USA Is Better Than The Rest of the World

To the tune of the new Brad Paisley album American Saturday Night.

Well, it's official, I'm back in the good ol' U.S. of A. And let me just state for the record, this place is soooo much cooler than the Middle East. Really. I know you are probably having a hard time believing that, but I'm serious. So serious, in fact, that I will now give you a list so you can follow along (people like lists, I'm told. It's all the rage).

1) Air Quality: You know what I can see here in the US? Everything. Call the airport here in Colorado and they will tell you that the visibility is only impeded by the curvature of the earth. Get that same report in Iraq and they'll ask if you can see your shoes. If the answer is yes, it's a good day. My friend got lost coming back from the shower for crying out loud, simply because he couldn't see the road our house was on.

2) Travel: Moving from point A to point B seems rather simple now. I jumped in my gas-guzzling SUV and drove -- all by myself, mind you -- 250 miles without even filling out a trip ticket with my blood type and weapons serial numbers. Nor did I have to call in my "check-points" to command. Even crazier is that I traveled over 35 mph for an extended period of time without wearing a helmet or doing a COMSEC check (shhhh, don't tell anyone).

3) Food: Well, the one downside to the food here is that it isn't free anymore (and no, I'm not just talking about the kids I beat up to take their falafels). Having three free meals a day does have its perks, but I have to tell you, food has never tasted so good as it does here. Places like Old Chicago and Chili's seem like gourmet now. What's that you say? You use an oven to make pizza? Well, sign me up. And you will bring it to my table? Well this just gets better and better. I just had a spinach, artichoke and salmon quesadilla today. Yeah, you read that correctly. You know what? I loved it. Probably because it tasted like America being awesome (and possibly because an attractive young waitress served it to me, leading me to point 4).

4) Women: Holy smokes, girls! Everywhere! And they're not in uniform or wearing a burka! Don't get me wrong, I was starting to really dig on the ninja-style fashion of Middle Eastern women, but it is really quite something to see attractive American women dressed... well, like women. And bless their little hearts for doing so. Especially this demographic known to scientists as "college girls." While not the most engaging when it comes to conversation, their uncanny ability to giggle, flirt, and wear a mini-skirt is unparalleled anywhere in the world. Most notably the Middle East, where a woman is measured by her ability to carry a load on her back and drive a donkey cart. While important qualities to be sure, they are still second-tier in comparison.

5) Communication: I wanted to talk to someone today, so you know what I did? I picked up my cell phone and called them. Yeah. Believe it. I didn't have to stand in line or pay for extra minutes or anything. I just called them and talked until the conversation was over. No one told me my time was up, the line didn't fail, and I didn't have to walk home after the call was over. Then I jumped on the internet. How cool is this? I can click on things and things happen. I don't have to plan other events like reading a book or warming up food in the microwave around loading an web page. I just click on it and poof! There it is. I can write an email of nearly any length and I will still be connected to the internet. Fascinating.

6) Movies: Yeah, we watch movies in Iraq, but something weird happened to nearly every guy I know over there -- we developed some kind of strange attention deficit problem, so movies have to be either really, really entertaining or we will make our own dialogue. Although I still have the urge to do the same here (probably to the annoyance of some), I am able to sit and relax and just enjoy the movie. I don't feel the need to swear violently at the main characters for doing something I don't like and... oh who am I kidding, I still feel that way, but that's just because most movies are really bad. Let's be honest with ourselves, there just aren't that many movies out there that don't make you want to punch the actors in the throat, are there? Exactly. Now, where were we? Oh yeah, while our movies aren't that great, they are about 18 billion times better than Middle Eastern movies. And that's not cultural bias, they will tell you the same thing over there. Have you ever watched an M Night Shamylamayayamayamayn movie? Ok, now watch it sober. Middle Eastern movies are still worse than that. True story.

7) Family (best for last): There is simply no substitute for family and their appreciation of you. Well, unless you have some kind of weird, David Koresh-type thing going on, in which case that's just wrong and you should probably get out of that situation as soon as you can. There are people out there who can help you. But seriously, I am truly blessed to have a family that genuinely enjoys spending time around one another and is grateful to have that time together. That is an under-appreciated thing, to be sure, and I am finding out how important it can be. Family and friends (those few, close friends which can be synonymous with family) and the love and support they offer can not be quantified; through the magic of technology (it's voodoo, I tell ya), service members in Iraq are able to maintain communication with their loved ones back home better than at any time in history, but the fact is that it isn't the same as being here. There is no substitute for quality time being spent with your support network (even if it involves gorging yourself with cake to the point where you can't talk to them). Time and presence supersede activities; especially after a long absence.
Oh sure, I guess they have "families" in the Middle East. Who knows. I guarantee they're not as cool as ours. We don't have to dress Mom up in a hijab to get her to make cookies, so right there we are way ahead of their standards.

At this point right now, I am trying to decide what to do with all of the stories I have about the last year. While they would make for some interesting blogging, I find myself torn regarding this being the best place to present them. Truth be told, I think that shouting them from a mountain top would with an eagle on my shoulder and a giant slab of dead animal carcass at my feet would be more appropriate, but also possibly too much for most people. So over the next few weeks I will be arranging my thoughts (shut up, I have like four or five of them) into printed text and seeing where that leads. Your thoughts and opinions are appreciated. Unless they are negative, in which case you are clearly inferior and should be subjected to a strict diet of Kenny G records.

Oh and I'm also moving into my own apartment shortly, which should provide some entertainment, seeing as how I don't have a lick of furniture. Or dishes. Or... crap, I don't have anything! Man I hope people with extra stuff are reading this so they can feel sorry for me and give me free stuff. Did I mention I literally saved freedom over the last year? It was dangerous stuff, I tell ya. But I did it. For you. No, no. Don't worry about me. I'll just be the maladjusted veteran who digs holes in the backyard because you didn't give him a bed. But I'll be fine.

Why doesn't he write?

Seriously, I feel like the jilted, scorned lover who has been ignored and left hanging out to dry by...well, by me. 'Cause I haven't been writing. And I should be ashamed of myself for not writing, but I'm just so angry with myself that it's hard to be ashamed. Or something like that.

Ok, so what's happened since I last wrote? Well, that's a good question because I don't remember when I wrote last, ok? Geez, get off my back! I'm checking...April 10? Good gravy! I should have my writing credentials revoked. Too bad I don't have any. And if I did, are you going to come to Iraq to take them away from me? Good luck, they're presently in the process of kicking us out of this place. And we have some serious firepower.

Anyway, back to what has happened since I last wrote. Oh yeah, NOTHING. This place is like a black hole of time. Everything reduces to a singularity of slowness (that's pure science terminology there, boys and girls) while we tick off the days on our Marisa Miller calendar (we're past navel level!) and watch the temperature rise. I guess it's a positive when viewed at the strategic level that we're bored; the alternative is obviously much worse.

So, to pass the time, I've actually created at least one job for myself by doing a daily "Islam 101" lesson over secure-line Internet for a bunch of people I work with. It was started mostly to educate myself and I figured if other people can benefit, that's cool too. And I have to tell you, this Islam stuff? Wow. Seriously. I mean sure, they've got some great ideas like everything being the fault of the Jews, but who doesn't know that already? In all honesty though, I've learned some pretty interesting things that at least help me realize why certain things are the way they are over here. Maybe I could do an entire posting on the wackiness of Islam. Maybe I could also find out where that Salman Rushdie fellow is hanging out and join him.

Other events: Apparently Kung Fu died in a closet in Thailand with rope wrapped around his neck and his junk. Sad as that was to hear, let's be honest, we all laughed. Don't lie.

The Denver Nuggest finally realized that they are...well, that they're the Denver Nuggets, and lost in the playoffs.

Iran is holding a presidential election. So they can choose between....?

The movie Taken, with Liam Neeson, came out on DVD here in Iraq. Much to the enjoyment of pretty much every guy I know. And now we are all karate-chopping each other in the throat as a formal greeting because of it. Thanks, Liam.

Kim Jong Il launched a nuke. No word on if the UN wrote him a nasty letter.

Oh and I found out that white men are not as capable of understanding constitutional law as latina women. So that was interesting to learn (shot my dreams of a career in Law right down the tubes -- R.I.P. Matlock!!!).

I think that about covers it. I wish I had more to say, but the reality of it is, I have to wait until I'm done in the Army to say a lot of what I want to say. It's not that it's "classified" per se; it's that I don't want to go through the hassle of getting the Army's approval of my blog. I've seen how long it takes to fill out paperwork just to get pay straightened out, so I can only imagine what that would be like.

My plan is to write something for this whole deployment once I'm done. Possibly a multi-part series, or maybe something else. I'm not sure. Obviously hundreds of publishers have offered me millions of dollars to tell my amazing story, but it's really about the people, you know? I just want it to be told right. And by told right, I mean I don't want to leave out the part about how we painted the cat to look like Braveheart and then the next week used magic marker to give it glasses. And also how our detachment committed an unspeakable atrocity, sadly known as "moustache month."

But until that time, I will try to keep Iraq classy by smacking around as many locals as I can. In-sha, Allah, as they say...

It's Easter Weekend, And Apparently, I'm Still in Iraq

To the sound of various surf-tune instrumentals.



I woke up this morning after having a rare chance to sleep in (let's hear it for Catholicism!) and, for an ever-so-brief moment, forgot I was in Iraq.

Then reality came crashing back down and I remembered where I was and what I was doing. Don't get me wrong, we actually have it pretty good here. I have my own room in a house shared by only five people. Having a house is rare enough, but a room to oneself is almost unheard of, even for most officers. Which, by the way, I have taken a great amount of satisfaction in mentioning to them whenever the chance presents itself.

That being said, we are still in Iraq. Away from all the goodness that is America, and that can be felt when we have to miss out on the excess that is something like Easter weekend. No, I didn't grow up Catholic, nor do I plan on becoming one any time soon. However, once you have gone to some one's house who makes it a point to celebrate Easter to the fullest, it is something that will be missed when it is so far away.

One of my closest friends has a family who does just that; his mother runs what may be a "house" or her "home," but to us it is "the resort." I'm pretty sure that what goes on there is exactly what Constantine had in mind when he took three parts Christianity, three parts paganism, mixed well and served to the public. It was a recipe that worked well in a popularity sense, at least. But people like NJ took it to the next level because, while they may include the whole hide-the-egg thing for the kids (and, let's be honest, I have fun, too), it's all about family, friends, eating ridiculous amounts of ridiculously good food, and probably a fair amount of chocolate, as well. Wait, I already said good food...But no matter if you were invited or show up as a surprise guest, not only will you be welcome, you will probably have a present waiting for you as well. I think I got a yo-yo last year, and I'm pretty sure it was way cooler than the gifts everyone else got.

When I was younger I struggled with the question of how pagan rituals could be tied in to Christianity and have it still be "ok." Obviously there comes a point when you learn the story of The Resurrection and, as you sit there painting Easter eggs you say "right, and this has...what to do with Jesus dying and being resurrected?" Depending on your age, you may get answers as varied as "just paint your egg and have fun, dammit" to "it's kinda complicated, and, er...well, uhh, see..." and you never really get an answer. While this does make for some comedy gold (South Park, giving you the nod here), it also allows people to grow up with more than a few unanswered questions.

If at this point you are thinking I am going to answer those questions for you, go ahead and take another drag from your bong and go play XBox (like I'm going to do in a few minutes. The XBox part, not the bong part. See, I'm in the Army and...oh, sorry. Kinda getting off track...). What I will tell you is that if painting eggs, hiding them, then eating and drinking yourself into a stupor is what brings your family and friends together, then as the Aussies say, good on ya. On the other hand, if you think it means beating your wife or children, well then my friend, that means you are living in the Middle East somewhere and you are celebrating the wrong holiday.

So, in short, make the most out of a holiday weekend. Eat some creme-filled chocolate eggs, watch The Masters, and mess with little kids' minds about the Easter Bunny being hunted by the FBI for steeling children and making them work in sweat shops. In other words, celebrate the holiday to the fullest.

Happy Easter.

Radio Blah-Blah

To the tune of the Brad Paisley song "Cluster Pluck" which I feel fits this piece perfectly. I wrote this back in December and it has been "hiding" on my older, weaker, more broken computer.

A quick note for today: I am in the process of formulating a new method for training soldiers. Part of it will involve drunken chimpanzee-grappling and the return of the catapult, but I’m not going to get into that right now. What I would like to discuss, albeit briefly, is proper instruction of radio procedure. And, more specifically, that the use of “ebonics,” regardless of rank, is unacceptable on any radio transmission, but especially those used during a convoy outside the wire. Seriously, where do people think that it’s ok to talk like this in a formal setting? Or is it wrong for me to “aks” that question…?

Today was pure agony, as we sat and listened to the team who was running the convoy trying to communicate with one another, made particularly nail-biting by a certain female E-7 who apparently learned to use secure-line communication in a crack house. The saddest part of the story is, of course, that she was one of the “leaders” of the operation. It made me weep for humanity.

So, a few quick pointers for radio novices who are going in to the military or already there:

1) The use of a “break” during a long sentence when speaking on the radio was originally designed so that enemy forces could not triangulate your position because you were on the net for too long. As we are currently fighting an enemy that doesn’t even use radios, on top of the fact that EVERYONE knows where you are, this is a completely unnecessary technique, and very, very annoying (e.g. “We are loaded up, break”… “and ready to roll. Break.”…”let me know when, break”…” you are ready. Over.”). After two or three minutes of that, you will want to shoot someone in the face.

2) If you are inside the wire, the use of “break” is doubly annoying for – what I should hope would be – obvious reasons.

3) If you are having difficulty communicating between trucks and you are still inside the wire, it may be beneficial to just, I don’t know, perhaps walk the 20 meters over to the other truck and talk to them face to face. Just a thought.

4) As previously mentioned, ebonics, regardless of the setting or rank held by the communicator, should not be tolerated under any circumstances. This includes the above referenced “aks,” as in “I need to aks you a question,” as well as such gems as “fo” and "yooz,” the latter referring, of course, to one or possibly more people, as in “whut yooz need dat fo?”

Somehow this type of nonsense has become not only accepted, but somewhat normal. The Army somehow finds endless hours which can be dedicated to useful things sexual harassment classes, yet most don't have a clue as to how to use simple radio procedures. But hey, we're six months into this tour and I haven't raped anyone, so...

Since my spell check is now shooting fire and making strange noises, I think the lesson will end there. Tune in next time when we will cover muzzle awareness, Iraqi style. What, you mean those things aren't supposed to just randomly fire?

Why Does Marisa Miller Hate the US Army?

To the tune of "Dirt Track Date" by Southern Culture on the Skids... don't ask.

Dear Marisa Miller,

Why do you hate the US Army? And, more specifically (and certainly more important), me?

I speak of course of the recent issue of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, 2009, and more importantly, your COMPLETE LACK OF PARTICIPATION IN SAID MAGAZINE. Seriously, what's the deal? I will tell you what my deal is: I'm a soldier currently serving in Iraq. I don't have much to look forward to besides emails from friends and family, coming home, and of course, the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue which, apparently, you are too good for now.

Is it too much to ask for you to say "hey, you know what, I wasn't going to do SI's Swimsuit Issue this year, but by golly, that cool dude who I haven't met yet but I'm sure I would really like is still in Iraq, so I'm going to sacrifice for my country just like he does." Well, you wouldn't be sacrificing like I do, 'cause....well, you're hot and rolling around in waves in a bikini while I'm sucking up the brunt of a sand-storm, all while saving you from evil Russians and zombies and aliens, but you get my drift. Oh and also did I mention that I'm single-handedly protecting your freedom? Well, I am. It's just me out here between you and the Mongol hordes of Vikings (it's history. Look it up).

In conclusion, Ms. Miller, you owe it to your country, to the men in uniform (probably some women, too), to the very cause of freedom and, most importantly, you owe it to me to make up for this most egregious of errors concerning your career path. So, call your agent, pull some strings, do what you have to, but get into that bikini and start taking some pictures, pronto. The very freedom you take for granted is hanging on by a thread thinner than your bikini string already, don't make it worse by shucking your duty and saying "someone else can do it." Step up and take charge; show those younger models how it's done, and fight the good fight. Your country -- and I can't stress enough that by "country" I mean me because I am representing said country and literally winning this thing all by myself -- is depending on you. Being in the water with a bikini. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Mr. Twisted.

On Traveling

Stealing an idea from my good friend Jason, I will put up the names of the songs I have in my head while writing. This is done to the tune "Glitter in the Air" by Pink. One of the more beautiful songs I've heard in a long time. This one is a bit of a departure, but it seemed right.




Traveling. To travel. It means different things to different people. To some it may be a simple trip to the grandparents' house for holiday dinner; to others a trip to a foreign country, and for a select few, maybe even a trip off of the planet. No matter what it means to others, it is a way of breaking from the norm; a trip to somewhere one doesn't go all that often. It is often an overload of new experiences and the thoughts they inspire. It can be a dangerous event or a completely sublime one that does this, and what is exciting and dangerous to some may be normal and boring to others.



The first trip I took away from the United States -- Costa Rica, 1996 -- was everything I hoped it would be and more. I saw a new land and learned how similar and yet different a culture can be to our own. It was exciting and relaxing at the same time. I enjoyed every second of it, yet I enjoyed (and still do) telling others about the experience probably more than the trip itself. Subsequent trips were equally enthralling and gave me exponentially more points of view I could draw from in my every day life. There is not a single part of me that regrets the money I spent on these trips and thinks maybe I should have bought a car or house, instead... Every penny was worth it.



Then I came to Iraq. I stopped thinking travel was cool or fun. In fact, all I wanted to do was go home and go to college and never go anywhere but the bookstore and maybe out for a bite to eat and a movie. I wanted to be home, desperately. It robbed me of that traveling experience and told me I was wrong for thinking that way. Other countries aren't cool -- they suck. Everything is dirty, you can't get what you need all the time, and sometimes people don't like you at all. Sitting on my couch and watching Telemundo sounds infinitely cooler than doing this ever again.



Two things happened in the last month that reminded me how great traveling can be. One was a trip to Australia, and the other was watching Long Way Down and Long Way Round with Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman. Both of these brought me back to that first trip and the ones after by showing me that going to Iraq with the US Army does not equal "travel" or being a traveller. Shocker, I know. But there is more to it than the obvious. When I use the word "traveler," I am describing a person whose nature it is to seek out new experiences just for the sake of doing so. One who has the desire to break from the norm but for no other reason than just shaking things up and because "it" is....out there. Somewhere. And whatever "it" is does not matter. What matters is the search. The journey. The people you meet along the way in that journey are invaluable to the growth of your soul. I learned that years ago and had it taken away from me by the big machine. Cancel that, I let myself forget what was important. It wasn't taken away because it is always there. That desire and will to seek and learn; the ability to be mobile in every sense of the word and let that ability take you wherever it can. Sometimes that is a road trip to Mexico or Canada, sometimes it's a month-long stay in Thailand, and sometimes it is giving yourself to a really crappy organization for a year so that something bigger can be accomplished. At any rate, "it" lurks inside a traveler and it can't be satisfied. I learned that again recently, and I'm glad I did. Because it was always there, it just needed to be awakened from it's hibernation.

Now, yet again, I am a traveler. This land I am in, like those I have been to in the past, is one that will shape the person that I am. It will remind me of how small I am and how big this world is while letting me remember that I am chosen to walk this path as much as it chose to let me on it.



I am reminded constantly of how little of this world I have ever seen on a daily basis. My hat is off to those of you who search out the new places, because you and I will meet in some of those places and we will be forever changed because of our paths crossing. That is traveling. That is being a traveler. It is what we do. That thirst we have in our soul will not be quenched by this trip or the next, but our lives will be better for it because of who we have met and what we have seen.

Don't stand still. Walk, run, ride, drive, and fly. Go. See all that you can and let it see you. That is who we are. We are travelers.

Leaving A Beautiful Corner of The World For...

The armpit? The butt-crack?

Yes, tonight I start the journey back to the Middle East, lovely land of opportunity that it is, and leave Australia behind. Dang it, that hurts more to write out than I thought it would... Heh.

The truth of the matter is, while I am not at all looking forward to going back to Iraq, I am ready to get on with it. Knowing that I have to go back there takes a lot out of a vacation like this, as opposed to just going "home" after.

That being said, I am grateful to have the opportunity to come to this wonderful place and enjoy the hospitality shown by some great friends. I have learned a lot on this trip, both about a different country and by doing some good ol' fashioned soul-searching while being here. Tropical beaches are great for that.

To summarize, Australia is a fantastic place filled with hopes and dreams where the roads are paved with chocolate, there are always rainbows, and the children all have gum-drop smiles. A bit like an Obama rally, to be honest... Seriously though, this is a great place, and it is made even better by the people. It is very laid back here, and everyone I have met has been more than willing to open their home to me and feed me. No one offered me their daughter, though, and I must say I'm a bit disgruntled about that. I mean, is that really that much to ask? Yes? Well that's not saying much from a country started by thieves!

Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, Australia is really cool. And way cooler than Iraq, for many reasons. Most of which are too lengthy to go into here, but I think the key point to touch on with this presentation is the complete lack of WAR seems to be a huge selling point for this place, as opposed to the other one. Which I am already getting sick of talking about. See what you made me do? Now I know why celebrities go crazy; the fans can be so demanding...

In short, I would like to mention that politics seem pretty similar here to America, the food is about the same -- save for the beet root they put on hamburgers... yes, really -- and "football" consists of way more people on the field trying much, much harder to pummel each other just for the sake of pummeling. Oh and in no way, shape, or form do I understand Cricket. At all. Nor do most Australians, from what I have gathered. When I ask them to explain it, after about 6 intelligible words they just kinda trail off...and...mumble...a lot. Then they try to pass it off as being the accent. Yeah, right. Fess up, ya wankers!

So my next post will be from the joyful land of Iraq, and with any luck they will reassign me to the bikini-model escort/protection detail I requested. I filled out all the proper paper-work, so I really don't see how they could deny me. I am that good, people.

Until then, think how much fun I will be having as you complete a full day of work and houshold chores, as well as probably watch a movie, and realize that I am still on a plane.

Carry On My Wayward Bulldozer, There Will Be Peace Down Under

Ok, the last couple of weeks is a bit of a blur, sot this one is going to be quick and dirty.

When I left Iraq, I was having trouble sleeping due to nightmares involving bulldozers. It's a long story that will be recounted soon enough, but suffice to say for now that when one gets stuck in a marsh near the Tigris, it's not exactly an easy fix to get it out. The lesson to be learned here is to call for an extraction crew when it gets stuck, rather than after 3 unsuccessful hours of trying to extricate it. I mean, seriously, what's the worse that could happen if you call early for help? You get it out and tell them to not come? Whoa, that's crazy talk. And definitely not the Army Way. Instead, we turn what could be a good idea -- flame throwers and heavy equipment are mega-cool, right? -- and turn it into a 17 hour version of The Oscars: a lot of glamor, but no substance and poor execution. And way too few Sean Penns on fire. Have you ever used a flame thrower? I haven't either, and after seeing one in person, I am, to say the least, hugely disappointed. Perhaps my vision of another Sodom & Gomorrah was a little presumptuous...

But all is better now, because I am relaxing for my two weeks of leave on the warm, Sunshine Coast of Australia. It is a wonderful place where people talk all funny and don't know how to use a correct system of measurement to save their lives. Seriously, "liters of petrol." What the blarney... Get with the times, mates. And I'm about tired already of trying to cross a road on foot and nearly getting run over for not looking the "right way." I'll show you the right bloody way...

I do think, having seriously studied the idea, that the Army should grant me extra leave to study the effects of American Soldiers on....Australian.... girls. Yeah. That sounds right. I think an extra, say... 16 weeks should cover it? Call your Congressman. I think I've got something here.

The Aches and Pains of Bichegan.

Yes, that is really a place name here. Whether it came from a huge fan of the state which actually claims Detroit as its own or from someone too retarded to spell – or speak – it correctly, I do not know. What I do know is that when a semi-retarded guy who lives in the village of “Bichegan” tells you that he has a weapons cache to take you to, take heed, for it is probably a waste of your time. At least it was for me, as we waited many, many, many hours after we found this “cache” for EOD to come and take it. And all I get for my troubles is a neck with lightning bolt shots of pain arching down it for my trouble. At some point in the past year I believed that my previous injury wouldn’t bother me that bad if all I were doing was wearing body armor. Well, shame on me, I say. Shame on me.

That is all for now. Too much pain for me to continue to write. I will attempt to spin a wonderful version of today’s non-events when I am feeling better. Toodles.

Oh Those Golden Hills

November 28, 2008. Yet another trip to the area known as Golden Hills. This is the same general neighborhood where I “walked” my first mission, and also the one place in this particular AO (Area of Operations) that has the biggest potential to kick off in an orgy of violence at any given moment. Today I wasn’t walking, however. I was back to my regular spot in the gun turret of our Humvee. While it isn’t the most exciting place to be at this point in the war, it does give me a better view of the countryside and, on days like today, helps create a burning desire within me to kick small children in the chest.

It works like this: our vehicles pull into a neighborhood and set up 360 degree security. Then everyone except the drivers and gunners of each vehicle dismount and do whatever it is that particular day’s mission calls for – usually talking to sheiks and local leaders about general concerns. If this happens to be in a regular neighborhood where families live, it is then the job of the children to come out to the vehicles and harass soldiers by begging for whatever it is that pops into their cute little minds. And in case you are picturing a bunch of cute little street urchins similar to what could be pulled from the pages of a Dickens novel, scratch that thought. I would sooner draw a parallel to a horde of Urokai from Lord of the Rings.

Don’t get me wrong, the kids mean well and they are always very happy to see American Soldiers. They wave and laugh and are eager to talk to us. They are also eager to beg for…anything. And everything. But mostly pens. Man oh man do they ever want pens. Why, I do not know. And if you gave them each a pen, it would be about four seconds before they asked for another one. As another soldier remarked, we could open an Office Depot on every street and there still wouldn’t be enough pens for these little rapscallions. But they will take other stuff, too. Oh yes, they would be more than happy for some food. Or candy. Or water. Or bullets. I had one small boy today ask – by way of pantomime – if I could shoot at his feet while he ran away with the machine gun. Sure, I could see that being fun and in no way dangerous or counterproductive to our mission here. But that doesn’t stop them from asking. Repeatedly. And regardless of whatever answer was given them. I was probably asked for pens and candy no less than fifty times by the same kids. Persistent little buggers, I tell ya. What’s funny is their reaction to us saying no; a frown, followed by approximately four seconds of pouting, and then some sort of time-matrix, worm-hole phenomenon occurs and it goes back to the beginning where they ask the question as if it is for the first time. Scientists could make millions by studying this, I am sure.

What I find most interesting is that the parents allow this to happen. I am not amazed about allowing children to ask strangers for free goods (in the U.S. we call this “welfare”); I am intrigued by the concept that a foreign Army has vehicles on your street with machine guns manned by guys who are dressed like urban-camouflaged Storm Troopers and the guardians of these children see no problems in allowing them pester the soldiers to no end. Let’s suppose that the Russians had invaded the United States. After a few years of being there, they pull their vehicles into your neighborhood to talk to your local police chief who they have helped put in power. The soldiers pulling security are on edge due to years of danger, they are in a bad mood from not enough sleep and wearing indescribably uncomfortable gear, and they are itching to unleash thousands of rounds of ammunition upon any possible threat. Do you as a parent tell your child A) ”go and play on the other side of the street, away from the big scary guys with guns,” or B) “go ask those soldiers for everything on their body and in their truck, and if they say no, cry for a second and then ask again. A lot. Over and over. Then get mad at them when they say no and point at their guns and make fun of them.” Seriously, what the hell?

Perhaps it is that, after the regime of Saddam and a threat of al Qaeda, nothing scares them. Maybe they know that Americans are good guys with “rules” they actually obey. Or it could be the culture, the Middle East has known so much war and they place so much emphasis on the Will of Allah that they figure, “hey, let the kids play with that bomb. They will live if they are meant to.” Hence the phrase “imsh Allah,” which means, in essence, “if God wills it” follows nearly every sentence in a conversation. But whatever it is, this is a land of children with no fear. And maybe that is a really good thing. I suppose that if children ran away screaming every time we came by, it would be a sign that we were failing, or that the bad guys were near. Either that or they found another way to get pens.On a side note, one of the places we stopped today there were no kids. It was at a security station located on the side of the main road – route Tampa, the main road through most of Iraq. It was here that I witnessed what was probably the most disturbing thing I have seen since I have been here. With no kids to watch, I was being mildly entertained with a dog on the side of the road who had been nursing its puppy. Then it became hungry and started sniffing for food, which it found quickly and began devouring. And what a meal, it was. Complete with all the trimmings of a post-Thanksgiving Day meal, too. If, that is, your definition of “all the trimmings” means eating something that looks exactly like yourself. Seriously, you know a place is bad when even the dogs are messed up. It would be one thing if it was, say, a German shepherd eating a Chihuahua. But the “meal” for this dog could have been its twin. How wrong is that? Probably not as wrong as us taking pictures of it and showing to everyone, but still pretty wrong, I say. At least it didn’t get mad when I didn’t give it any candy.

Thoughts on being here:

Iraq. Just the name is likely to bring up several different knee-jerk reactions when mentioned. It has been a talking point of our culture for long enough now that the images it conjures can be as varied as the people talking about it. So, does coming here give me an “enlightened” perspective that is somehow more valid? Doubtful, but I can tell you what I think.

My original opinion on the United States coming here remains the same: it was the right thing to do at the time, and I believe that, although not perfect, the justification was valid. I wrote an entire paper on the reasons we came here and I still stand by the reasons given (I did get an “A” on it, anyway…). I will not go into those details here; suffice to say that George Bush led a country into doing exactly what he said he was going to do, and the public crucified him for it. I believe he was right, even in some instances when he may have been wrong (the whole being greater than the sum of its parts). However – and this is a big “however” – what we are currently doing here in this country as of November 2008 is, in my opinion, somewhat pointless.
Let me qualify something here: when I talk about things being pointless, I am not speaking from the standpoint of a liberal, bunny-hugging college professor who got his PhD in Smug by looking down his nose at those less educated. On the contrary, I speak of things being pointless from the perspective of a guy who has seen the inner workings of the United States Army in many of its forms and has come to know a great deal about how it operates. And the talking point to be gleamed from that knowledge is: it doesn’t.

Let’s take, for example, my current occupation in the beloved US Army: that of a Psychological Operations ATL (Assistant Team Leader). Our job in PsyOp is to first, analyze the perceptions of people; second, to then assess their vulnerabilities; and third, to use those vulnerabilities to persuade them in some way. Now, if that sounds high-speed or secret-squirrel to you, that’s because you are not where I am. Because I can tell you what that really is. It’s called “marketing.” Seriously, we are an advertising agency for the Army.

And how can that not be a good thing, you may ask? For several reasons, some of which are quite obvious when you think about them from a different point of view. Let’s look at where we are in this war: There is no defined enemy, per se; we are essentially fighting the equivalent of gangs who wander from village to village, staying with various relatives and friends. They have no base of operations or tactical command center to take orders from, they simply…exist. Much like a criminal who goes from town to town robbing liquor stores, these people do not operate from some pre-planned, maniacal scheme to usurp the great Satan; they just…do.

This leaves people in my position two options. One, we can analyze the perceptions and vulnerabilities of the bad guys (good luck), or we can do the same for the general populace and hope that their idea of security is the same as ours and they will turn these dudes in when they see them or find out where they are. Surprisingly enough, this works a lot of the time. But here is where I get to the pointless part. Earlier on in this war, PsyOp’s job was relevant; they gave out numbers of who to call to turn in a bad guy, they told the public who the bad people were, they even told the public what the Army was doing so they wouldn’t be scared. They did all of this while the Infantry was blowing stuff up and kicking in doors, so that we could “win the hearts and minds” of the general populace. Now, five years in to this thing, everyone knows who to call, the most wanted list here is probably shorter than the one back home, and everyone already knows what the Army is doing (which, even in the case of the Infantry, is centered around winning hearts and minds). To top all of that off, whenever the Army does whatever it does, it essentially takes credit away from the Government of Iraq (GoI) and says to people “yeah, we’re still running the show.”

Most of the problems we are facing here are no different than the problems we face back home, and if we try to fix them, it actually prolongs the problem. Let me give you an example. If I were to ask the average Iraqi “hey, how are things going for you and what do you think needs to be done,” they are going to tell me that they want more security, they want better schools for their kids, and the roads in their neighborhood suck and need repair. Well I’ve got a hundred bucks for you that says you can go into a city council meeting in Anywhere, U.S.A. and hear exactly the same complaints. But the funny part is that it doesn’t matter if you fix it or not, because those things will always need to be better; it will never be enough. The difference here in Iraq is we are screwed either way. If we fix it, people see us as still being in power and it invalidates the GoI. If we don’t fix it, people are pissed off and blame the U.S. for coming here and ruining everything (never mind the fact that we actually fixed quite a few things that people just weren’t allowed to complain about under Saddam).

One would think, then, that what PsyOp should be doing is teaching the Iraqi government how to do its own marketing to convince their people that they are doing the right thing and are large and in charge. Well, that’s what my idea is, anyway. But we are not doing that. What we are doing is walking out on patrols and interviewing people so that we can hear them tell us the same things over and over again. Handing out any kind of printed product at this point in the game has little effect because they have seen so much, and even if they hadn’t, it takes us a month to get it printed up and sent down here due to all of the red-tape we must march through just to get tangible work produced by our own people. The loudspeaker on our truck is equally worthless because the Infantry and Cavalry units have discovered, get this, bullhorns. They are easy to use, weigh about 2 pounds, and don’t require an entire vehicle to carry around or an engineer to run (because I’m pretty sure that our loudspeaker was built by Thomas Edison as one of his, uhh, early projects). A novel concept, to be sure.

Now take what I have just given you and extrapolate it into the rest of the Army. Except (and here comes the scary part) the Big Army works much, much less than we do. We of the small FOB tend to actually go outside the wire on a regular basis; there are several thousand soldiers and airmen at a few big bases in this country who not only never leave the base, but exist in one of those “limbo” environments where no one really knows what it is they do. Maybe nothing. Or maybe they exist and get deployed just so the rest of us who are doing nothing outside the wire can feel as though we have a big support network behind us.

I came here believing in what we are doing. And although I still believe that the US coming here was the right thing, I have had a change of heart regarding us being here now. In my own, humble opinion, we could leave this place five minutes from now or five years from now and it would have the same result for this country. The only difference being the result it would have in ours. I, for one, am still in favor of us pulling out of here and taking over Haiti. It’s never too late to make that place a tropical casino-island. Until, that is, someone else does it first. (To be continued…)

Iraqi Soil

Today, November 23, 2008, I finally stepped on Iraqi soil. The joke for the last few weeks has been that, although we have been here for a month, every time we have left the base I have been in the vehicle (either in the turret or in the right front seat) and have not placed my feet down outside the base. Well today that was fixed. I went on a patrol with one of the platoons (or “squadrons,” or whatever… I can’t keep this Cavalry thing straight) to talk to a few key leaders in the area and get an idea of what is happening.

And now that I have done so, I am confident that I am fully educated on the subject of Iraq, how things are going, what to do next, and also how much more valid my opinion is than anyone else. No, really. I think I could be President of the United States now. I mean, I think I have more experience than the new guy, anyway. So, why not? To be honest though, if you are looking for some amazing insight on the subject, it ain’t here. And by “here” I don’t just mean this blog; I’m talking about walking around this country. I’m here to tell you, there isn’t much going on here that one cannot figure out by doing a very small amount of reading on the subject. No, there is no substitute for being here, but I think that people expect this to be some crazy, exotic place with people completely different from themselves when in reality, it isn’t. In fact, what stands out to me the most here is that the differences are not what most American citizens would imagine, but neither are the similarities.

An example: when asked what they are concerned with, most Iraqi citizens will answer with “security” or “our children’s schools” or even “the condition of our roads.” Boy, that doesn’t sound at all like someone on Colfax Avenue in Denver, Colorado. The sad part is, even if you gave all of it to them, it wouldn’t be enough and they would want more. Just like home.
The flip-side is, the differences aren’t quite what the average American citizen would expect. For instance, did you know that people here will actually go out and plant a bomb in the road to kill policemen, rather than just shooting at them like in the ghettos of New York or L.A.? I had no idea, and quite frankly I find it appalling. I mean, what do they think this is, a war zone? The nerve… Seriously though, the things people hear about like Sunni/Shia conflicts are vastly overplayed in the media. I would bet that the violence between Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland is more based on religious differences than the crap going on here. The vast majority of contention here would be more closely compared to inner-city gang violence than historically-based religious conflict. It’s more along the lines of “there was a guy in the next village who killed a guy in our village, so we hate them.” “Oh really? When was that?” “About ten years ago.” So…we have kind of a Hatfields and McCoys thing going here… Honestly, how do you deal with that? It’s the equivalent of someone from San Francisco offing someone from Texas and the entire state of Texas then holding a grudge against everyone in the state of California. Which, now that I think about it, they probably do. Damn queers! Wait, what was I saying? Oh yeah, Iraq is a weird place, man. I mean, I was talking to this Sheik named “Case” and a bunch of guys brought out some chai tea for us. Ok, first of all, guys? Dude, you know that’s, like, a woman’s job, and stuff, right? Second, this chai stuff is pretty effing good. What did you put in it, cocaine? Seriously, this beats the crap out of anything at Starbucks. You should maybe sell this stuff internationally. I will run your marketing campaign.I think I had a point somewhere in there, but it probably got lost in the back of my brain after inhaling this chocolate bar. We are pretty starved of stimulation, so that may have put me over the edge and everything after this point could get really weird. Tune in next time when I talk about how bad guys are caught using our super-secret detective skills. “Do you know who did it?” “No. Well…maybe. It’s my brother.” Until then…

“I will shed the sins and struggles I have carried all these years…”

November 20, 2008. The words from the Brad Paisley song “When I Get Where I’m Going” are ringing in my head today after playing it. That phrase in particular struck a chord with me today for some reason. I realize that I carry a lot of guilt over past mistakes and wrongdoings in my life, especially when it concerns relationships I have been in. Most of them, I have known from an early point that they would not work, but for some reason (on a couple of them) I have kept it going, anyway. Why do I do this? And, more importantly to you, the reader: why the hell am I talking about this on a diary about being in Iraq? Aren’t I supposed to be telling stories of death-defying bravado and stopping terrorism? Or at least a story about some monkeys jousting from tricycles? Yes, I am that in tune with my readers; I know the questions before you ask them. However, this all ties in to me being here. How so? Glad you asked.

Coming straight from my gut and being as honest as I can, there is a large part of me that came here so that I could “get right with God,” so to speak. Yes, I do understand that, in the larger, Biblical sense of spirituality, only faith and forgiveness can accomplish that task. One may only attain a relationship with God by accepting His love and asking for His forgiveness. However, a big part of one’s relationship with God is also being right with one’s own self, and what it takes to be at peace in that arena is different for everyone. The alcoholic would benefit from a long trip to the mountains with no booze; the thief would gain from spending time in a place where material possessions mean little; one who is desperate for attention would do well to have a time of little or none of it, etc. The point being, I do not feel right about my place in the world, and have not since the loss of my love. It’s not that I haven’t experienced happiness since then; quite the contrary. It is simply that the world – and specifically my place in it – doesn’t quite make sense to me anymore. What better way to find my way than in the middle of a war zone, taking place in a land where civilization began?

Yes, I had already been in the Army, and yes, partly the reason I came back was because I was afraid of being called back involuntarily. As true as all of these are, a major driving force in my return has been the search for a bigger meaning and my place in all of this. I have always believed that the best way to “find yourself,” so to speak, is to focus all of my attention on others and on something much bigger than myself. I started to lose sight of that in these last two months; the horrible training and the even worse leadership had brought my moral to a new low. But the line in that song, talking about shedding all of the extra weight we carry on our shoulders, rang more true for me here and now than ever before. By coming here, I have shed everything extra in my life; I no longer have a phone, I can’t meet any women or carry on a relationship with the ones I know; the only possessions I have can mostly fit on my back and in my hands, and all of them are some kind of green or brown and somehow relate to either taking a life or saving one.

That is the raw essence of life. That is human nature stripped down. This is me at the simplest level I will occupy, probably for the rest of my life. It is liberating and scary as hell at the same time. We laugh and joke about it, but the possibility of death lurks not too far back in everyone’s mind here. The possibility of every phone call made home, every email sent, and every package received being your last puts your brain in a place it has never been. Sure, that can happen at home, too. But here it is a thought that is right there, lurking. Waiting. The bad guys are right outside the wire. There may not be many of them anymore, but there are still a few, and let’s be honest, we all know it only takes one. This forces your mind to think in ways it never has. Even on a subconscious level, you prepare yourself and you prepare those around you. You drop little lines to your buddies “if I’m gone, just remember this…” or “hey on a quick, serious note, be sure you get this to my family…” No one wants to spend a lot of time talking about it because they’re afraid of jinxing everything (I don’t care if there is no basis for it whatsoever, I guarantee even the most scientifically minded person in the world would become superstitious in a place like this), but everyone wants to say…something. And we all do, even if it is our own, strange way.
Which brings me back to my original point: in coming here I had hoped to purge myself of a few demons by tackling something much larger than myself and in so doing, hopefully feel that I had done something worthy with my life. I now see, even early on, that I was wrong in believing I could do that. I know now that coming here has not made me worthy of life and not “cleansed” me in any way; what it has done is stripped me down to the bare minimum. It has forced me to reevaluate life from the most primal level by taking away the freedoms and luxuries of normal life. The silliness of relationships is fading into my memories even as I write this, only two and a half months in to this deployment. I see now that this will not answer any questions, but rather silence the dull roar of complexity in my brain. Much that is regarded as important becomes less so when you wear the same clothes every day and instead of checking to see if your hair is ok before your date, you are checking to make sure you have your M4, ammo, water, and night vision before you go out the door. And also when you have to go to sleep to the sound of two other dudes snoring all the time, but that’s another issue…

Yes, I long for the normal life again where I can think about other things. And by no means do I believe that this is a cure-all, or that it will fix my problems. But I realize that this will change me, hopefully for the better, in a sense that my priorities have shifted. Yes, I would still love to meet a woman and have children with her. But if or when a crazy one comes along whose personality shifts from day to day and hypocrisy is her middle name, then I will no longer be upset about saying “goodbye.” I will simply know that she needs to go find her own war to fight in. We all do, sometimes more than once.

MRAP mission to JBB and “training” (Written on November 19, 2008).

November 13, 2008. After finding out from our HQ that it was to be our team tasked to go handle a situation with some MRAPs at JBB, I talked my team leader into staying behind so he could work and I took our PsyOp Specialist to help me take care of it. What I thought would be a five minute operation (I was told to “hand off the keys” to three MRAPs and that was it) turned in to a two-day operation involving more headache and stupidity than I thought possible.

It worked like this: our team had the keys to three MRAPs, which I was instructed to give to the transportation unit so they could load them on trucks and take them to FOB Speicher where our HQ is located. This would allow the other teams to pick them up as well as get all of our drivers trained on them. However, when I arrived at JBB, the transportation people looked at me like I had a weiner growing out of my forehead; there was nothing whatsoever scheduled in terms of moving these vehicles. And what was more, the locks had already been cut off of them so that they could be moved. This meant that my entire reason for being there was pointless. Never the less, I decided to try and get them moved, anyway. The people who ran the MRAP yard (where our vehicles had been sitting for over a month) kept reminding me how bad my chain of command “screwed me over” by dumping all of this on my lap. You see, most of the information required to request a movement of vehicles like this is privy only to a command element. So, why didn’t I just pick up the phone and call them, you ask? Here’s where it gets fun: A) I didn’t have their number, B) if I did, the only type of phone they have is a secure line (SIPR net) and the MRAP yard doesn’t have those and C) even if they did have them, they are down most of the time. Or no one answers. Needless to say, I had to pull a lot of things completely out of my butt to make this happen. Which is great, because it’s only about 3 millions dollars worth of vehicles that are now… somewhere. And they may get to their destination… sometime. No matter to me, as I did everything I could do, and with the help of some seriously great civilian contractors I managed to get everything on the right track. They saved me, for sure. At any rate, after about 20 hours worth of hair pulling it was all set. I hope.

To say that all of that sucked even more of my already low motivation out of my body would be an understatement. And I paid the price for my ambivalence over the past couple of weeks. After going to the range with our team, the team leader became rather pissed off that I had not been training our young soldier on some relatively simple tasks, and that I was not up to speed on a couple of issues, either. He was right; I had lost so much drive due to the last two months that I put no extra effort into anything at all. I faulted myself (and still do) more than anyone else, and so it was that Playstation 2 Hockey would have to go on hold for a bit. Back to the physical fitness regime I had stuck to in Colorado and back to being a mentor to a kid who has a lot of potential to be a great soldier. Check that, he is a great soldier; he just needs to be given the tools which can help him succeed no matter what path he chooses to take his career. That is my job to do and since being in country I have failed miserably at it.

The one part that bothers me about all of this is that my team leader is in much the same boat as me; a former active duty infantry guy who is less than impressed with the Army Reserves. He is an intelligent guy, but a number of the things he got bent out of shape over, guess what? He’s not any better at it than I am. Granted, two wrongs do not make a right, but I prefer not to be treated as a child by someone who can’t do the job right, either. Where my screw up counts is that his job and mine are different, and I said early on that I would take it upon myself to train our guy up. I had not. Nor have I done everything he has done in his job. I think the issue is that for the last two weeks, I have been doing a lot of menial crap-work that has kept me from doing what needs to be done. Spending 5 days at JBB to un-screw a command issue and 2 or 3 days burning trash does not lend itself to a lot of training time. I realize now what needs to be done, but I must put my foot down in regards to other tasks –especially those that are not mine – when they come my way if it impedes my ability to do what is right. That coupled with the fact that most of what he was pissed off about are things that he is unable to do any better than me (and the fact that he is in worse physical shape than I am) put me in a foul mood yesterday. But today is a new day; we are training, Iraq is slowly slipping into chaos around us, and I have a machine gun. It’s gonna be a great year.

JBB Trip and New President

And so it was that TPT 1277 (that’s us, by the way) took its first trip to JBB (Joint Base Balad, formerly known as Anaconda). JBB is the second biggest base in Iraq, only slightly smaller than Camp Victory in Baghdad. We were looking forward to going, as here at FOB Paliwoda the amenities are pretty scarce. The word was that the PX at JBB is pretty big, so thoughts of movies, music, coffee makers and DVD players were on our minds. What greeted us was what I will refer to simply as absurd. JBB is in no way reflective of the country it is in; it is bigger than most Army posts I have ever been on, with more luxuries than I ever had at places like 6th Ranger Training Battalion or Ft. Benning. Two PXs, both containing more crap than one would know what to do with, and two Recreation Centers, each of which having a nicer gym and movie room than any base or military facility I’ve ever seen are at each end of the base. There is also a movie theater, food courts at each PX, and dining facilities capable of feeding gourmet meals to thousands a day. Because, you see, JBB is home to somewhere around 35,000 military personnel as well as many more civilians and TCNs (Third Country Nationals). But here’s the kicker: only 6,000 of those ever leave the wire. This means essentially that the rest of those people’s “deployment” consists of living a life of luxury, collecting a tax-free paycheck, and only enduring inconvenience in that they are away from their families for a year. Please don’t misunderstand me here, I am grateful that these people are there doing what they do. It is a great service to their country and they should be proud of what they do. However (and this is where it becomes difficult to describe to those outside the military), what is incredibly aggravating for those of us who live without the basic luxuries and go out in to the cities and towns (where there are quite possibly a good number of people trying to hurt us) on a regular basis, is to see these people who work 6 hours a day in an air conditioned room, going to movies and having every luxury of home talk about being in a “combat” zone. And what is even worse is how many high-ranking people there are at places like that whose sole purpose in life is to go around and correct people on their uniforms. Because that is what I want to have after riding around in a machine-gun turret all day, is some fat, out of shape sergeant major who sips coffee all day telling me I should put my cover on. Hey Sgt. Major, would you like to go for a ride? Yeah, I thought not. Suffice to say, we hated JBB and couldn’t wait to come back to our little corner of the world where it takes less time to walk to the dining facility than it does drive to the one at JBB; where it takes longer to put on a pair of boots than it does to walk to the Post Office – which is only open on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays. Probably because the guys who run it are out on patrol the other days of the week. My kind of place, I say.

But in between our driving to JBB and coming home, apparently our country elected a new President. I had heard something about them doing that… Heh. Seriously though, it has been interesting seeing the reactions from people in the military. I have been slightly surprised by how many have been Obama supporters, to be honest. Then again, as I have come to realize in the last few months, my entire time on active duty was spent at a very unique place; the rest of the Army in no way reflects what I experienced there (most of which is not for the better), political stance being no exception. I came from a place where about 98% of the soldiers were staunchly conservative. I am learning that this is not at all the case in the rest of the Army. As for myself, I have become rather ambivalent about the subject since coming here. No, the guy who won did not get my vote and I would rather have seen the other guy win (even though I am not a big supporter of him, either), but I’m just not too excited about caring right now. Personally I think Obama is a whole lot of fluff and not a lot of substance. However, a lot of what a President is – as I am learning even more so being over here – is the face of a nation. And for the last 8 years we have had a hyper-active cowboy who takes no grief from anyone driving this monster. Maybe putting a different face out there is an ok thing, even if it is just for show. Perception is, without a doubt in my mind, about 90% of reality. The world has viewed America for the last few years as sort of war-mongering. I don’t believe that this is true, and I could argue endlessly why I believe that it isn’t. But if most of the rest of the world believes it, then for better or worse it is perceived as being the truth. Possibly having a complete sissy-pants as President for a while will change that. And yes, I know what you’re thinking: everyone will think that Americans are a bunch of sissy-pants by proxy. One, I believe that the American soldier, not the president, has proven recently that to be untrue. Part of the reason we are doing well over here is because the Iraqis finally figured out that Soldiers aren’t going to give up just because they don’t have air-conditioning and Playstation (joke’s on them, we have both!). Two, if that perception does become reality, then we will then elect, by landslide, the next Ronald Reagan just as we have elected the next Jimmy Carter this time. Now, aren’t you glad you stopped by this blog for a super-keen explanation of how things are going? I bet you are. I know I’m excited. Let’s go raise some taxes, I’m psyched.

Third mission…

November 4, 2008 (election day). We protected the band! No really, they actually had us on QRF for the 1st A.D. Army Band, which played in downtown Balad. Quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I have ever been a part of, to be honest. Had I been blown up trying to protect the band, boy would I have been pissed. I really thought we were going to take fire, but miraculously, we had nothing happen. Except for the band itself detonating explosives without telling anyone else about it before hand. Hey, I have a good idea, let’s make a loud boom in the middle of a concert in a country wracked by IEDs. Good thinking. Oh well, I can’t complain too much, as it was a boring day and it really wasn’t too hot. I’m not looking forward to the summer. Tomorrow we head to JBB for some… reason. I have no idea, but I’m going to the PX and buying some useless crap! Oh and also maybe find out who the new President is.

Second mission…

November 1, 2008, we took our first trip in to the city center of Balad. And oh what a thriving metropolis it is. Actually, it really wasn’t too bad, and seemed much the same as many other large towns in third-world countries; dirty, trash-laden, and teeming with people who seem to be going…nowhere. Seriously, do these people not have jobs? Uhh, no. That’s why they are in the state they’re in. I did get a kick out of the amazing amount of free-roaming donkeys the town seems to have, though. That’s a new one for me. I’ve seen elephants used as fork-lifts in Thailand and giant sea turtles in Costa Rica cruise right on up to a restaurant, but never a gang of donkeys cruising through the streets.

First mission…

Today, October 29, 2008, TPT 1277 took its first successful mission. By defying danger and cheating death, we drove to Al Baab and did…something. Not really sure what, because I sat in the truck and pulled security while talking to Bernadette (outgoing TPT member). Mildred and Rosemaire walked into a village and talked to some locals. This was after a short trip to a market place near Balad to drop off a trailer full of… contraband maybe? Sure, we’ll go with that.

At any rate, it was our first actual “mission,” and everything went smoothly. So far our time here at FOB Paliwoda has been pretty tame. We can hope that it stays that way, as excitement would probably mean bad things are happening. And as it stands now, the area of Balad seems to be progressing quite well.

We are currently working for the 3/2 Cavalry unit of the 101st Airborne Division, but they are getting out of here within the next few weeks and being replaced by a Cavalry unit out of the 25th I.D. So it will be interesting to see how they do things, as well as if they can maintain the peace that has, for the most part, been established.

FOB Paliwoda Stories

Twist has sent me a long blog of stories from different days that he has spent "over there." I have not edited these much at all, but will post them in order.... He wanted me to share them. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did.

~Kell

On Life and Love

On life and love…

Here I sit, almost directly in the center of the country of Iraq, nearly six years in to this war, and almost all I can think about is my love life. Or, more appropriately, the lack thereof.

A quick recap: I just passed the three-year anniversary of the day my soul mate died of cancer. There isn’t a day of that time gone by that I have not thought of her, and how much I miss her. A year ago at this time, I was involved with a woman who I very much believed I could be happy with; who I could share my life with and share hers. This was a feeling I had not thought I could have again. Now I sit half a world away in the middle of a war zone, single as can be, and not a soul to carry on my name if I should not make it back.

Is this a “woe is me” essay? Certainly not. It is more of a statement regarding my mental state during a very interesting time in my life. A year ago, I fell in to a trap of convincing myself I was in love with someone who was very wrong for me. I did so, in retrospect, because of my own loneliness, and my own inability to recognize how detrimental it can be to base a relationship on not wanting to be alone. I have seen friends go down that path many times, only to criticize them for it. Perhaps that was why I so desperately hung on; I refused to believe I was guilty of what I had been so critical of others doing.

And so it was that I foolishly wrapped my brain and heart around a woman who did not deserve it. I changed things about my life that I previously would never have done. I lived a lifestyle that was not mine and forced myself to believe it was the right thing to do, to keep hold of a woman who, in the end, only hurt me as well as others.

So why did I do it? Why did I believe that I was doing the right thing, when somewhere in the recesses of my puny little brain I knew that it was wrong? Is loneliness that much of a driving force? I believe that the answer is yes, it is. Of course, the question then arises, can it be mitigated, and if so, how?

When I first got to know K, I was in a place where I believed that “the one” did not exist; that it came down to finding a woman with whom a mutual attraction was shared, and enough commonalities existed so a good life could be made with them. She blew the roof off of that and showed me perfection could exist. And not just perfect in the common understanding of the word – where everything is hunky-dory and smiles all the time – but in a way that opened new doors which were previously not just closed, but unseen. Perfect in a way where someone whose faults are your strengths and vice versa; someone whose imperfections only make them that much more perfect, because they are imperfections which coincide with your own. To meet someone who challenges you in that way is remarkable by itself; to be attracted to the person and have them feel the same is a rare gem, indeed.

The point being, although I was lonely and looking for someone, she turned my world upside down by showing me “someone” would not do; I had to be shown that someone who is truly special will do for you what no one else will. So after losing her, my brain went from being totally in love with the perfect woman for me, to never wanting to be with anyone again, to finally believing – once again – I would have to find “someone” who I was attracted to and could be happy with. I did, and I tried like hell to make it work. Unfortunately (or luckily, as the case may be), she turned out to be someone who did not appreciate my efforts and, quite frankly, was bat-shit crazy to boot. Yet, because of my mental state when I met her and my efforts to convince myself I was in love with her, I am now torn up over not having her. I know she is bad for me, and I know she is a very unstable person, but here I am. Yes, it is stupid.

Which leaves me in my current state: do I try to find a woman with whom I share a mutual attraction and enough commonalities to carve out a life together, or hold out for that perfect someone (even though I believe that I have already met her)? Or is there a third option; to embrace loneliness as a way of life, and accept it as reality. I am, after all, very blessed in many regards. I have my health, my physical and mental abilities, a family that loves me, good friends, and above all else, a God in Heaven who accepts me and watches out for me. Is it selfish to want more? Yes, but that is also human nature. It is not an excuse, just a plain and simple truth.
The advantage – or disadvantage, depending on one’s point of view – I have, is that I can do nothing to change this for quite a while. The next 300 plus days – God willing – will be spent with me in the land where time began and things like dating and finding one’s soul mate are not exactly at the top of the list of priorities. I know after a year the answers will not magically become known to me, and I will come back to a world where it is just as confusing as it was when I left. But I do believe that the time away will do me some good. I think the lack of opportunity to date or meet women will force me to accept this current state as my reality. It is who I am, for now. I am not a husband or lover or a boyfriend or a father; I am a soldier. That is all.

And for now, that is all I need to be or should be. God put me where I am, and if He wants me home to do other things with my life, He will get me there. It is not my place, especially at this time, to question that. So tomorrow we embark upon what has the potential to be the most dangerous mission we will go on for quite some time. The 1st Armored Division Army Band has decided to play a concert in downtown Balad, and we are part of the QRF for the event. I can’t really say this is the smartest idea I have heard of since being in the Army, but hey, what do I know? I’m just a lowly sergeant. Who am I to say this is a giant target of opportunity for anyone and everyone in the area who may have some leftover bombs they didn’t know what to do with. “Hey Ahmed, did you say you were looking to get rid of that mortar round? Well guess what…” Yeah. Not cool. Lol.

What I do know is that I will be downright pissed off if I get blown up or shot over some crap-tastic Army band. I may even sue.

Until next time…

P.S. I wrote all of this before the mission, which went off without incident. Much to the surprise of, well, everyone involved. This was also written before I had an epiphany regarding my recent relationship over which I was spending way too much time thinking about: mainly that things which had happened quite a while ago (and eventually leading to the demise of said relationship) suddenly made sense in the overall picture. Some things I should have seen a mile away at the time because they were obviously lurking in the back of my brain waiting for me to discover them. Suffice to say, I am no longer upset or sad in any way, shape or form for not being with this person anymore. And I have to say, it’s a pretty cool feeling, even if it was also a Homer Simpson-like “d’oh!” moment when it struck me. Kind of a “holy crap how did I not see that at the time” thing, which I am sure everyone has gone through. It just happened that I finally realized it while in Iraq, of all places. Well by golly, this trip was worth it, then!

And as a second P.S., this was also written before I came upon some “knowledge” about said relationship that cleared a few things up for me. I will qualify that by simply saying, it’s a small world.