or "My New Year's Revolutions"

It is 31DEC already. Tight. Here is what I'd like to do. NY's resolutions:

1. Update the blog more often
2. Sleep a lot more
3. Continue doing what I normally do

Also, here is a video tour, for your pleasure:

Cheers to everyone. Bang that bubbly for me.  I'll double up for 2013.


The K

or "Pick up the Pace, dude"

Things are getting real out here, real fast. There haven't been posts for some time, and this is an attempt to show you my day today (which is fairly typical), to justify:

 

0500 - Wake Up, shower, shave

0600 - Giant coffee AKA "the MOAC"

0630 - Breakfast, hopefully not to go, I hate that

0700 - Construction Update Sync Meeting

0800 - Daily Commander's Update Brief

0830 - Working Group of sorts (today was Combat Effects)

1000 - WG complete

1145 - Lunch

1330 - Briefing, by my boss, to his boss. I worked the presentation a lot in the last week, plus I assist in the brief, if my intermediate boss isn't able to call in

1545 - Gym break (not typical): Killed Rows/Deadlifts/Box Jumps/Sprints

1830 - Dinner

1930 - Internal Construction Sync Meeting

2000 - A chance to catch up on the 40 emails I got since I checked last, around 1800

2130 - Phone call with the boss to coordinate the next day priorities

2220 - Next thing you know "Holy crap, it's late. 0500 comes quick"

2230 - Back to my room, brush teeth, collapse

0500 - Alarm, repeat

 

I've got a few in draft form from the beginning of the month, and many more to come. Just need more hours in the day.

 

Thanks for sticking with it.

 

The K

High Speed Like The Space Shuttle Challenger

Secret Squirrel here.

This week's pass phrase: Bass to Trout.

Mission of the week: Operation: Get Brown People.

Good evening Squirreliteers. You're favorite high energy, slightly spastic, super spy here. This week I've been trying to get some of the local, multilingual, sand people out across the battlefield so they can help our boys coordinate with the Host Nation forces.

This went about as smooth and gentle as wiping with toilet paper made out of razor blades. If anyone ever tells you that working with contractors is easy, punch them in the throat, because this person is probably out to kill you or at very least defecate on your dreams. Long story short, I said "I need this many people here, by this time," and they said "I'm sorry I couldn't hear you because my butt cheeks are acting as ear muffs right now".

Oh well, if incompetence wasn't rampant on the battlefield how would a terribly under-qualified, inexperienced person make 6 figures a year off the labor of under-privileged, under-paid, locals? God bless 'Merica.

In other news:

Under the guidance of Jedi Knight K I've started eating paleo. Giving up bread, eating deliciously helpless animals, and cutting back on delicious compressed chemicals. However this last week I showed the willpower of Lindsey Lohan at a frat party when it came to eating sweets. Unfortunately a contributor to this is that my folk's idea of nutrition is diet scotch and low fat cup of noodles, so while I enjoy the generosity of their care packages, they are more likely to kill me in the long run than an IED. That being said I got some bad ass socks which I'm fairly sure repels ninjas. So far this theory has held up.

That being said I'm back on the kick after donating all the candy and crude to our Chaplin's Free Store (The Agape Store for future reference). By giving away my candy and snacks I'll take away that temptation and with some luck the other's will eat it and grow weak, making them easier to prey upon.

That's all for now. Until next time, stay squirrelly.

or "I see your blade is a little dull, and rusty. Please leave your keys on the dresser"

We were all excited about the prospect of a "CrossFit Gym" here at FOB Sharana. "Oh cool, the brigade (our higher headquarters) runs it?" Even better. "We'll totally be fire-breathing, sweat-angel bros". Welp, not so much.

 

This morning we (Me, BNC, PiNk, and JMiahW) went down to the "box" for a 0600 WOD. I had made some contacts during various blah blah blah sessions, and we got to talking about workouts and this and that. "Yeah M-W-F mornings we do workouts lead by so-and-so, and then the other days we either make up our own workouts or run. You should come down." I was a little excited, I'll be honest.  Let's all bond through some ass-kicker workout and become better for it (twinkles in my eyes and rainbow-glitter shooting from my backside). Cali Lovefest.

 

I talked these other guys into rolling out of their warm beds at "O-dark, go F-yourself, in the cold morning" (a highly technical Army term, you might not need to know about). We stroll down there, really cold, into the unknown.

 

Picture it like, you work at a big corporation where your managers and VP's are always tasking and criticizing and nagging, but that is inherently your relationship with them. Everything is cordial, but there is tension. One Friday, you LMFAO-shuffle up to a house party on Abbot Kinney to blow off steam from the workweek with your mind set on getting extra weird. You actually say "You guys ready to get weird, or what?" You Usher-C. Breezy glide through the kitchen, grab some sort of delicious beverage to drizzle, and make your way towards the back patio. You slide the glass door open and step through...and almost drop your beer.  Whoa, it's your boss, and she's playing beer pong. Say wha-wha-what? You do this too? But you're...

 

We strolled in, chilled by the weather, but comfortable with the surroundings.  We have been working out there for a few weeks now, just mostly at night, on our own. The reception upon our entry chilled us even further. No "hey, what's up?" No "oh cool, you guys came". No "good morning, do you guys want to jump in with us?" Or "what are you all trying to do this morning? So we can split things up." Zero. It was straight up Middle School dance. "So, ahh, we'll just be over here in the corner, doing...something else."

 

Basically, the opposite of CrossFit culture.

 

I've read of, heard of, talked about boxes that impose a penalty (usually burpees of some variety) for not introducing yourself to new members/visitors. This was concentrated weaksauce, cascading over the cold shoulder of our "teammates".

 

We warmed up, did our thing (Overhead Squats, without the rack, a little Mobility work, and a few Turkish Get Ups), and then headed towards breakfast. We made sure to give a shout out to the remaining two Soldiers who came in towards the end. "Later guys, have a good one. Kill it."

 

Here was the highlight of the whole ordeal: As we are warming up, PiNk walks over to them, outgoing and approachable as he is, and comes at their (obvious) leader/coach with "Hey, cool lifting shoes bro. <short slightly awkward pause for effect>, I'm PiNk, from TF Mad Dog." The corner of my mouth curled up into a delighted Grinch-like smile. the response his greeting received all but sealed the deal for us "I'm <robotically state my impressive full formal military title and position>." "Oh, good morning Sir. So are you going to lift heavy this morning?" "Grumble grumble grumble" annnnnnnd, we're about done here. Least welcoming introduction ever, successful.

 

So, moral of the story is: Though I've heard that you want to open your own CrossFit affiliate when you get back to where ever you're from (South Grumpytown, in the County of Poopypants, apparently), your application has been denied. This was a test, and you failed, F-. We workout away from the peacock/rooster parade at the main gym, congested with mirror-flexing and shirt-lifting ab admiration, partial range of motion, glove-wearing, elliptical-machining stuff we dislike, so that we can be amongst our own. Those who are united and connected through the goal of optimal performance, health, longevity, achievement and community.

 

Don't worry, if you all come through in the evening, we'll welcome you in. Damn, we might even change the programming to accommodate your numbers, just so everyone can be involved. We'll gladly share, and listen.

 

"Elite Fitness", we're "Forging" it, not hoarding it.

 

Goodnight.

Due Outs

I've been all over the place lately.  Here is what I owe y'all in the next few days:

1. A summary of our "combat patch ceremony"
2. The grand finale of Movember
3. My first trip "out of the wire" with video from the helicopter

Keep it real up in the field, aaaaaaight!

The K

SMART BOMB! Ignorance is a crutch, Part 3

It's been a "hot minute" since my last language rant. Don't fret, my pets. The public doesn't learn, and I won't let you down.

...and our agenda for this evening:

1. "Your guys'"? "Your guyses"?

2. "Onesies, Twoesies, Threesies"

*BONUS* "Sirs": The Durty South REMIX

1. Rampant amongst all ranks, ages, and educational backgrounds. Consistent "acrost" (another creative inbred use of...some language) functional areas, cultural spheres, and regional dialects. "When your guys' weapons arrive..." "Where did you get your guyses ISAF patches?" "When you get the chance, could you roll up a count of your guises (sp?) Non-Tactical Vehicles, and shoot it to me in a spreadsheet, please?"

How does your brain allow your mouth to form such an abomination? Go outside and get a switch. Go right now.

2. I sh*t you not. Two weeks ago, my colleague, partner, and I'd say "friend" (verifiable, in the Facebook sense) uttered (something along the lines of) "They may operate in onesies, twosies. Potentially twosies, threesies." I felt ill. I'm not even quite sure how to appropriately type out "threes-ease"? "Threezies"? "Onesies, twosies" is sufficiently horrible, and until that moment, I'll be real honest with you right now, I had never really conceptualized "3'sies". Absurdity-cherry popped and mind blown. It combines what we refer to as "Baby Baby Talk" and regular, singular, "Baby Talk", and then opens the valve on the vat of ridiculous,  flooding the entire valley of Professionalism.  "Our forces will fast-rope onto the rooftops, Spider-drop in through the second floor windows, and use stun grenades to disorient all enemy combatants, at which point we will engage with controlled fire to neutralize the massed threat. We will react to the ONESIES, TWOSIES that may remain, as they present themselves." I'm sorry, could you repeat that last part? I think what I just heard you say, was...

Just as a little bonus for you to chew on as you go about your day (or night; bedtime pride in 'Merican education). One of the units that fall within our Task Force, and live/work within our same area, are from Louisiana. I really do love the South, and folk from the South. They come out with some of the best lines and funniest comments I've ever heard. Ever. They are currently leading the league here, with a batting average of 1.000, with the employment of the term "Sirs". "Sirs" is defined as: two or more persons, that individually would be addressed as "Sir", only veiled with that Southern flavour (Yup, the extra "u". NOLA NOLA boi, Who Dat?!) of "Awww naww, don't go an' be mad at him, Sirs. He don't know no better." I understand, it's just like Spanish, just plop an "s" on the end.  To their credit, I have yet to hear "Ma'ams" attempted. One can only dream.

Had enough? Me neither. Be better. Tomorrow is your chance.

The K

or "Cowboys and Aliens, the more interesting version"

In a combat zone we are all thankful for different things. It ranges from a place to sleep, that isn't being bombarded by enemy attacks, all the way to "ugh, I can't get the BEST angle on the 40" flat screen from my bed AND still allow the CHIGO fan to dry my pedicure".

 

Two days ago, I was thankful for a bizarro perspective, hot food (plus all of the luxuries we have here) and the safety of all of our Soldiers (knock on wood).

 

The holiday has been a big project here for the last few days.  Early in the week, an area in the chow hall began becoming progressively fenced off. Literally, they built some type of pre-fab 2' high fence thing, to display their "Thanksgiving Scene". Next meal came a structure resembling a tee pee and a life-sized horse out of paper mache (sp?), or foam, or something.  Regardless, extra weird. After that came decorations of "Happy Thanksgiving" accompanied by Autumn-colored leaves and cheesy $.99 signage and table coverings. Outside of the doors to the chow hall, where we stage when there is a line, are bulletin boards, currently plastered with festive menu previews and postings of holiday services at the chapel.

 

You don't really register how odd and nonsensical all of this is, until you see it being recreated and perpetuated by the hired crew of Local National LBG's.  [Editor's Note: Oh come on, Little Brown Guyz is not insensitive, they are exactly that.  Plus I said "guyz", with a "z", like THEY say it to each other (J/K). I've only heard that term used by those who resemble it, so get pissy with them.] These gentlemen quite obviously have no idea what any of it means or represents...just about right in line with the American Soldiers/civilians.

 

The major downside to this attempt at providing us with a taste of "home" was that the extensive preparation really put a damper on the meals leading into Thursday.  Breakfast is usually my staple. The same each day, basically, and I'm pleased with it. On Thursday, they really sand-bagged it. No eggs! Crappy, plastic bag, powdered chemical scrambled eggs. Not a one. I settled for two hard boiled eggs, a few strips of bacon, and a Styrofoam coffee cup of plain oatmeal with peanut butter.  Yes, to reference the opening sentence, it could be much worse, but it was a step down from the norm, sorry. I'm not trying to fall out.  If I'm not properly nourished, who is going to attend the meetings? Honestly...exactly.

 

The anticipated patronage of the chow hall on this delicious gluttony-based holiday was such that they had posted "assigned" time frames for each major unit in the area, to try and manage the flow. We came around the corner and rolled up on the line for Superman: Ride of Steel (yes, if you've been loyally following along since the beginning of the blog, I think I've successfully referenced The Ride of Steel not once, but twice. I was born with it, pretty sure, sorry Youth of 'Merica. I'm breaking Snoop D-O-Double G's rule: Da Game Is to Be Sold, Not to Be Told.) The line was out of control. All the way around the building, and almost connecting with the line from the other side.

 

We made it inside after about 15 minutes.  Not that bad of a wait considering the line length. A unnecessary weird-Atom bomb went off in there. Immediately, on of the creepiest things I've seen, the guy who works the grill/griddle, an LBG in his own right, had "Serial Kisser" written on the top portion of his apron. Let's just say he isn't the kind of guy where you'd pause and agree "well, yeah that seems to match up".  I called him on it, "Serial Kisser, huh?" and he smiled ear-to-ear, displaying probably one of the least inviting dental setups in town (think about that for a second...right).

 

The spread was all of the standards: turkey, some type of roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, rolls in the main line.  Then you make the turn around the corner, toward the tables, and you hit vegetables, sweet potatoes (maybe they were main line, whatever), other stuff I always skip, and then G-D SHRIMP COCKTAIL. Say what? Yup, the little shrimps, un-thawed and topped off with some cocktail sauce.  Game on. I grabbed my seat and then went back for the pay day...EGG NOG. Boomsauce.  They had a guy pouring and distributing it.  Probably because they only had so much, but more so because they knew they'd have a mob scene on their hands if it were fair game. It was the consistency of melted ice cream, and whisked me into delicious oblivion. I could of put all of my food back and just got down on 2 or 3 cups of that stuff.

 

As we ate, I surveyed all of the decorations.  It was like a third world cruise ship midnight buffet.  There were food and ice sculptures, of really disconnected things, like partridge-looking birds and an alligator/crocodile (it was impressive, made of pineapples I think, but not good enough for me to get a distinct species determination, let's be real here). The ice was colored, and had objects suspended in it.  Not really sure. The fenced off area had been augmented with dummy-Native Americans and Pilgrims. To picture it realistically, think about what the result would be if the head Mom in the PTA hired 20 guys from outside of the Home Depot to theme-decorate her house for...say...the new episode of Glee. Good intent, but the translation just wasn't really there.

 

We all grubbed.  Thanked the Army Force Generation (ARFORGEN) cycle that we had landed in Sharana, where things like this happen. Went back about our day. Our office "location tracker" board read "Thanks-grubbing". Again, I can't turn this stuff off, I can only attempt to focus it.

 

Thanks for following along,

 

The K

Image Test

 
Let's see how this looks.

or "Minimum Military Internet Connection"

Coming to you live from...my room.  The internet is up here, finally. I know I vowed to stay away from this, and cursed it as an unnecessary expense, but I'm trying my best to disconnect job-related office work with personal projects. Also, I am a liar, and contradict myself frequently. It happens.


Noteworthy notes: It's Thanksgiving, we are officially "in charge" out here now,  I narrated the Transfer of Authority ceremony and didn't screw up (nor get any "meow" or high point words worked in, too soon), it is getting colder and snow is anticipated, Operation Purging Fire: New Dawn commences in our office this morning.


After back-to-back 5 hour sleep cycles, I racked hard last night and have resurrected, feeling fresh.


More gripes, stories, adventures, and general daily descriptions coming from this end. Get excited.


Eat turkey, watch football, drink Egg Nog, and pass out on the couch.  I'll be here, green with envy.


Cheers.

or "I Can Transform Ya"

Good morning from Paktika,

I'm in need of guidance/feedback/diagnosis from any of my health-minded, nutrition-eductated superfriends. Yesterday, on our way back from a impromptu rifle range, I was riding back in the cargo area of the vehicle, with 3/4 full gear (notably vest and helmet) and quickly slipped into a feeling of weakness, dizziness, and nausea. It felt like a combination of veritgo, nerves, and motion sickness. My intial thought was a blood sugar drop? Maybe? It was about 1300, and I hadn't really consumed anything except water and coffe since 0730.  I can usually deal well with being hungry or working through a meal, if the mission dictates, but this took me down. Once we parked back in our area, and offloaded, I chugged a bottle of water, pounded a little Halloween snack size Peanut M&M's (I know, I thought I was going to drop, plus the amount of candy within our office area is FOOLISH. Our Oregon counterparts are sugar-FIENDS, it's everywhere...and amazing supportive misguided 'Mericans keep sending it) and then went right to lunch chow. Maybe my body is rejecting my 20 day old Manchild Movember stache (everyone else here is. Weaksauce)? The drastic elevation change (two 3,000 foot jumps over 2.5 months)? Crap food sticks in my system less? Hmmm. The last confusing piece is that it's only happened twice, to that degree, and I've been here over two weeks.  My schedule is pretty solid, I eat the same thing for breakfast almost everyday, and I try to hit lunch within the same 30 minute window. 

I'm all in for feedback, and suggested adjustments to prevent further issues.

Manana (thank you),

The K

or “BAFfling Environment: Day 2”

MOAC. Check. Breakfast. Check. Honor First. Coffee Second. Away we go.

The wake up at the BAF transient billeting was quite pleasant. It was warm in the tent, the heater was blasting, and the tenting let just enough of the outside sunlight in for visibility, but not so much as to disturb sleep. I wandered out of the rear door in search for the showers and latrines.  All flat surfaces here are covered in a large aggregate gravel, maybe about 3" rocks. This necessitates hard-toed shoes in transit to the hygiene facilities. Our higher headquarters has mandated the closed-toe rule, so many of the Soldiers have Crocs or simply wear their running shoes to and from. Just something to think about, a walk across a large gravel parking lot to get to the bathroom first thing in the morning. You get used to it.

Shower, shave and brush. Uniform changed and back into the tent ready to start the day. Let's check out this dining facility (DFAC) [Editor's Note: I've noticed a lot of the Soldiers say "DFACT" (pronounced dee-fact). They are wrong, and sound extra wrong. Don't worry, I'll let them know.] This DFAC was nice. All of the typical military breakfast stuff weird from-powder scrambled eggs, bacon/sausage (patties AND links)/some type of hash brown deliciousness, hard boiled eggs and even breakfast burritos. I think we'll survive. Moving through the DFAC is a lot of civilians, US, Czech, Polish, and French military. Our group eyeballs them all, checking out their uniforms, their weapons, and the fact they are allowed to wear beards. Obviously everyone stays in little pockets of their own.

With chow officially validated. Next is coffee and roaming about the area to see what's around. The previous night, the Liaison Sergeant First Class (SFC) who picked us up told me "You will not be flying out of here tomorrow.  Actually you will have nothing tomorrow, as I figure out your training requirements". So, on that I called a 1000 meeting for our group, just to make sure everyone woke up and to put out the plan for the day. We're mostly sitting around the tent watching movies, or playing games on our computers and just before our meeting, say 0950, that same SFC strolls in.  He's brought along the Liaison Sergeant Major (SGM) and we all huddle around him as he speaks training and other tips about BAF. "You're going to have to do x, y, z training…unless you have documentation showing you've already completed it." Mind you, we've spent the last 45 days doing this exact training and having it blessed off on, in order to make it this far. "OK SGM, I'll call back to Texas and see if I can have these documents emailed to me. Is there a schedule for when this training starts? Just in case I'm not able to pull the paperwork together?" "No." They depart, taking two from our group with them to try for a linkup at another unit's area. 19 drops to 17.

Told multiple times that we won't see any type of movement until the next day, at the earliest, I give the thumbs up for everyone to go about their business. Some catch a shuttle to the Main Post Exchange (PX), some go right back to the rack and curl up, some meander around doing a whole bunch of nothing. Three hours go by, all is well. Unannounced, the SGM rolls in and shouts "I'm looking for the South Dakota guys; we're trying to get them to fly tonight. There's a 1530 show time, pack up." Luckily, all three of these guys decided to stay in the tent and were in their bunks hanging out. In a whirlwind they are packed up and on the move.  Safe travel, best of luck. 17 drops to 14.

Impressed and feeling lucky that in quick fashion we dodged that bullet, I went back to watching The Wire: Season One (an excellent show, you should if you haven't).  McNulty, Avon Barksdale, my favorite, Omar, and I, all cuddled up in a community bunk tent, nestled around the center poles suckling from the electric outlets. Just as Bubbles is putting the red hat on the drug dealers to spotlight for B-More's finest, the loaner cell phone in my pocket starts "blowing up" (a term to use sparingly in this environment, as things are often literally blowing up). It's the Liaison SFC again, "Hey Sir, the SGM wants to try and get all of your guys out to Sharana tonight…at the 1730 show time." "Well, OK, I've got people scattered all over (because you said we DEFINITELY wouldn't be moving anywhere today, due to required training [that I called back to TX at 2330 requesting]), but I'll do my best to gather them up and have them ready to move." "Great, great, SPC So-And-So will be over to pick you all up very soon, with a bus." Roger that, got it. I called him back, promptly. "SFC, CPT K here, ummm, yeah, I've got Soldiers out, with no way to contact them.  With less than an hour of lead time [Editor's Note: Using "New Math" and sound story following you'll notice it is now approximately 1630. Thanks, onward.] I don't think this is going to happen.  I'll get everyone I have my hands on ready to go and we'll work it from there. Are there any other flights tonight?" "Yes Sir, it looks like there's another flight that has a show time of around 2000. We can split it if we have to." Awesome, backup plans are cooled than the other side of the pillow. "Excellent, I'll work it and we'll all get there, one way or another."

By the powers of all things magical, sprinkled with the Grundle Spice of a Unicorn Steed, my two Soldiers, who were out adventuring, show up not 5 minutes after I hang up the phone. "Pack up your stuff, we're out!" "But, wait, I thought you said…" "Correct, I'm taking the crazy pills too, just roll with it." Still missing two, but I have an idea.  I brief one of my strong SFC's about the plan and I head out on foot for the hunt. Chow hall, ho! It had started to lightly rain, not really drops, sort a Seattle mist. Thick enough to feel as you moved through it. Like a bloodhound on the trail I found my two targets precisely where I anticipated them to be, outside of the chow hall next to the picnic table where the smokers hang out. "Ayo, trying to catch a flight tonight, snub 'em, we've got to pack and roll out." We make it back to the tent, and I feel a little smug as a result of my targeted find.

As the three of us head back toward the tent, the bags are starting to line up outside of the tent. Achievement unlocked: Jumping Through One's Ass. While I am still throwing my stuff together I hear a shout that the ride has arrived and they've started loading up. I walk outside to greet the SPC and let him know that I just pulled two back in and he should load as much as he can and hit the road. They were about 40 minutes from show time. Like sardines in a can, clowns in a clown car, or hippy college students in a phone booth, they Jenga-crammed 11 Soldiers, with all of their gear AND two giant Tough Boxes, into this thing. Impressed by that alone, I sent them on their way. Make it on that flight is the mission, and I'm accepting on your behalf. Happy trails. With another flight around 2000, why rush to throw all of our stuff together and then squeeze into this mini-bus Japanese-train-style? "See you in a bit. We'll right behind you on the next flight." "I'll drop them off Sir, and be right back around to grab you three" says the SPC. "Gotcha, we'll be here waiting."

It only seemed to be about 20 minutes before he was back out front, not a bad time. "They made the flight." 14 drops to 3. We moved with a purpose, but controlled, and had plenty of time to hit chow prior to our show time. We off-loaded all of our bags into the Temporary 24-Hour Storage shed. Could someone just walk up, grab our stuff, and have off with it? Of course they could, but it's all 'Mericans (contractor and military, also COMPLETELY FALSE. Tons of foreign nationals from all over who knows where) and when we're in a sketchy land, not of our own, we have morals and integrity. Believe THAT! As we get back into the party bus, SPC So-and-So chimes in with "So I checked inside really quick…and it turns out that the 2000 flight is 'Cargo Only', so…" At this point I was at: Fraks given = 0. "They post the flight times for the next 24 hour around 2200. We'll see." I can buy that, SPC So-and-So. For $Free-99, I'll buy that.

Stomachs empty, we made our way over to the "Dragon Diner" DFAC, see the "Welcome to Afghanistan" post, dated 01NOV11 [Editor's Note: See? My stories check out. I would never deceive or lie to the 'Merican public]. On top of all of those hijinx, SPC So-and-So disappeared from the DFAC, and I had already given him back the loaner phone. Crud.

It was now around 1930, and we had nowhere to be for at least another 2.5 hours. Luckily, the Pat Tillman USO was right across the street. We posted up there, watched a little of the movie Blow, drank some free coffee and took advantage of the Wi-Fi. This place was like a log cabin Ski lodge, with a room full of phones and computers. Very out of place, almost like a mirage, but it was a soft place to park our butts and space out while we watched the clock tick by. The USO was full of memorabilia from Tillman's NFL career and his military commendations. Additionally, due to its proximity to the Passenger Terminal, it was packed full of Soldiers and Airmen. Packed full. Privates lying all over the arm chairs, Colonels flopped on the love seats, or posted up reading something really important. Sergeants everywhere else, on both ends of the spectrum, either hawkeye-watching everyone or completely knocked out. Boots off, top off, snoring, all the good stuff. My two travelling partners knocked out too, promptly, up on the second floor loft. TKO.

I walked across the street around 10 minutes to 2200 and set up shop right next to the monitor displaying the flight times. Right on cue, a civilian emerges, unlocks the computer box under the screen and starts plugging into the Matrix. After a few minutes he has the new slide loaded into the PowerPoint and sends it back to the display…1700 show time to Sharana. Ugh, not cool, right? Another full day in BAF. Living out of a bag. Sleeping on funky transient bunks. In the same uniform I'd been wearing since the 28^th (Correct, 5 days).

Back across the way to wake the others up and ruin their vacation. "Well Sir, let's call the SFC back and tell him we need to get back into the tents from this morning". Well, I don't have his number…because he handed me that phone first thing and it was programmed in. I try calling the SGM, and his phone is busy, at 2230. I try calling the loaner cell phone number, which I did excellently write down, but it's turned off. We have been abandoned. I asked the Staff Sergeant (SSG) that was with me to try in at the Liaison Officer (LNO) desk in the Passenger Terminal, to see if he can get more help from them than I could.  I struck out earlier, they barely paused their conversation to field my question.  They suck. Sure enough, he comes out with "There's another transient area right here that we can crash in. The billeting office should be right around the corner." We rifle through our gear to grab the bare necessities, stow the rest away, and make our move.

Right around the corner indeed, right in our face.  "Hi, we need a place to stay for the night" I say to the Eastern European woman working the counter.   "Have you been here before?" she asked. "Absolutely not" I replied. "Please, sign in". I couldn't tell if she was amused, or wanted to punch me in the throat. Eastern European charm. We all signed in. She explained to us the layout of the tents and the latrines/showers. Not further adventures that night, really. I'm not sure if we did Midnight Chow as well, it's very possible, but regardless, it was uneventful. We were tired, kind of grimy, and in a strange place. Time for bed. The tents were right where she described them. We quickly found spots and passed out. What can we get into tomorrow?

To be continued…

Apologies

Friends/Followers,

 

Everyone else is a slacker, and again my back is hurting from carrying this adventure, but I'd like to apologize for the lack of updates lately.  In addition to trying to balance computer time with our counterparts here, as we train to take over their jobs, I am also bouncing around between meetings and responsibilities, a result of my boss being off of the FOB for "battlefield circulation". Code for: visiting the units under us, and the elements we frequently work with, who are fragmented across our sector of the country.

 

Not a worthy excuse, as I promised to post as frequently as possible, but an excuse nonetheless.

 

Don't lose faith. Once they leave, I'll have the computer space all to myself (as will many other contributors) and things should pick up. We had ample material throughout the train up, imagine what we can feed off once we actually start performing our duties...in this combat zone.

 

How many MOAC's can I drink? A year's worth, bet your ass.

 

Thanks for the loyalty, and as always spread the word, tell your friends, and interact.

 

Swords Up! and/or Build to Fight!

 

The K

'Gundo Love Parte Uno

K inspired me. Again. With all this California love I couldn't help but think about my own beautiful El Segundo aka Second City. Known for housing the Chevron refinery, the Hyperion water treatment plant and most importantly known for being the buffer between Manhattan Beach and LAX. It's this charming little place that I miss. My cats live here as do my closest friends. I miss the Tavern on Main, where I would arrive at 6 am and not leave until someone came to pick me up that evening during the 2010 World Cup. From here I saw La Furia Roja win their first championship. I miss going to the gym, the post office and grabbing lunch at Original Rinaldis all in less than a two mile walk. I miss the chilaquiles con chorizo from Tarasco. I miss drinking Stone at Rock n Brew while listening to some of my favorite rock songs and eating a pizza cut in squares. A pizza with avocado. I miss avocados. On everything. I miss running west with nothing to look at but the pacific ocean. Board shorts, havianas and my beach cruiser. Yes, please. Head north to Mendocino Farms in Marina del Rey or head south to the Sharks Cove in Man Beach. I miss the Scott Whyte Band playing Honky Tonk Woman while I order three fingers of Glenlivet from Ryan. I miss the pain inflicted by the gigantic hill on Grand between the beach and Main. I miss how cold it always is in Whole Foods. I miss the guy on the scooter that I would always run into while walking to the gym (Timaaaay). I miss walking on a sidewalk as opposed to gravel, rocks and mud. I miss the smell of anything that is not the smell of burning garbage, even the treatment plant smells better. I miss not needing chapstick. I miss how the sound of planes used to mean freedom, not war.

Chase this Light -Jimmy Eat World

Far from the Best Coast: Cali Love, Part 2

As I continue to draft Days 2 & 3 of the "BAFLing Environment" post, a brief pause to lament on the things I miss from LA. It's therapeutic.

 

Grass, I miss grass. As previously mentioned, evertyhing here is either graveled, paved, or hard packed dirt. Nothing fun, really. I miss walking across Ocean Ave in Santa Monica and laying down in the grass in the Palisades Park. A book, a magazine, my music, dark shades, and maybe just a nap in the sunshine.

 

Interesting people and dog watching. You can walk over to the railing on the walkway that borders the California Incline and lookout on the ocean and beach. So clutch.

 

For the most part everything is green and cut short, like a golf course green. Watered daily by the morning dew and possibly a sprinkler system.

 

Disappearing into a weekend in the park on the bluff is a distinct pleasure. I miss it. Watch the calendar. Gracias.

or “BAFfling Environment: Day 1”

Uncertainty is a striking and rather crippling emotion. No longer does your natural personality show through.  All actions are calculated and guarded. Always scanning, always assessing.

Ali Al Salem was a safe haven, charted ground.  I had been there before, five years prior, and not much had changed. It's somewhat of a free zone. No one is keeping track of you while you wait for transportation to another, final, destination.  Ali is never (rarely) THE stop, just a stop.

Bagram Airfield (BAF) was a step further than I had been in to the region.  Unknown. Past experience would allow me to rationalize. Volumes of civilian contractors and Third Country Nationals must be living and working in Bagram. The place is one of the biggest bases in Afghanistan, if an airplane can land here, and we're not in head-to-toe tactical gear, it should be safe. Sounds reasonable. I was so overly cautious it seems humorous now.

The plane lands in BAF, after our four hour flight. I half read half slept the entire thing. 100% uncomfortable. I'm rubbing my ears and eyes and giving my best attempt to stretch and shift around and I hear barking. A little surprising, but not all too startling.  Probably a Military Working Dog brought in to sniff the cargo? Nope, Man's Best Friend in a crate in the back, just woken up by the landing. Dogs barking, ramp lowering, and forklift lifting all makes for overwhelming sound…or solid silence, if you still have your hearing protection in.

Finally we deplane. We walk the tarmac in a semi-cluster, but all is dark around us and I can't make out any sort of terrain beyond the airfield light towers.  We stage outside of the building, where we are greeted by two young Airmen in Halloween masks.  One unmasked Airmen is shouting out inaudible instructions, and then one of the masked Airmen attempts to repeat it to the other side of the group. We couldn't hear him. I'm glad one of the Sergeants with me yelled at him for being a dummy.

We're lead inside to a room full of seats and prepped to be sorted by follow on destination. Without fail, the Army has appointed the finest collection of thickly accented, speed-speaking, marble-mouth Soldiers to be the vocal coordinators of this group. There was a lot of our people looking at me from all corners of the room with the "Um, did he just call for us? Wait, what was that?" In swoops the liaison to lead us along.

This Sergeant is stationed here at BAF to connect with folks like us and get us where we need to go. As we shuffle out to retrieve our bags MJ's Thriller is playing through the intercom speakers of the entire facility. It was Halloween, honestly. We load up all of our stuff onto a charter bus and he leads us to our temporary billeting. It's just after Midnight at this point and all is showed in darkness. Along the route are trees, which is promising, and the only event as we navigate around is an asphalt truck caught on fire.  We're spun around, out of our element, and hungry, but this is still funny.  The local workers are running around trying to throw dirt over this flaming tar spot. It took them a good five minutes of running around to decide to just drive the truck forward a few feet.

Surrounded by 20 foot high concrete barriers, we pull into our new temp home. After a quick orientation, we send most of our group to catch midnight chow.  Ferry our bags into the tents and crash out. BAF day one complete.

To be continued…

or "Word to the Mother" (UNCLASSIFIED)

Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: FOUO

Good morning.

Today shall be a "2-fer". I'm calling it.

Part 1A: I made a new friend earlier this month. Her name is MOAC...or Mother Of All Coffees (correct, CAPS to designate a proper title).

One of my simple pleasures in life is a super charged coffee, consumed on an empty stomach OR even better on an empty stomach after an awesome workout. Hello everyone, my name is Jason...and I'm an addict.

Directly across the road from my old room was Green Beans Coffee. So close I could smell their baking when I went out to hit the showers. I had seen the posters posted inside the shop and felt a little froggy that morning, so to the nice gentlemen at the counter "I'm doing the MOAC today, my friend" "With cream? Or Black?" "WITH cream". Go big or go home, right? (NOTE: I studied their ingredients the best I could, given my lack of foreign language skills, and it looks like it's packaged relatively fresh full fat cream. BOOM.) MOAC = 24oz "House Café" with 4 Espresso shots. Not too crazy, all in all, but sicker than your average. I choked this thing down like a boss (blah blah "TWSS" I know). I was cranked up like Jason Statham in a horrible movie where I'm pretty sure he pulled the cables off of a telephone pole to kick start his heart device-thing (let it play in your head, the Crue does rock, and you know it). It has become a staple. So much for trying to manage my caffeine. I drank two on the birthday morning (thanks to Wolf), so now that threshold has been breached. Plus the crew at the Bean get to see me every morning, and who would want to deprive them of that? Let's not be so selfish here? Honestly. So, rather than care packages and other random acts of support/appreciation, spread the word about Green Bean Coffee Gift Cards (for specific Soldiers) and Cup of Joe (COJ) donations (for random Soldiers (I've received 3, directly from Golden Baby Jesus, it made my day)) for the upcoming holidays.

http://www.greenbeanscoffee.com/coffeecard/
http://www.greenbeanscoffee.com/coj/

Part 1B: Old Spice Fiji deodorant is labeled "Smells like palm trees, sunshine, and freedom". Just in case you aren't familiar with that particular blend, it also smells deliciously similar to Tropical Starburst. My gut says "boo hiss" but my nose says "oh that's swell, more please". All part of my plan to lead the Sweet-Toothed Grandes on a "March For Life" game of follow the leader. Gather round my pits and smell your new master. Off we step toward a new less-sloppy you.

Part 1C: The arrival of our main body of travelers is quickly approaching and we are very eager to receive them (right, TWSS again, got it). As all of us (read: me and the 4) observe and learn the personalities here, we have been war gaming the counterpart link ups and which will be the most interesting to watch. It's been a fun game thus far, and I'm sure that actuality will be even more entertaining than speculation. First up on the list is the Headquarters & Headquarters Company Commander matchup. It's going to be great. Not so much "OMG Lebron and D-Wade showing their 2nd place talents in South Beach" but more [Editor's Note: Sitting here staring at the computer, hamster motoring on the wheel, and nothing. Couldn't think of anything respectable. Fail.] Second on the list is the Communications NCOIC (Non-Commissioned Officer In Charge AKA Sergeant in Charge) spot. I'll reserve my descriptions of the individuals involved, for safety, but trust me it will be most excellent. Finally, not necessarily a counterpart linkup, but a mentor relationship. The Brigade Command Sergeant Major, Sword 7, head-to-head with the Forward Support Company First Sergeant, Animal 7. I vote for a ice-grill stare down contest, to the death. First to blink eats lead. That's how they do. I'll see if I can spin the Public Affairs angle to get pictures of these Soldiers together. I'm not sure if identifying images will change the game on this, but I'll roll the dice.

One down. More to follow. Check back regularly and hit refresh. Deuces.
Classification: UNCLASSIFIED
Caveats: FOUO

or "Microphone Check 1, 2, 1, 2"

I've been off of the net here for a few days, so I'll explain the
"sitch". We landed, began to get settled and situated, and start
linking up with our counterparts. First step: Have network accounts
established. Boom, done. Next step: Work with counterparts to get into
the systems and start establishing communications and introductions
with the good-to-know points of contact. Ehhh, working. The guy that
sits in my (soon to be) seat is always on the computers, and when he
leaves he frequently forgets to log off. Being that I'm not that much
of a AH, I don't restart the computer to kick him off. The other side
of this is my refusal to pay excessive amounts of $ for the civilian
internet here. I'll stop in at the USO and connect to the free Wi-Fi
to get quick updates or check emails. Otherwise, I'm "bare-knuckle
expeditionary" blogger. Oh, and when I do get into the government
computer system, the restrictions block the blogspot.com site.

In an attempt to work around this, I jumped on USO Wi-Fi early this
morning and changed the settings on blogspot to allow me to post via
email.

If this test works, I'll drop another today...and continue to craft
the BAF-fling post.

Science!

or "Destination actuation"

Why is it that I reach every destination at night, in darkness, for max disorientation?

Arrived at FOB Sharana tonight. The new home sweet home for a while. I still have stories of the BAF adventures.

Y'all tell me, which would be more interesting: 1. Narrative, like normal; 2. Timestamps with brief narratives for the big parts?

It's a choose your own adventure. Fun!

Goodnight.

or "Welcome to Afghanistan"

This evening at the "Dragon Diner" dining facility on Bagram Airfield (BAF), I sat next to a gentlemen who was a douche. Plain and simple. One of those guys who is mouthy and complains about everything. He has it all figured out. The typical "they" has f'ed everything that "used to be great" because of politics/social environment/anything else a DB can spout off about. He's here as a civilian contractor, flying some type of aircraft, but is a Reserve Chief Warrant Officer 3 pilot. He is also a bad person. How do I know all of this? Well, in true DB fashion he was extremely loud and over the top obnoxious. Here are the high points of his monolog:

"Did you see the t*ts on that one over there?"
"My last tour there was a FBI Agent here, had to be mid-twenties. Hot damn..."
"The other day I was grabbing a coffee from (somewhere) and I said to the girl in front of me 'save a little sugar for me darlin'' and she responds 'It's Specialist, not darlin'.' 'oh well excuse me, it's Chief to you then.' Get over yourself, you f'ing b#tch. You mean sh*t to me."
"I wouldn't risk my marriage on you, honey. I don't want my wife to have half of the Harley's, houses, JetSki's, boats, quads, etc"
"Everything was good when I first came in, now since they elected Obama, it's all been downhill. That's why I'm doing this. The Army side is gone to hell."

I wanted to rip this guy out of his chair and shave is DB old guy beard with my plastic fork, but as he's a civilian, I hold no authority. Such a piece of crap, and so vocally proud of it. Why is the government hiring these guys to do jobs Servicemembers should be doing, at double/triple the cost?

Anyway, the lesson here is that BAF is a strange place. Like that of a Hollywood movie set about a war zone, except it's always between takes. I've only been here for a day, but it's evident that life here isn't war. Airmen walking everywhere in the streets, Soldiers riding bicycles around. Tons of hasty billeting and new buildings being constructed. Additional blocks of "Fatty Death Row" in every area like Starbucks.

Redemption? 2Pac. I walked into the Green Bean Coffee shop to blasting "Picture perfect/I paint a perfect picture/Bombin hoochies with precision/My intention to get rich/And with my muthafrakin homie/We some cold ass ninjas on the run" [paraphrased]. Pac isn't dead, he's in Afghanistan. Living right.

That's all I can handle, typing on my phone. Again soon.

or "Same As It Never Was..."

6 years later, and the main "gateway" in Kuwait looks exactly the same. We traveled all day FRI/SAT in a haze of airplanes and windowless airport terminals. If not for the plane windows, I would have had no idea if it were day or night. All of our group made it, as did our bags, so minimal complaints.

My first "back in the suck" experience came quick. A 200m walk from our tent to the latrine & showers. Ugh. We've been spoiled in El Paso. I walked through the door and was punched in the face by the smell. Not necessarily horrible, in comparison, but oddly familiar. Just etched into my brain, waiting to be triggered once again. Like when people who messed with LSD in the past talk about a unexpected trip when they crack their neck or back stretching. Lines of individual showers with wooden benches in the middle of the room. A LBG wearing a blue uniform hosing the floor and showers down and using an industrial squeegee to push the residue down the drain.

All of the gross things Service Members don't need (McDonald's, Pizza Hut, Subway, KFC, and a donut shop) are readily available. I am beginning to remember how Soldiers get fat and sick from these places. "They provide the comfort of home and keep Soldier's morale up." False. Fat, sick, lame, and gross.

The big difference is civilians. They are everywhere. Who are these people? Clad in cargo pants and polo shirts. Are they CIA doing the dirty work? Are they contractors here to drive trucks and facilitate our withdrawal? Are they a big group of weird looking, overweight, long haired, gnarly bearded, tattooed creepsters? Yup.

Hopefully we are out of here soon and on our way to the next black hole pit stop. Happy Halloween from the Middle East. Let the party begin.

partyin' partyin'...yeah!

Just wanted to let everyone know that its Friday. This particular Friday is special though. Our 4 day pass starts today which means a lot of partying for a lot of people, including me and my gang of homies. We are gonna do it big. I mean picking which seat in the car we want and eating bowls of cereal. We might throw some drinking in there as well.

Glorious days, like today, come few and far between and only a unit like ours could find a way to take the hooah out of it. The day started with frustration in the sleeping bay over whether the lights should have been on or off. Long story short( I wanna party), we woke up to sign out for our pass at 0630 and didn't get into the wonderful and beautiful west Texas town of El Paso(name the song) until around 1. Awesomesauce(what's even more awesomesauce is that my phone pops up with "awesomesauce" in the autocorrect). I leave you with this...


Don't forget: tomorrow is Saturday and Sunday comes afterward.

or "I'll have 1/2 Regular Coke, and 1/2 Diet Coke. I'm trying to watch my weight"

The obligatory “fat Soldiers” post. I know you want it. I know you need it. This is my attempt to “chastise into compliance”, safely. We all know that I was crafting this. Subtle, and not so subtle, muffled, and not so muffled, comments verbalized and added to my scratch pad, and overall disgust.

Just recently, I finished reading Lights Out: Sleep, Sugar, and Survival by TS Wiley. A very interesting read, a lot of thought provoking concepts, but overall it just made me concerned (which I suppose is the intended reaction, to initiate action). The military climate is “up before the sun, down far after”. If you can pull down 5-6 hours of sleep, you’re a thief. The ongoing mantra is “sleep is a crutch” and Soldiers constantly catch flack for “laying in their racks” or “flopping out” during down time. Completely counterproductive to peak performance and focus. I understand that a giant gaggle of Soldiers lying on the floor, intertwined in a sea of digital camouflage looks unprofessional, but let’s be real. Forward thinking leaders like to quote some generic ghost Special Forces Soldier with the line “If you are moving you should be kneeling. If you’re kneeling, you should be sitting. If you’re sitting, you should be lying down. And if you’re lying down, you might as well be asleep”. It’s a crock, they never follow through. The stigma of sleeping is embedded deep within the military threadwork. In our group, we work pretty hard…behind a computer…at a desk…inside under fluorescent lights. Bad business.

Partially due to this disrespect for sleep, Soldiers are a mess. Definitely big trouble. As we represent a cross-section of ‘Merica, our forces are sloppy, lack athleticism, and are metabolically deranged.

Don’t worry though; it’s not all frustration and complaints. We are here to attempt to help you.

I really like the idea of the “Soldier/Warrior Athlete”. Service Members have a job that is inherently physical. Even if you’re a desk-jockey, you are more likely to find yourself in a situation where your athleticism will come into play, potentially in a life or death scenario. Plus the ‘Merican public expects us to be fit and look healthy, like we could actually hold our own if it came down to fisticuffs with the bad guys. The public views the military as “young, healthy, and fit” (I think). The military views SF, Rangers, SEALS, Force Recon, and PJ’s as “badass, strong, and unstoppable” (I think). These elite troops view themselves as the best, the average Soldier as weak and brainwashed, and the public as a mess (I think). How do we balance that out? Why can’t a focus be shifted back to our overall health? Not just the minimum standards. More control.

I walk through the dining facility here and I see grown (literally and figuratively) adults creating meals that would make a 10 year old cheer. “On man, you get to eat grilled cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, french fries, soda and ice cream AT EVERY MEAL?! I want to be in the Army. Cool!” Oh, sorry young ‘Merican, you’re too fat and brittle to serve. Get on a diet, start running, and try back later (when either you’ve developed an eating disorder, pumped yourself full of crazy weight loss pills, or in extreme cases had a surgery). Scary sequence, right? Once you get in though, have at it. Soda, Gatorade, Sweet Tea all flows from endless rivers of delicious into your gullet…and your pancreas cries.

You are a professional athlete.
Professional athletes use their bodies to earn a living. Soldiers are professional athletes. Your paycheck not only depends upon your fitness, but so too does your combat performance and survivability
Your body is your primary weapon.
If you are unfit or injured, you are a liability to your unit, not an asset.
- www.militaryathlete.com

Now I don’t claim to be a hardcore, zero defect, and “every Soldier is a rifleman and Warrior first and foremost” type of leader. I understand that there are Soldiers that joined specifically to do their part in a support role, away from the front lines. I do believe, though, that every Soldier should at least attempt to be better than average and take pride in the uniform, and the way you look in it (read: you’re not a fat slob in camo).

The juxtaposition between hard-charging combat troop and post-teenage adultino is never more evident when witnessed in the lobby of a Starbucks. Allow me to attempt to recreate the scene:

“Bro, I’m so glad to be done with that field exercise. If I had to go another day showering with baby wipes and crapping in a cat hole, I’m pretty sure I would have wasted everyone, not just the OPFOR.” “Yeah, I was posted out on perimeter watch the other night and started catching bugs and lizards to chew on to stay awake. That made for some interesting e-tool/trench adventures. Plus I carved my girl’s name into my forearm…and it came out pretty sick.” “I can’t wait for this playtime training to be done, so we can finally get over there and send some real lead downrange. This tour might be my chance for a Universal Soldier ear-necklace.”
Barista: “Good morning, what could I get started for you?”
“Hey, dude, what was that thing you got last time we were here? That was the shit. Oh, right right. I’ll have a venti orange mocha frappuccino.” “ORANGE..MOCHA...FRAPPUCCINOS!”

And then it gets really Don’t Ask Don’t Tell Repeal. These kids (and crusty old salty dudes) are combat hardened, battle worn, 3 or 4 or 5 or 6 trips to Iraq/Afghanistan/wherever and they still think whipped cream and sprinkles is coffee. Much like a teenager showing up at a Superbad house party with a backpack full of Smirnoff Ice or Mike’s. It just seems wrong.

The example set for them isn’t doing much in the way of helping. Each day I witness tubby Soldiers making their way through the soft serve line. Soft and jiggly. Capable of no sort of reflexive maneuvering, short of their spherical-ness bouncing off of the chair or ground (if the chair collapses, obviously). I watch these Soldiers like a hawk, ready to catch them in the beam of shame and raise my eyebrow in an expressive physical shout of “I’m watching. We both know that is a poor idea, don’t we? I’m disappointed in you. You’re decision making privileges are revoked.” Except, they outrank me. Majors and Colonels, all buttered up, strutting around like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man with extra syrup on their french toast and pancakes and a plate of cake (at lunch or dinner, it’s not that crazy). “If Fatty Arbuckle can make it that high in rank as a gelatinous blob, then what the hell, pass the Bleu Cheese dressing.” Oh, he has a profile. Free pass. Negative, and then I’m the AH.

There is a lot of misinformation out there, and like most good Soldiers, they just go off of what they are told. Red label – Low Performance; Yellow Label – Moderate Performance; Green Label – High Performance, nice. Good attempt Army, but you are still a little off. Still buying into the Low-Fat/No-Fat BS and cramming low quality carbohydrates down Soldiers throats. “It’s cool Sir. I need these (pancake/french toast/syrup) carbs for energy (to sit at a computer desk all day, indoors, under fluorescent lighting)". “Why don’t you get some bacon, at least?” “Oh no Sir, the doc told me my <insert some ailment here> risk was increasing due to my <insert misdiagnosed hormonal or nutrient> levels. I don’t want to have to take any more pills…than the 20 I take already.”

To try and counteract the info put in front of their faces, I try to add little tidbits (of the minimal amounts I think I understand) and it still won’t hit home. “I really want to lose weight/be stronger/be sick less often/feel better/blah blah, but I just can’t give up my <insert gross unnecessary comfort food here>. “OK, well good luck with that. Please tell no one that we spoke…or that you know me at all. Gracias.”

Before my brain explodes, my last request, for those of you who support us at home:

Please don’t send us Halloween candy. No one here needs it. Rather than a “bit of home” how about contributing to our collective health? Try and get over the emotional connection between Candy Corn and dressing up in costumes to run around the neighborhood. I need a Warrior Athlete who can drag my geared-up 220 pounds out of the kill zone and away from a burning vehicle. I’d say 15% of our group could pull that off right now, even with maximal adrenaline. It’s concerning. Let them find comfort in the fact that they can perform when called upon, and look and act the part of a United States Service Member.

Thank you, and goodnight. Most likely, my next post will be from out of the US. International gripes, all over the world.

Be right. K.

APFT and the lies it tells

So I'm going to steal the "K's" thunder here a little bit.  Note: As I am sitting here writing this people in the bay jumping around yelling about who got the better APFT score.

So today we woke up at 0 dark 30 to take the APFT (Army Physical Fitness Test), this consists of 2 min of pushups, 2 min of sit-ups, and a 2 mile run.  This is the story of what went down.........

So at 4:50 I wake up to get ready to go to the APFT test at the gym at 5:15.  I walk over to the gym where no-one is standing, trying to be the good soldier and arrive early.  Due to our leaders excellent recon of the site the gym doesn't open until 5:30 and latter we discover we don't have a way to measure our height, which is a pretty standard part of any APFT.   So during this time a crowd of people is gathering huddling together to stay warm as it sprinkles rain that seems more like sleet and a wicked wind flows through us.  When the doors finally open things go pretty smoothly set up for the test and begin the exercises starting with the pushups.  The pushup performance of the individuals being tested was horrible, "the K" actually walked around videotaping it to document the massacre of the Army pushup standard.  People were doing the worm, not going down all the way, not locking their elbows out, there were some people that shouldn't have had a single push up count.  I even heard one person say, "I will see what the grader will let me get away with and just go down that far".

Then we move on to the sit-up.  The sit-up is pretty hard to mess up but people still find a way.  A few people don't keep their figures interlocked behind their heads, others don't keep their legs at a 90 degree angle, trying to cheat the system, and again get away with it.  When that was completed it was time for the run which is hard to cheat on.

The point of all this is that the APFT is supposed to be a standard metrics that everyone can be compared with each other equally.  This metric is not only used as bragging rights, which is being demonstrated right now before me, but also a metrics for getting promoted, being battle ready, and for attendance in competitive army schools.  Because of the lack of the enforcement of the standard today no one can really say they were better than the other, and the validity of looking at an APFT score comes into question.  I can think of several circumstances off the top of my head of where today one person scored higher than his peer on the test because he did not do the exercises to the proper army standard; which means come promotion time it could be a weighing factor of choosing one over the other.

Note: Yes the graders are to blame as well!!!

FML my life

A lot happened in the last few days. When I say a lot it means a bunch of small stuff that seems like its pointless, but put it all together and its like a shit storm of retardation mixed with glee. This post will be organized in a bitch-fest-story manner.

Two days ago was the last day of our culminating training exercise. It was a beautiful morning, the sun was out, the bird(intentional) was chirping. It wasn't hot or cold, but just right. My coffee was delicious and it was the last day(that's a fantabulous feeling no matter which way you look at it). We woke up knowing it was the last day, but we didn't know how or when it would end, kinda like prom. Things were going well in the office, it was a slow day and the crew was meshing well. Around noon we got the news...the exercise would end at 2pm. It was great. That was the best news in weeks. We could not wait for 2 to roll around. Finally it is 1:55, I finish my smoke and run into the building screaming "ATTENTION IN THE TOC"(this grabs EVERYONES attention) "10-9-8..." By the number 7 everyone chimed in. It was beautiful, everyone smiling and singing. Once we hit 1 it was like a tornado hit our building. I have never seen such teamwork before. Everyone wanted that TOC apart and we were gonna do it in record time. It was like we were Special Forces TOC tearer downers, people found something to do and did it. 2 people stood at the shredder while others merrily tore crap off the walls, computers came apart in seconds. It was amazing, officers and enlisted working together like never before. Immediately after the countdown music was streaming on cue from the one computer with loud speakers. It wasn't just any music either. It was motivational. We're talking songs like "barbie girl" to which a lieutenant was getting "jiggy". You know, "special" music. It was a dance party and the night shift guys really missed out. All in all it took us around 45 minutes to an hour to tear that building down to nothing. It was a feat of epic proportions. Now comes the shitty part(its weird how the shitty part is always preceded by fun). It is time to clean, sweep, mop, you know shit like that. Well I start to notice the numbers dwindling in the building. People keep sneaking off and before you know it there's 5 of us left. The part that really pissed me off is that only 1 of the 5 was a non commission officer(NCO/sergeant). We just got screwed over by our senior enlisted, who went back to the barracks and took a nap or went to the gym. It was cool though because the one NCO we had with us took care of us. Everyone is gonna bail on us? Ok, fuck that were out too. It was refreshing to see that basic leadership quality in this company which, in my opinion has a large majority of shitty people that hold rank, but don't know how to be leaders. It might not sound like it, but it was a roller coaster of a day.

The next day was on par or even worse. I'm told that I have a bunch of shit to do at 9am. Cool. Its easy stuff and I can sleep in. Wrong. Turns out they decided to start everything at 7. Not that big of a deal. I get up and finish everything within 20 minutes. Sweet. Time to relax. Wrong again. I got an idea, lets grab the same people who were left cleaning the TOC yesterday and take them back to the TOC to finish cleaning it. It's really not that big of a deal because the guy running the show is a senior NCO who I respect a lot and he just wants to get the shit done so we can GTFO of this range and go to main post for awhile. No real problem here, we go clean, make that shit sparkle and get the OK to bail. Its 1245, just in time for the bus to main post. We get permission and move out. We get there and the bus is full. Awesome, we'll catch the next one in an hour. Show up at 2pm, jump on the bus, and roll to main post. Finally, we are away from all the retardation.(did i speak too soon?) Whoa not so fast, almost immediately upon getting to main post all of our phones starting ringing.(I think I did) It's the company and they just wanna fuck our day up. We are told about a 5pm formation we must attend. Awesomesauce(its freaking everywhere around here). It is 2:50 and we have to catch the 4 o'clock bus back to our shit hole. There goes the movie we were gonna watch and all the morale associated with it and the trip we got to pseudo take. Upon returning to the "alamo"(where we train/live) we learn that the 5 o'clock formation was called because 2 soldiers did not turn in bags to send to Los Angeles. One of them was a captain and the other a master sergeant. The captain was gone taking care of things for the deployment and the master sergeant was busy working his ass off for the company. (NOTE: in no way am I blaming these 2 people for anything). It's just frustrating that the bullshit never stops with this company.
/Rant
Thanks for listening.

Today was entertaining, but I will write about it tomorrow because it is late and this post is wayyy too long already.

G'nite world.

Yes, I know, Different show. It's damn close though.

or "Burns, to the Third Degree"

To all that have been following along, this is how the morning workout with the general went down. We met outside at the track, then a call was received "The general wants to meet over in the parking lot." So we jog over, and link up with him.  Decent sized guy, very much looks like a football player from the 80's (apparently he was signed by the Washington Redskins, back in the day). We circle up, and stretch out a little, while he describes how it is going to go happen.  We are going to run out, in the dark, on some type of dirt roads or trails he remembered running on when he was first here (at FOB McGregor) back in the day. We head out shuffling at a medium pace.  I'm right behind him, because I don't know what to expect, so if he takes off like a rocket, I have a better chance of keeping up and avoiding the Slinky-effect in the rear. It's a comfortable pace, so I'm golden. We run along the fence line, across the little sand dunes, through the shrubbery, out of the gate of the main cantonment area, and into the darkness. Once out there, we find a little opening at a turn around spot and circle up again. "Alright, everyone pair up, count off, 1's and 2's.  We're doing 100 Push ups, in chunks, and I'll call the switch. One exercises, while the other counts for them." Cool, I can hang with this. We knock that out, then go into a "V" sit hold and once everyone has hit the 100 count, we mount up. "Fireman's Carry". Which was really a piggyback ride, every red-blooded 'Merican loves a good piggyback. A little bit of that, a little more adventure through the dunes in the dark, then back to our original release point.  A cool down stretch, a few pictures for the old FB page (making sure to get the mountains in the background "I love them mountains"), then we huddle up.  MG Wells has a program he calls "The General's 100" and we are all going to get individual certificates for our participation.  Apparently, he travels around and does this program with different groups. Each certificate is individually numbered, so we ARE special snowflakes.  But, they don't have enough to give them to us right now, so they'll mail them out later.  The general is a little bummed out by this, so he hits us with the consolation prize, "since I wasn't able to get your certificates for you, here is what I'll do, when we send these out I'll include my 75th (the unit he commands) belt buckle". Woot woot. How you like that for some Texas Southern Hospitality? Refreshing to see a high-ranking leader making fitness a priority PLUS creating his own personal belt buckles. We asked "I wonder what budget that falls under?" The 2-star tchotchke fund, sweetness.

Wow, that was more than I anticipated. Back to current events.

Yesterday morning was the After Action Review (AAR) for our Culminating Training Event (CTE). Donesky, over. Now I am set to leave as part of the Advance Party (ADVON) to Afghanistan, so I am technically on my 4-day "pass".  I wanted to make a showing for this event though, because I am one of the central players (I know, get over myself, eat it). Big mistake, ugh.

"So, 6 days ago, this event happened, then you sent the info forward...which finger did you use to click send?" Second by second recount of a training inject that happened almost a week ago (a week of 24-hour operations, mind you) with no heads up that we would be asked to break it down. Real awkward.

Detective: "Imma ask you some real simple questions, and I want some real simple answers. Let me get this right, you bought the bottle of beer about 11:15?"
Kain: "I bought the beer, and I accidently dropped it."
Detective: "You bought the bottle of beer at 11:15?"
Kain: "Ah, yeah, at 11:15. Yeah, at 11:15."
Detective: "Then why was it still there, spilled on the floor, after the shooting?"
Kain: "When I was, when we was leaving, after I left, other people was coming in, when we was leaving."
Detective: "But you don't remember what they..."
Kain: "What they looked like..."
Detective: "But you bought the bottle of beer, definitely, at 12:15?"
Kain: "Yeah, it was 12:15, exact, if I'm not mistaken, it was 12:15."
Detective: "Now you see somethin'. Now you see now, you done f'ed up. You know that don't you?"

Pretty much what it felt like.

If you just remain silent long enough, they become anxious and continue to ramble. "Wow, what is that?-I mean, that's a dog, right?-Is that your dog?-Very interesting breed, interesting looking dog." Whoa, what just happened? I blacked out.

My brain has started to lose focus. Time for bed. I'll post a good one tomorrow, promise.

Also, as a follow up, S, another satisfying event was being able to "pin" Sergeant rank on one of the Soldiers that deployed to Iraq with me, back in 2005. He was Private/E-2 and now he is a Sergeant/E-5, which is a big deal (and very long overdue for him). He requested that I do it specifically, and that is pretty powerful. Congrats SGT Cervantes, keep doing good things.

Out.

Radio check in sequence, over.

I originally wanted to title this post Failure to Communicate but, alas, I don't think my section is worthy of Cool Hand Luke. My Communications professor at USC ( aka University of Southern California, Spoiled Children, South Central, God's Country etc.) would adamantly claim that communication was the most crucial resource in the human foundation. Homie made a compelling point. Without good comms, what separates us from the basic orangutang? Enter the mighty S6 (military colloquialism for the communications department). Nobody above the grade of e-4 speaks English. Now, I'm not one of those guys that goes to the Sharks Cove and gets all undie bunched cause I overhear some cats speaking Spanish. Not just because I'm Mexican, but because it's not a big deal. In the US military, however, I feel like basic understanding of the English language isn't an obnoxious requirement; especially in the communications department! OIC - Haiti, NCOIC - Belize, ANCOIC -Nigeria. Fuck me to tears. Lewis Carroll and Bobby Cox couldn't have come up with this all-star batting lineup if they had hallucinogens being fed directly into their veins. You can't understand these guys when they're right in front of you, throw in a military grade radio and they might as well be using braille. We're all familiar with talking to Peggy from khazikstan when we run into issues with our new laptop, it's inconvenient but rather irrelevant in the cosmic sense, but shouldn't critical wartime information be clear and in one universal language spoken by all participants? Am I whining? Do I need to retake the diversity class? Do I give a shit?

Listening to Loving Cup - Rolling Stones ft Jack White

Bad Haiku/Poetry

Weary Nupa lays in bed with anticipation. Matted wet newborn chicken fuzz glistens on neck with sweat. It whispers to others in disbelief. Oddly bulging ACU's once puffed out with mental buffness are temporarily deflated. Ego's loss is foreign. The gluttony of chaos and rage thrown up for others to navigate has painted the Nupa in a corner. How did this happen? Survival instinct suggests behavior modification. The artificially managed low octave voice yields to its normal tenor. It will try to be perceived as humble butt is a hurricane of rage inside. Pretending to not be a dick is exhausting. It cant stop touching its dick. The temptation grows, its significant other knows, the glass house shatters as its load is blown. Relief is in site....or is it?

Any resemblance to real Nupas, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Sleep tight. Not good enough. Sleep tighter.

Ah yes. Another glorious night in the bay. I have grown accustomed to the locker room smell and the constant barrage of bodily noises. This is why I joined. I stare at my iPad screen feeling great about myself cause I just dropped a sixty-three stroke game at St. Andrews, take that rory McElroy you dirty pikey. It's getting late. K has compelled me to wake up at some god forsaken hour to do some good PT (physical training), I should sleep. The unrivaled links game I have developed can wait till tomorrow. Goodnight, moon. I roll over in to my standard fetal position and turn-to on going to sleep.
What the fuck was that? (side note: am I not allowed to cuss on here? I'm developing this psychological theory that people who aren't allowed to cuss at work go home and take it out on their kids. It's not an accepted science yet but you'll see it soon enough on Good Morning 'Merica. I digress.) I was in that place between waking and sleeping when I heard the tank rolling through the bay. Only it wasn't a tank, it was the snoring of my assistant ncoic. Good news, I don't have to brace for incoming artillery rounds. Bad news, I'd have a better chance of getting sleep if I were taking incoming rounds. Bad news, in spite of the fact that there will be no artillery and the fact that I was only issued blanks, someone still might die tonight.
What the f*ck was that? Número dos. I could have sworn I heard a wIldebeest going through it's mating rituals off in the distance. But wait, it's just that same assistant ncoic making strange guttural noises to itch the back of his throat. So my childhood dream of going on safari is not yet materializing. What a tease. I can't blame the guy for having an itchy throat, this place is so dry I can feel blood evaporating through my veins, I just drink water to placate the feeling rather than trying to communicate like an ungulate. I swear I've never had to use so much lotion, chapstick etc. I'm going to have my loved ones ship my that stuff by the drum. (looking at you, loved ones.)

fueling the comedy fire

im not a funny person by myself. come to think of it you probably arent either. and if you do make yourself laugh while your alone you are probably a little mental. anyways i work in a submarine(notional). I stare at computer screens(real world). [parenthesis (inside joke)]. but fortunately for me i am surrounded by many unasumming clowns. every sentence scrutinized for comedy. every choice of words looking for one wit of humor. for in my cubicle world that is the only relief we have.

here are a few tricks:

1. use the phrase" thats what she said" after everything.

2. look for any and every character flaw then exemplify it (as long as it gets a laugh and isnt to hurtful it helps grow thick skin and build character)

3. crack jokes during moments others are trying to be serious.

4. repeat things that people clearly explain to you like you dont understand. i.e. they say "do not put paper in the trash, it must be shredded!" (pregnant pause) then you say "so, what about paper can i just put that in the trash" bonus points if in group must be said with serious face.

5. step by step:drink one gallon of coffee mixed with 1 quart of milk, try and sit still and stare at a computer screen in a quiet brightly lit room, wait 3 minutes, now, everytime anyone says anything say the first thing that pops into your mind, turns out anyone can be pretty funny after that. (or they think your crazy)

the lights, the recirculated air, the hum of bullsh*t producing computers, thats when you know youve really made it. im living the dream!

PiNk

or "Coffee Straws and Drinking From the Fire Hose"

I'm getting sick. Extra not cool. I think it was all sparked by one single meeting. We were sitting through an After Actions Review (AAR), where we go over whatever training event we've just completed and discuss "Improves" and "Sustains" in order to adjust off of the feedback. Anywho, the A/C was cranking, and it comes into the building (actually it's a LAMS, which I think stands for Large Area Mobile Structure, or something close) via large flexible tubing.  I apologize engineers/construction dudes, I don't know what that stuff is properly called. So, this thing was set just above "Snow Machine" and pointed directly at me. So now I'm fighting the "mange". The opposite of cool.

Here is a funny quote from our staff meeting the other night. I chuckled. Build up: Each month the units have to do a full, by serial number, inventory of the weapons. One of my peers briefs the boss "Sir, our sensitive items inventory is complete." The boss looks at him, with a look much like a look he would give his young daughter, and replies "Oh really? Cause I call bullshit. No one touched this" and he slams his pistol on the table. It was great. Soooo, the next night, at the same Groundhog's Day meeting, the head Medic is briefing training and says, in his very calm and soothing monotone delivery "Sir, our TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury) screening is 100% complete...just kidding, I wanted to see if you'd take your brain out and slam it on the table."

Newly learned info from the reps visiting from our higher headquarters: the Brigade Commander "SWORD 6"(the boss of my boss) is an avid CrossFitter AND there is a CrossFit gym on the base, with ropes! 1/2 BOOMSAUCE, 1/2 BANGCHOWDER! So Will, if you are reading this, what do you need from me for our Detachment 1, Karma CrossFit "Get Swole Plan"? Katy, if you are reading this, "Hi". How's life in the morning classes? What do you need from me to get Will back in my ("our", really [Bob, BTO, Ezzy, John, Marcel, Jeremiah, plus Robert, plus Jose, plus all we've recruited]) corner with a brain-dump of training wizardry? Umm, I have this really badass knife notebook, that is currently pulling from Main Site/Karma/Paradiso/DogTown/Pasadena randomly. I need a shepherd to lead us.

I'll wrap up with another interesting glimpse of our outfit. In a hilariously ironic, and concerning, twist, our Communications Section is primarily populated by folks who are...not the best communicators. They are all solid, I promise.  Good people, hard workers, but yeah, there is a communication hurdle, frequently. In our meeting tonight, our SIGO (Signal Officer) briefs "Sir, I have 1 Soldiers going to base tomorrow, to pick up 3 hard drive." We all understood him, obviously, but it just serves as fuel for the eyebrow raising. English is not our strong point, but I'm working it (through constant criticism, how I do).

Still drafting my "Fat Soldiers" post, but they keep asking me to do a bunch of work while on duty. The "unmitigated gall", to quote SportWood.

Goodnight everyone. Going to test out a little ZMA prior to bed tonight, in hopes of getting more restful sleep. SCIENCE!

Be right.

or "Zzzzzz's"

And tonight we sleep. I'll make up the post for tomorrow. Where's everyone else at? My back is getting so SUPER strong from carrying this blog. Git on yer horse!

or "Attack of the Molemen"

Honestly, just this evening, I lost clarity for a moment. I walked out of the conference room, reached down to my calf pocket for my "Increased Visibility Belt" (for wear in the hours of darkness, so I don't get molested...by a car).  I brushed it off, it was just building to building. When I opened the door, I was utterly shocked that it was still daylight out.

This is bad.  It's only been a few days and I've already started to exhibit the qualities of a shut in "TOC-roach".

Plus it's making me sick.  A little nose stuffiness, a little sore throat, a little below the level. No run with the General this morning, our wires were crossed.  Do-over tomorrow morning. Hopefully my SARS won't hold me back.

Check out the comments for the "or 'Guts...'" post. I will post when I get back to my phone.

One day closer to another paycheck. Be safe.

or "Rizzle Rizzle Ridge"

Over the last 5 days we've been participating in our Culminating Training Event, which is finally meant to replicate our actually job functions and duties, as we anticipate them.

We have two windowless buildings, enclosed in fencing w/ razor wire and an Entry Control Point to gain access. I can't bring in any electronics, for fear of a SECRET material breach in security. Therefore no phones. Sorry Charlie. I get about 30 minutes of Howard Stern in the morning while shower/shaving, maybe a once over on theChive while at breakfast, then it's lockdown.

The exercise isn't bad, I enjoy OPS and passing on the little nugs of experience I've gathered on to others, but it's like being in the weakest casino in Sin City. No sunlight, cold air pumped in, hella machines, and clocks only necessary to track meetings. Lots of coffee too, like, lots. "I'm going to try and drink A GALLON of coffee tomorrow."

So if I lag in responding, or I'm obviously way out of the loop (my FB is slacking so hard, I'm sorry world), it's due to being physically disconnected. Every night this week I've emerged from our Command Post or Tactical Operations Center or the "Concentration Camp", whatever you call it, to be surprised that the sun was gone.

Tomorrow AM, some time of run/pushups/situps adventure with the Commanding General of the group that is training us. Major General Jimmie Jaye Wells, really just fun to say. It's a little sad that it takes a VIP visit to allow me time to get the heart rate up a little.

4 more days to a little freedom. Then it's really about focusing on getting across the world. I'm stoked, let the clock start ticking.

Gnight y'all.

PS - I'm rallying everyone to respond to your question S, good one.

or "Ahhh, you mean like the Da Vinci Code?"

So y'all, today marked a pretty significant moment. Two Soldiers from the unit we are replacing in Afghanistan are back here to help guide us through our next training event and provide insight into "how they are doing it there". It will be cool to link up with my direct counterpart, but it also makes the fact that we are out of here, quite soon, hit home.

Important things learned thus far:
1. The Chow Hall is horrible (boo).
2. The gym is pretty good (but the description included "plenty of machines and Smith racks", boo?)
3. There is a lot of running going on for Physical Training.
4. You can get on some type of coffee gift certificate list (rad).
5. There isn't much else to do (which means I'll have a chance to facilitate different groups and get my personal stuff done, which = read and sleep).
6. We will be busy (cool, busy equals fast).

Much more to follow. Goodnight all.

How to make a man cry.

Current time: 0646
Wake up time: 0430

I sit waiting to piss myself as I watch a long line of grown men standing like little boys. Some of them pace to the front of the line asking "are you sure you have to pee? Like really bad?" Some stare straight ahead and don't dare move. I even saw one guy with a tear in his eye, and he wasn't even close to the front. All in all, this group of men, and a few women, who were rudely woken up at stupid o'clock are agitated, sleepy, and hungry. (forgive me for my 4th grade vocabulary, but I am ready to soak this carpet)
I'm not sure who the genius is behind this operation, but they are an idiot, hands down, no discussion. This jackass/genius brought 2 soldiers for the part of the process that takes the most time. Awesomesauce, I know.
Let's not forget though that it is now 0715(yes I'm a slow writer) and the super delicious, same crap every morning breakfast chow ends in 45 minutes. More awesomesauce, just smother everything ma'am. (c what I did thurr?) I really wish I could describe this situation better. Oh Yeh I almost forgot. Not only was the stupidity already at max capacity when we woke up, I mean were woken up, but the CAC card comment just had to get thrown in before I could even get out of bed. It was a total mindf*%k.
Awesomely enough I just drained my battery before this piss test is going to finish and my phone wouldn't let me add a video, so it will be added later(like later later?)

Here it is...loosely related(you should be able to figure it out) and just plain entertaining.