
time, you will go metric with immediate effect and without the benefit
of conversion tables. Roundabouts and metrication will help you
understand the British sense of humour.

10. You will learn to make real chips. Those things you call French
fries are not real chips. Fries aren't even French, they are Belgian
though 97.85% of you (including the guy who discovered fries while in
Europe) are not aware of a country called Belgium. Those things you
insist on calling potato chips are properly called "crisps". Real
chips are thick cut and fried in animal fat. The traditional
accompaniment to chips is beer which should be served warm and flat.
Waitresses will be trained to be more aggressive with customers.

11. As a sign of penance 5 grams of sea salt per cup will be added to
all tea made within the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, this quantity
to be doubled for tea made within the city of Boston itself.

12. The cold tasteless stuff you insist on calling beer is not
actually beer at all, it is lager. From November 1st only proper
British Bitter will be referred to as "beer", and European brews of
known and accepted provenance
will be referred to as "Lager". The substances formerly known as
"American Beer" will henceforth be referred to as "Near-Frozen Knat's
Urine", with the exception of the product of the American Budweiser
company whose product will be referred to as "Weak Near-Frozen Knat's
Urine". This will allow true Budweiser (as manufactured for the last
1000 years in Pilsen, Czech Republic) to be sold without risk of
confusion.

13. From December 1st the UK will harmonise petrol (or "Gasoline" as
you will be permitted to keep calling it until April 1st 2005) prices
with the former USA. The UK will harmonise its prices to those of the
former USA and the Former USA will, in return, adopt UK petrol prices
(roughly $6/US gallon - get used to it).

14. You will learn to resolve personal issues without using guns,
lawyers or therapists. The fact that you need so many lawyers and
therapists shows that you're not adult enough to be independent. Guns
should only be handled by adults. If you're not adult enough to sort
things out without suing someone or speaking to a therapist then
you're not grown up enough to handle a gun.

15. Please tell us who killed JFK. It's been driving us crazy.

Tax collectors from Her Majesty's Government will be with you shortly
to ensure the acquisition of all revenues due (backdated to 1776).

Thank you for your cooperation.

(Source:unknown/internet)

I hope you enjoyed the laugh. I know I did.

Entrepeneural Spirit is Alive and Well

2005-04-03T17:46:00.000+02:00

The day has gone and night has come to visit once again.

Today is my half day off so not much time to pen my thoughts via keystroke this night, but I will leave the world with an interesting story I heard today.

A US soldier, female type. Was stopped during inspection of her luggage just before boarding her flight to go back home after her year in Afghanistan. She served on the very base that I now have the pleasure of residing on. Anyhow, this soldier was stopped because she had an unusually large sum of money on her, cash, green backs, moula.

Just under 12,000 dollars in cash.

How might you ask does a soldier, female type, aquire such a small fourtune in only one year. Well, we are allowed to cash personal checks but only up to 400 dollars a month. That would put her just over 5,000 for the year. She didnt cut hair like some soldiers do for extra cash. I have a good buddy named Martin who gives me a good line up and a tight fade, I pay him 5 bucks a cut. Maybe she played Texas Hold'em? Perhaps.

No, our soldier had aquired that money via other means. That being "solicitation." If that was so, she would have been making an extra 200 dollars a week via this enterprise.

Granted what she did was morally wrong and against Army policy. Her clientel would also be in violation of policy.

Now I just happened to over hear this story while enjoying some Green Bean Coffee. Is the tale Fact or Fiction...probably a little of both. Irregardless, it still makes for an interesting story.

This story will change from person to person. One day she will be a soldier from Iraq. One day it will be some lowely private, then the next telling will have it being a Company Commander. Who knows anymore.

Nothing here seems real anymore, just lots of scenes drawn in mottled greys and covered in dust.

Two tickets to Paradise

2005-04-03T06:00:00.000+02:00

Another week ends here in the land that time forgot. Uneventful and dull as ususal, but that is not nessicarily a bad thing. In a war zone, a quite night is a luxury we are rarely afforded. Most nights are filled with either the errie yelps of the local packs of wild dogs, the dull resonance of a night fire range, or one of our larger instruments of war blowing up a mountain for fun.

A little peace a quite is something I think I will not take for granted any time soon.

Its kind of crazy how 90% of the people in the world will never move 100 miles from where there they were born. Then here I am nestled in a quaint wine valley in the most heavily mined country in the known world. Ten years ago if you asked me where I would be, Afghanistan would not be on my top 10 list, but it might have made the top 25.

I am enjoying the experience though. New people, new places, and new clothing are the spice of life. The worst part about it though is the lack of contact with the locals. They seem like interesting enough people.

The coolest thing happened the other day. I was driving the humvee to pick up some supplies from our ISU-90 (read as large storage closet), and was driving back to my AO (Area of Operation) and I passed a line of the local workers. Im not sure why, maybe it was an instinct or just sick curiousity. I took my one hand the was on the steering wheel and formed my first two fingers into a "V", aka the peace sign or for those BET wathers "the deuce." Then the whole line of locals threw "the deuce" back at me. It was awesome. One of them even had it kind of low and sideways then threw his head back and to the left, very gangsta!

Well back to work. Watch your six kids.

Swallow the Knife

2005-04-02T01:10:00.000+02:00

This place is like a huge waitng room, except without the musak.

After only a month, people are already beginning to think about leaving. Soldiers talk about how long till they get out when they get back to the rear. They talk about where they want to PCS to next. Its funny how we have so much time here to think about all these things. Granted there is alot here to keep us busy concerning our duty, but still, there is too much time to think here.

Thinking hurts the brain, and its inherently dangerous when used by the stupid.

So many plans are made here.

"When I get out..." or "When we get to the rear..." or "As soon as these warts go away..."

The list goes on and on. Yet, at the heart of this is the thing that keeps these soldiers going. Hopes and Dreams. Ultimately thats why they joined the Army. Wether it was the hopes and dreams of their parents or their own. They all came here to find a better way of life or escape from their past way of life. In the midst of all this ugly chaos and death, there are the hopes and dreams of these soldiers. So many plans for the future. Its those plans they cling to and nurture, and by doing so make it through to another day.

There is so much bullshit around here. So many idiots and their own misguided and malignant agendas. It makes it hard just to get through the day sometimes, let alone an entire year.

So we go into our own little world and let our sick little minds go wild with fantasy and fiction. Eventually we create some kind of reality bending world to live in like in some M. Night Shamalayan movie. Not quite real, but real enough to be believable.

It's in there that we escape all this bullshit and somehow find our humanity and a sense of realism that reality just can't give us right now.

Because this place is to surreal to be anything but fiction.

Full Body Massage

2005-03-10T11:56:00.000+01:00

Okie Dokie.

The US Army has seen to it that soldiers have Full Body Massages availible to them during this war on terror. Though you may think I am being sarcastic, you are sorely mistaken. It is my firm belief that access to the full body massage has in itself single handedly provided the much needed support to help us go out and fight this war on terror.

My story beings as thus. I entered the beauty salon in Bagram Air Base, and hour after lunch. Lunch that day had a bit of a latin theme to it. So I opted for the fajitas and refried beans. Little did I know how this would later impact my relaxation period with the massuse Nadia.

First, I am seated on a bench where I remove my boots and slip into some grimey ass sandals that the lady sprays promptly with Lysol disinfectant. This does not sway me. I am going to get my first full body massage and nothing can bring me down. Nothing except....the slight rumbling in my belly.

I place my hand on my stomach and suddenly realize that I might have a slight gas build up as a result of my lunch selection.

"Follow me sir." The desk attendant says as she escorts me to my massage table. The table itself is surrounded by curtains, much like you would find in a hospital. Too add some privacy to the situation. I remove my shirt and wait there for the massuse to arrive. I twidle my thumbs for a moment or two before Nadia arrives. Nadia is obviously Asian by heritage, but speaks with a thick russian accent. This throws me for a loop. Thats like a mexican talking with a British accent, its just not natural. Anyhow. Nadia smiles at me and in her oh so perfect broken English says.

"Full Body, sir." Then points to my pants.

*Blush*

I only paid 16 dollars. I didnt realized this was going to happen. So I promptly remove my DCU pants. Luckily I had showered that morning and put on a fresh pair of polo boxers. Normally we have to wear the doo doo brown briefs. Those things are vile. Yet, no one really checks that part of your uniform so its left to the individual soldiers discression.

So now, clad only in my polo's I follow her instruction and lay down on the table. Almost instantly she throws some lube on my back. Im not sure what it was, but it was cold as hell.

Then she starts massaging my back. This is a good thing. It was very relaxing and despite her diminutive size she had a vice like grip with her hands. She spends about 15 mintues on my back and I am feeling really good. Then she grabs my boxers! *Gasp* She rolls the top part down and starts to massage my lower back and tail bone area. This should have felt great, but the only thing that was crossing my mind was if I had wiped my ass good when I last took a dump.

Im sure the last thing this girl wants to see is some dirty mexican dingleberries hanging out while she is working. Luckily, she didnt reek back in horror or faint, so I knew I as okay for now.

Then one of her co-workers walks in. Another female, not a stunner, but easy on the eyes. They begin speaking in Russian. I have no idea what they are talking about but out of the corner of my eye I can see the new girl taking glances at me. Awkward.

Are they talking about me? Do I have dingleberries? Does she think I'm hot? So many questions! Damn your communist language!

So she leaves and the massuse continues her work. The does my legs and arms for a bit. Then resquests me to roll over. Do only to my sheer force of will and complete state of bliss, there were no awkward moments or protrusions.

Then my stomach grumbles. Oh man! I forgot about my gas. Immediately the girl starts to rub my chest and then goes lower toward my stomach. Right now my butt cheeks are water tight. I am so scared I am going to fart and kill this poor girl. She continues to rub my stomach. This way and that. Side to side. Front and Back. I make a weird face and she asks?

"Is okay yes?"

"Sure everything is fine." I reply through clenched teeth.

I could blow at any second. If I do, the entire beauty salon will be forced to empty out. People could faint. The entire security of the base relies on my ability to keep the gigantic fart brewing inside me quite till she moves on.

And in an instant. She moves down to my legs. I breath a sigh of relief as the threat has passed. She will live to see another day, never knowing how close she came to disaster. It was like the Cuban missile crisis.

So an hour passes and she completes her job. I am relaxed and a bit on the oily side.

I kindly thank her, clothe myself, and make a hasty exit of the establishment. Turning quickly into an alley to unleash the fury welling up within me.

My name is Xavier, and I defend freedom :p

Return from a long Winters Nap

2005-03-09T14:19:00.000+01:00

Today's Music: Solitary Man by Johnny Cash

So anyway.

I wake up this morning and realize..."Shit, I'm in Afganistan." Aside from that minor ephiphany, this morning had a wee bit of interest. As it stands now, we live in a large white tent, affectionally dubbed the Circus Tent, by us soldiers who reside under its thin plastic umbrella of shelter. To accomodate us there is a rather large generator that powers a heater, which helps us stave off the cold evening air that seems to pour down from the mountains when the sun disappears over the horizon. Well last night, that generator went out.

I woke up and I think my balls retreated into my stomach. I was freezing. Oh my god. Normally I sleep in just my PT shorts, which leave little to the imagination, and a grey sweat wicking PT shirt. I immediately threw on my long sleeve shirt and BDU pants. Still the cold would not go away. Aaaaaahhh! Man I was miserable. It sucks when you can see your own breath when you are trying to sleep.

Luckily I was tired enough to ignore the cold for awhile and doze off. My Genetilia have yet to resurface. This worries me.

Afganistan is not too bad. The main reason for that being is this, Bagram Air Base, is the first depot for most flights in country. As such, there is alot here to comfort the soliders, airmen, marines, and sailors here. I have no idea why the navy is here. There is no water for miles. I think there is a deep tub somewhere, but thats about it.

As far as comforts. There is a Burger King, Pizza Joint, 24 Hour Grean Bean Coffee Shop, PX(Post Exchange) which sells lots of random stuff, 24 hour Gym, Beauty Salon which includes: peticure, manicure, and full body massage. I got a massage, and there is a funny story to go with that, but that is for a later time.

We, as in my and my company, are stuck here for the time being with nothing to do. Luck would have it that there are no flights leaving to our site. So we are trying to get out of here anyway we can. They dont do convoy's here because of the mountains and the extreme distance between sites. So we are left with only plane and chopper as options. We are slated to leave tomorrow, but we will see how that goes.

There is another group here. 1/25th "Tropic Lightning' thats based out of Hawaii, they are done with their year here and have been trying to leave for like 2 weeks now, but no flights can take off. Weather, visiblity, and other factors make it hard to get flights out of here. These guys are tying to go home, and we are trying to get to our mission. Logistics here are crazy. Those poor bastards marched with all there gear to and from the flight-line 3 times yesterday and twice today. I would be pissed.

Oh I almost forgot. I was woken up last night because there were like 50 fighters in movement. Apparently there was a night fire range last night. What this means is all the planes go out and shoot at stuff under the cover of night for practice. Yeah, it was loud. A-10 "Tank Killers', these jets are loud as hell and fly really low. Which is good for combat, bad for people sleeping in the circus tent. The range went on for like an hour. I was up staring at the ceiling, just listening. It was kind of cool, but at the same time...I was tired as hell.

There is much more to say, but no more time to say it.

Busy Bee

2004-12-01T22:19:00.000+01:00

So let us beging with the obvious. I have been running on little to no sleep the past few days because I am stressing about too many little things. Despite the many phamplets, Dr Phil episodes, and eastern philosophy books that tell me to relax and take things in stride... I cannot. I now realize that I am a habitual worrier and have the stress levels of day trader on crystal meth.

I have my Non-Commissioned Offier promotion board coming up in a few days. It was supposed to be today, but it got posponed to "Sometime between tomorrow and the 10th." What the hell kind of answer is that? I know I am ready for the board but for Jeebus sakes! Give me a clue man. Let me plan.

Also, I have to remember a ridiculous ammount of information of for the promotion board. Example: the weight of the M-16 with full clip, every type of grenade employed by the army, and how to properly dispose of human waste in the field. Oh, and get this...there are 3 different Norths on an Army map! Three!!! I mean some one asks where is north. I point and say There! But no...thats to easy. In the Army we have to have three norths. Jeebus!

I am also working on my communications systems now. Lots of issues and problems keep coming up, and I am having to look through books and manuals I didnt even know existed.

To top it all off, I am having some weirdness with my ex-girlfriend. Despite our friendship there are still some lingering emotions, which I suspect is perfectly normal. So that weighs on my mind more than I would care to admit. Even though I have taken the nessecary steps to rid myself of such feelings, the alcohol, scandalous women, and xbox games seem to be having no effect.

On a lighter note, I did manage to make my buddy Neito hit himself repeatedly after he dead legged me. There is no sweeter revenge than pinning someone down, grabbing their wrists, and watch them squirm for freedom as you reapeatedly hit them in the face with their own hands while saying...

"Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself."

Ahhhh, sweet sweet revenge. Some things you just cant out grow.

Stormcrows

2004-12-01T01:30:00.000+01:00

I recently added a painting to the top of my blog here not too long ago. Not sure exactly why I did it. I do remember first seeing the painting in Amsterdam at the Van Gogh museum. It caught my attention mainly because of its location on the tour.

It was the last painting in the building, and consequentally the last painting Van Gogh ever did. The title of the work is "Crows in the Wheatfields." It is a very stark image that conveys perhaps the knowledge that death was upon its artist.

You see that the term "stormcrow" is used to associate with a harbinger of doom, a bad omen, or ill fortune. In reality when in agricultural areas like a wheatfield when storms are moving in, the crows fly in the direction that the storm is traveling. So the people that lived there will always see the flock of crows descend upon them, and shortly after a storm would follow in the crows wake. Hence the term "stormcrow."

Van Gogh painted this work because he knew that his end was a upon him. His storm was coming. The black and blue sky with the crows in flight are a sharp contrast to the golden wheat field. The wheat representing life and growth, and the crows symbolizing death and decay. As crows are known for eating carrion, the flesh of the dead.

The painting has always struck a strong cord with me because of its true meaning. That death is indeed descending upon us. We should always bear this in mind. Only when you accept the fact that you will become nothing is it that you can beging to do anything. How can one stop a storm? How can one stop death. It is enevitible and constant.

So what does a person do? Okay, great, Im going to die, now what? Well that is up to you. Anything is possible. A deal of caution is indeed always nessecary, but life is there to be lived. You are going to die. But will you live? How many men have died with that eternal question weighing upon their souls...

"What if?"

When I return to the earth from wince I came, I want no regrets or "what ifs" to think about. I want memories. Memories of friends and adventures. Memories of loves and loves lost. These are the thoughts that will ease you into your next life. Thoughts of good things and good times.

Its funny. When someone almost dies, they view the world in a new light. The wine tastes sweeter, the sunrise is more hypnotic, and the music moves us in ways we had not imagined possible.

Why wait till you get hit by a car and brought back from the brink of the lighted tunnel by a overweight EMS paramedic to learn this lesson?

Taste the wine, love and be loved, dance when the music plays. For there are stormcrows in the horizon, and the storm is coming...this is an absoloute.

That stupid saying...

2004-09-03T13:45:00.000+02:00

"If you love something,
let it go,
if it was mean to be,
It will return."

Who ever said that can goto hell. If you love something you dont let it go. You fight for it until you can't fight anymore. Not once have I heard of anything returning that was let go. Who ever said that was full of shit.

Anyhow, sorry for the long delay in my posting. Back on base here in Mannheim, internet is quite a distance from my barracks, so I rarely get over to this side of the world.

Not much to write on really today. We have a four day weekend, but I am saving up for a trip back home this christmas, and that means I have to bring everyone something back from Europe.

Who invented this souviner thing? I think Marco Polo did. This guy has the nerve to bring back presents to royalty just cause he went on vacation. Ever since then, every jackass who goes 10 steps from his front door is socially entitled to bring back gifts for his friends in family.

I love all you guys, but seriously, when I go on a trip, I'm spending my money on me. The rest of you can look at the pictures. I'm not gonna skip out on another round of Sangria just so my neighbor with the dog that pees in my yard can have a conversation piece for their ikea coffee table.

Seesh, the nerve of some people. And the worst part is...they all know when you come back and check in not to see how your trip was, they check back to see if you bought them some shit. I know, I do it too.

"Hey welcome back! So, how was your trip? Wow, did you bring anything back?"

Did you bring anything back. That means "What did you buy me" in suburbia.

Anyhow, I bought a portable mp3 player, it rocks. Now I am off to buy accessories for it! Hooray for me!!!

Idle Hands

2004-08-14T01:01:00.000+02:00

Todays Music: “Travelin’ Soldier” by the Dixie Chicks

These last few days have been pretty lush. All of our systems have been in for awhile and all the training is over and done with. So, what might I do with all this spare time you ask? Burn music of course.

I put myself on a mission to burn as much music as possible today. While many people may frown upon this, because they say ripping CDs to MP3s is illegal. Well so is stealing CD’s. I think I speak for everyone when I say that everyone has had atleast one CD wallet stolen in their lifetime. Some of us have had more than a few stolen. I don’t even want to begin thinking about how much money I lost on all those stolen CDs.

One time it wasn’t even my fault. I was home on leave from AIT before I came to Europe, and I left my CDs in my brothers truck. Sure enough some “mean girls” who didn’t like my brothers red headed heathen of a girlfriend of the moment and ganked my innocent CDs. They also took some random things from my brother. They stole his smokes too. Now that’s low.

So no, I don’t feel bad for ripping CDs that I have lost or had stolen about 3 times over throughout my consumer lifetime.

Anyhow. I think I ripped like 3 gigs of music today. Including 5 Jay-Z albums, a surprisingly good Shakira Unplugged CD, and some Lil John….Yeaaaaaahhh!

I also made some calls to my friends back home. It was good to speak to them and see how they are doing. I was only able to speak to a few of them though. Its unfortunate, that I can only call while most of them are at work So I spoke to a lot of voicemail boxes today. I left the following message:

“Hi this is Xavier, I just called to say hello and see how you are doing. I hope you are doing well…actually…I’m just calling so you can remember me and buy me a beer when I get back home. So, I’ll try to call you again some other time, If you want you can still buy me a beer if you haven’t deleted this message yet.”

Hehe, I could never leave a message like that, It was actually like this:

“Pick up the phone bitch, this is Rick James in Bulgaria.”

We had a bird fly into the tent last night. It was hilarious. Grown men, soldiers even, running like girls from some poor lost sparrow.

“Rabies! They have Rabies!”

One of the guys said, jokingly as he watched the others cower before the diminutive thunderbird. He promptly exited the tent as the afore mentioned avian did a flyby on him. I think it was going for his eyes like in a Hitchcock movie.
Well we breakdown tomorrow, so this is my last blogg for awhile, or atleast till I get back to Mannheim. I’ll see you all on the flipside, beware the birds!

Whirlybird to the Rescue!

2004-08-11T22:21:00.000+02:00

Well, another week has come and passed here in the Balkans. There is a clear sky tonight. Stars as far as the eye can see, and in a few hours the cosmos will show us just how amazing it is with a shower of stars for us to marvel at.

At times, when you are out here, away from everything, you learn to appreciate the subtle beauties that we often fail to witness in our day-to-day drudgery of work and toil. Tonight a few of us are going to kick back by the satellite dish and watch the show.

Earlier today I got to participate in Air Med-Evac training. Essentially, what that means, is we train on how to call in a Blackhawk helicopter to come and pick up our buddy who either:

a- Has suffered grievous wounds at the hands of the enemy.
b- Collapsed due to lack of physical capability.
c- Got shot in the ass by one of us for taking the last double stuffed Oreo.

Never take the last ANYTHING from another man you just don’t do it.

I digress. The training was great. All the soldiers broke up into teams and we carried people in on “litters” you call them “stretchers.” With great care, we placed them into the Blackhawks and got our ass away from the chopper as quickly as possible. There are a lot of details that have to be observed when doing this. You have to make sure your weapon is pointed away from the litter, make sure they are tied in properly and the knot is under the litter, just to name a few.

My group got to go for a ride in the Blackhawk during one of the runs. It was, how do I say, I think William Shakespeare said it best, it was,

“Totally Sweet, I almost crapped my pants.”

Bowel movements aside, it was a great time. The pilot made sure to bank really hard on one of the turns so that it was as if we were staring at the ground. Then he dropped really quickly so it was like we were falling! I managed to get some video of it on my digital camera. You can here me scream out,

“Whooooohooooo!”

I feel bad for my buddy Johnston though. He went up with us but on the litter. We put him face down like he was shot in the ass so he could get a good view out the window of the Blackhawk. Normally they fly with the doors open for quick mounts and dismounts. So there is Johnston, with a huge grin on his face, ready to see Bulgaria from a birds eye view, then,

Slam!

They shut the door and Johnston is strapped down, unable to move staring at a big gray door for the entire ride! Oh man, we felt so bad, but laughed nonetheless. As a small consolation, he did say he felt like he was flying when we took that dip.

Good training, and great fun.

I love my job.

Battle Rattle and Cereal Box Wisdom

2004-08-06T07:56:00.000+02:00

Full Battle Rattle: A Term used to describe the complete Army Standard combat ready uniform to be worn by the war fighter. This uniform consists of BDU (Battle Dress Uniform), LBV (Load Bearing Vest), Flak Vest (only stops shrapnel, not bullets), and Kevlar (Helmet that stops most bullets), Two canteens, Four magazines of twenty 5.56mm rounds, and a Field Dressing (Big Bandage).

Lastly, your weapon: the M16-A2 rifle. In our company every soldier has to have a name for their weapon. My weapons name is neatly applied to its stock using a simple label maker with black lettering on a white background. Just below my last name and weapon number it reads as follows in all caps:

GLADIUS DEI

In Latin, it translates to “Sword of God.” I’m not sure why I named it that, but it works for me, and I like the sound of it.

Now, I just had my birthday here in Bulgaria, which makes it by second spent away from Texas. Yet, I feel no true longing or regret from being away from home. I do miss my family, but I’m doing a lot to keep my body and mind occupied, so I tend not to dwell too much on those thoughts.

I do like being away though. In its own way it helps me find out more about myself. It is often said that we define ourselves by the people we interact with. We find ourselves stuck in a role that we play among the people we know. It becomes our identity. As long as we are with that group of people we constantly interact with, we begin to find our niche and remain there so long as we are with those people.

By setting out away from everyone and everything I’ve ever known, I get the chance to better understand myself by leaving my old niche. Now, I find a new group of people with whom I will learn what kind of person I am.

A lot of times people say, that when people go away, they come back different or seem changed. In truth that person never changed. They have always been that person. The person you knew was one who filled a niche in your life or within the group of people with whom they associated. This person was engrained in this niche and in truth we never get to change that role. The people around us reinforce that role upon us. To change it would redefine us in the group, and at times that is not possible.

It’s not easy going from the funny guy to the smart guy, or the boring guy to the interesting one. The people who we are with constantly define our personalities and existence by how they react to us. If people laugh at what you say all the time, then you must be funny right? If members of the opposite sex frequently vie for your attentions, then you must be attractive right?

Many people say, “I don’t care what other people think.” While that is all well and good, what they fail to realize, what people think of us defines who we are. Humans are social animals. Like monkeys, wolves, and cats, we interact to survive.

I’m not sure why I wrote all of that…

I think maybe its because out here, away, and almost alone, I’m finally beginning to understand who I am. What kind of “man” I have become.

No longer do I react to the world around me…the world now reacts to me.

This is comforting.

Brown man - Black Sea

2004-07-30T18:31:00.000+02:00

Well yesterday I got a much-needed break from the daily grind here. 3 weeks of 16 hour days was starting to take its toll on me.

Myself, along with about 50 other soldiers here got the chance to blow off some steam at the Bulgarian town of Nessebar.

Nessebar is a very small island that used to be used as a fortress during time the Byzantine Empire ruled most of the known world. It has a very unique architectural look that blends both Arab and Roman techniques. This gives the town a very old and noble look to it. More importantly however, is the existence of a topless beach down the road.

We had no idea of what to expect really. They only gave us a brief description of the place then cut us loose on the population. It is a tourist town, so we werenât the only non-locals running about the ancient city.

We started off in Nessebar, and quickly hopped onto a boat that took us around the horn of the island. The view was great even though the boat was horribly slow, and the driver was a large overweight Bulgarian who insisted on driving his boat without his shirt, exposing a gorilla like back. Nasty.

After about a half hour ride we reached the dock to Sunny Beach. Unfortunately there was no room for us to dock. So we pulled close next to another boat, and proceeded to jump from our boat across 3 others to reach the dock.

This beach was packed! It was so awesome. There were people there from everywhere: Russia, Armenia, Kosovo, and a host of other countries. First things first, I was dressed in jeans, polo shirt, and tennis shoes. I had to get some new gear.

First off I had to get a sea shell choker necklace. Well, there was no short supply of those. I picked one up for like 3 lev, then ran across the street to the shoe store. I picked up a pair of very imitation Nike sandals and paid about 20 Lev for them. Which figures out to be 15 dollars roughly. So I popped on the sandals and necklace. Then gave my jeans a Capri pant-like cuff, unbuttoned my shirt, and tada! A Tropical outfit in less than 30 seconds. Sexy!

With my new ensamble intact me and my fellow soldiers went back down the beach and picked out a choice spot with an umbrella that we didnât have to pay for. The next move is obviousâ¦

We went Swimming in the Black Sea.

There were no waves, but the water was nice and surprisingly clean and devoid of any visible trash. We did the typical water wrestling, throwing, and dunking. I was able to hold my own but the bastards ganged up on me and threw me into a near by crowd. I barely missed some little kid. I could see the terror in his eyes as my shadow fell over him, but I turned to the side enough just to give him a through splashing.
Next on our list was the Jet Skis. So we waddled on down the beach making sure to take note of the very âfriendlyâ beach goers as we passed. Luckily, the jet skis were not out at the time and we got to ride right off the bat. Like I said there werenât any decent waves, so we had to settle for jumping the wakes of the Parasailing boats. Those jet skis were a Blast! We had so much fun. Laughing and talking shit to each other was we rode past one another.

So with that out of our system we went back to our spot on the beach and back out into the water for a bit. There we hooked up with some girls errrâ¦womenâ¦I forget my age now. Anyway, these chicksâ¦yeah, chicksâ¦ were from Armenia. One was a teacher, the other a Dental assistant, and the other was an assistant of some type. They werenât too bad on the eyes, but one was hot like fire. She was into my friend Levi, but Levi has a girlfriend back in Germany, who is pretty hot in her own right. Levi was likeâ¦

âX, help me stop! Sheâs so hot, but I have a girl.â

I proceeded to instruct Levi on the 3rd world rule.

âWhat happens in the 3rd world is stays in the 3rd world and not to mention you are protected by Amnesty International.â

Levi did not seem to think that was an actual rule. The girls invited us out that night for drinks, but damn the luck. We had to be back at the pick up spot at 8pm. Levi was crushed. As was his new Armenian girlfriend Sonja. And we all know there is only one cure for heartbreak.

Ice Cream. Lots of sweet, sweet, ice cream. Then liquor, sweet, sweet, liquor.

In about hour Levi and the rest of us had all but forgotten about our brush with Black Sea babes. Then we went shopping.

The main strip leading out of Sunny Beach was like a huge flea market. Knock-off everything. Burberry, Louis Vutton, and all other named brands. It was very cool. One of my friends bought a pretty cool switchblade, and other guy went nuts and bought like 3 soccer jerseys for like 50 Lev. A very sweet deal.

After that little excursion we headed back to Nessebar and went looking for dinner. We found a cool restaurant by the sea that had some really great seafood. We ate, drank, and laughed for about 2 hours before having to head back for the pick up spot.

It was a great trip and we all had a blast. If you ever get the chance you have to see Nessebar. I spent about 100 US all day. The dollar goes far here, and everything is naturally cheap. The beach is lined with hotels, bars, and clubs. I know I am defiantly heading back.

Thank you taxpayer. I partied on your dollar. Woot!

A Psycho Shower

2004-07-28T19:03:00.000+02:00

Okay, so here’s the deal. After work, we do PT(physical training) at around 2100(9:00 pm). Then we take a shower and hit the rack. This is our normal everyday routine.

Last night, we get done with PT and I’m sweating like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. So I go into one of like 10 shower trailers here. Each trailer has about 6-8 showers in it depending on size. There are however, the Colonel and Sergeant Major showers. These only have 3 stalls and only the Colonel and Sgt Major can use them between hours of 0600 and 0800.

I’m looking for a free shower and I poke my head into the trailers and the majority of them are packed. So I’m getting irritated. Then I go a bit farther down the shower site than I’ve been before.

I see the Colonel/Sgt Major sign on the door, and figure “What the hell, its late, and no where near the restricted hours.”

I open the shower door and find its empty, “Sweet!” I have the whole thing to myself. Hence, I proceed to go about my nightly body cleansing ritual.

I hop into the shower and after about a minute I hear female voices and laughter coming from the trailer next to the one I’m showering in. Turns out the shower I’m in is separated by a wall, but still part of another trailer. I look up and follow the piping in the shower to a small section of the wall that is cut out and which the pipes run through to the other showers.

“Whoa.”

I’m still hearing female voices and they are coming from the other side of that wall. So now my natural hunter/gatherer curiosity kicks in and of course I raise up on my tip toes to see what all the commotion is about over there. Alas, the shower was engineered so that no such action is possible. So, I proceed to continue with my shower.

I hear more voices, louder than the first. I ignore them and continue about my cleaning.

Then I realize that the voices are coming from inside MY shower trailer. “What the hell?”

I gently pull aside the shower curtain ever so slightly to peek outside and lo! My eyes behold what appears to be a poorly braided weave attached to a female soldier.

“No way.”

Right now I’m thinking these girls just came into a male shower, “WTF?” I continue to rinse my hair out thinking maybe they’ll realize they made a mistake. One minute passes and they are still talking.

“Oh Shit.”

Right now my mind is racing. Should I say something? Maybe I could wait till they get into the shower then try and make a run for it, and they’ll never know. Then I start to think about what could happen. I could get an Article 15, discharge, and all types of horrible things. So I clear my throat, gather some courage, turn off the shower, and say

“Excuse me.”

A light female voice says. “Yes.”

“Is this a female shower?” I politely inquire.

“Yes, it is.” Then the second voice says, “Oh no he didn’t!
“I’m glad you said something, we’ll step out for second.” The first one says.

So I wait till they leave, and get dressed still wet. I hastily throw my stuff into my hygiene bag. Shampoo bottle still uncapped. Soap not in the container. I mean I just chunked it all in there, and got the hell out of there.

I make my way past them, with my head low, and apologize as they are giggling.

“Its alright.” One of them said as I power walked back toward one of the crowded but extremely MALE showers.

Egads!

Bulgarian Holiday

2004-07-28T00:03:00.000+02:00

So here I am. Nestled among the towering mountains of Bulgaria. The sun beating down on me like I stole something. All in the name of Freedom, Democracy, and lower oil prices for all!

Hehe.

Anyway. Currently Im somewhere in central Bulgaria on a NATO training mission. This is the first such mission that the US and Bulgaria have ever joined together on. Actually this is the first time the US has ever been in Bulgaria. So it pleases me to be the first.

When we got off the plane, I mean C130, we were doing a lot of "Army firsts." Guys were going around doing stuff like: the first Army moonwalk in Bulgaria, the first Army charlie-horse, and a lot of other non-sense. It was funny though.

The C130 is a propeller plane that is very noisy and uncomfortable. There are no seats. There is a large net that takes the shape of a bench. On this net bench, the soldiers sit with weapons between their legs. Luckily, I had been up late the night before so I was tired as hell, and had no issues knocking out on the plane. Oh, I almost forgot the best part. There is no private toilet. There is a hole type thing near the rear of the seats...so when you go...Everyone can take pictures.

The camp here is not bad at all. There are around one hundred GP-Mediums (10 person tent) up around the camp, which is simply called Bulwark at the moment. Though they will probably rename it soon enough. This camp has over one thousand soldiers at it right now. I am responsible for providing phones, internet, and video to all of them.

When we first got here, we had to unload our vehicles from trains, called "rail-loading", and bring all of our equipment back here. We worked for 24 hours straight then got 5 hours of sleep, got back up and worked for another 24 hours. We were programming routers, servers, and phone switches all night. Then we ran over 50km of cable around the camp, not to mention burying it. Have you ever tried to bury anything on a mountain? Mountains are made of rocks...not fun. Oooh, and here is the kicker. Before we got here they said, that there was UXO (unexploded ammunition) here, so we didn't have to dig. We get here and they are like..."Go ahead and bury that cable." We replied "What about the UXO?" They answered "We'll look into that, but go ahead and get that cable buried."

Egads!

Turns out that the UXO is about 5 miles from here on an old Bulgarian mortar range, so all is cool.

We actually had to make one cable run that was 2km straight. Its to the range tower that oversees the urban combat range. We are going to get some training on clearing rooms. Thats the part in movies you see when the guys bust into the room with weapons ready to lay waste to any hostiles in it. Thats going to rock!

As for now, we have been here 2 weeks going on 3 and everything is chill now. Thats the best thing about being Signal Corps. You bust your ass for about a week straight, then chill for the duration of the mission.

We hooked up the Medevac guys with some extra phones and internet in their sleep tent so they are going to be taking us up in the Blackhawks to check out the mountain passes tomorrow which should be very cool since I have not been in a "whirlybird" before. One of my buddies here Neito went up two days ago and said it was awesome.

Thats all for now. Hopefully I'll keep to this blog.

Well now

2004-07-26T13:38:00.000+02:00

A new high speed blogger! Woot!