How to Sleep with Thirty Dudes

First off get your minds out of the gutter. Although Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has been repealed any act of (hetero or otherwise) is against General Order # 1 (GO#1). GO#1 is the catchall that prohibits alcohol, sex, pornography, gambling and just about everything else, but I digress. How to sleep with thirty dudes is about the living quarters, which are ten times better than Camp Roberts, California and twenty times better than my first go round at Ft Bliss in 2004. Structurally the building is new and in good order. We live in open bays with bunk beds. Latrines and showers are indoors. That may sound like an odd statement, but the Army is known to separate these amenities such as placing a porta-potty and shower trailer a mile away from your barracks. Before I begin to start to sound too appreciative and get kicked off the blog as a contributor, let me break out the hell of having thirty roommates.

Lights out is 2200 (10pm civilian). This, like lanes on a Russian highway, is apparently just a suggestion. All this seems to do is encourage the others to start getting ready to sleep and carry out the prepping process in the dark. Skype calls illuminate the bay. Cell phone whispers echo from wall to wall. Wall lockers creek and bang around as clothes and toiletries fumble in and out. God forbid you are anywhere by the exit door that leads to the showers/latrines as it will open and close some hundred times before 2300 (11pm). This door is in dire need of WD-40.

Things will just start to settle down in time for the symphony of snoring to begin. The culprits are strategically placed throughout the bay so that no one is safe. There is one offender that ‘The K’ referred to a few posts ago (read 28SEP - "that deaf, dumb and blind kid, sure plays a mean pinball"). Quite honestly I am not sure if the LT will survive before we get out of Ft Bliss. It will require either an exorcism or a lynching (the Vegas over/under is 15 days).

As you can see so far it requires an incredible amount of planning and luck just to get to sleep. Fast forward through all the middle-of-the-night pee breaks that must cross through door of death and we start the ungodly sporadic wake up times. Alarms of all sounds could go off anywhere south of 0400 (4am). Some feel the need to wake up an hour plus before PT (physical training). Why someone needs to shower an hour before rolling in the dirt for PT is beyond me. But once those alarms start going off it is right back to lockers clacking and the door swinging in a fury. It is over!! Another night of good sleep has escaped a majority of us. You pray that you can catch another 5-10 minutes within the next half hour before another crop of alarms set off. It is futile. You lay there holding a pee and stewing about how tired you are while promising yourself that it won’t happen again tonight.

I will not leave you without a fix to this problem. The 80% solution for me, anyways, goes like this. Try like hell to get in the rack by 2155 (9:55pm). Easier said than done. Jam some earplugs in. Furl a t-shirt and wrap it around my head to cover my eyes and ears (ala P.O.W look). Around the ears provides layer two of ear plugging (essential to drown out most of The Snorer). Pray that you can fall asleep before the snore; some jackhole doesn’t come crashing in at 0100 (1am); or you have to relieve yourself in the middle of the night.

This goes to show you how much work and how exhausting it is to sleep with thirty dudes.

or "the FOB McGregor snake handler"

A lot materialized today. Here are the highlights:

• Walked around with the boss yesterday, bouncing around like a pinball (get yesterdays post title now? I know, genius). Looking for the answer to one single question, we travelled around from building to building, office to office, making friends along the way and collecting business cards.  No answers though.  As Artax to the boss' Atreyu, we set out on mission across Fantasia looking to stop the Nothing from devouring everything and ending us.  Pretty much the exact same story, except the Nothing DID consume us (the Nothing being foolish bureaucracy),and I didn't dramatically perish in the mud from depression (though I know the old man would cry, we're tight like that). As the Nothing persists, I'll try yelling out the Childlike Empress' name in the big wig staff counsel meeting. Should set everything straight.
• One of the units that will be working for us in Afghanistan in numerically designated 842, and many insist on referring to them as the "Eight Four Deuce". With all due respect (a term which deserves a dedicated post), it sounds idiotic.  It has become such a buzz term, that I've even heard one individual say "Eight Four Two-Deuce" just to cram the "deuce" in there. Silly. People higher ranking than I say it all the time, and it makes my 5-hole pucker.
• Admittedly, I went a little over the line tonight while describing my thoughts on why our meetings draw out so long. I sort of, kind of, went into an exaggerated (but not by much) reenactment of the briefing style of one of my peers. "Uhhhhhhh" and "Ahhhhhhh" and "wellllllll" were used liberally. Probably not the most professional moment of my day, but shit, maybe a little prep before you waste 30 minutes of my life. Plus, you brief SECOND TO LAST, get your game right.

My brain is slowing, time to rack out. I'll keep better notes and try to muster up earlier in the day.  What's everyone else up to?


"Swords In!"

or "that deaf, dumb and blind kid, sure plays a mean pinball"

2230 - "Spider monkey!? Where's Spider Monkey? Do you know where Spider Monkey sleeps?" [Editor's note: there is a sign posted eye level on the door to our room that lists where everyone sleeps] I had been 3/4's asleep for 20 minutes or so. 3/4's no more, transition to 0/4's asleep.  "We need to check the inspection stickers on the ballistic plates that go in your vest, to make sure they are safe." [Editor's note: I appreciate the concern for my safety, but what of the concern for my health?] I had fallen drifted to 3/4's asleep, two bunks down from young Spider Monkey, without sending in the "thumbs up" that in fact my plates were all set, so I sprung up, grabbed my vest and drug it out into the lighted hallway to appease the requester. It took 5 minutes.  I haven't moved with such purpose in the last few weeks, they've learned how to reach me. [Editor's note: my plates are all set, you may rest assured tonight].

2245 - Positioned comfortably, blanket burritoed appropriately, all the dominos are lined up.  BOOM! In a flash, LET THERE BE LUX! "I need Lieutenant X and Lieutenant Y. Sirs, I need to see your ballistic plate stickers." [Editor's note: I don't think he actually used the term "sirs", but at that moment I loathed him equally, but didn't have the wits about me to make a snappy comment]. Roll over, extend the burrito to include the melon, and click my heels together sans ruby slippers. Inspections success, lights out again.

2300 - All settled in...again...and someone poked the bear. I'm not sure I can effectively paint this picture for you.  It's worse than normal snoring. Not for it's pitch. Not for it's volume. It plucks a string in your psyche far deeper than the five senses. Imagine sitting in the viewing room of a death row execution, watching them push the button to release the chemicals, and then wincing in absurd fascination/concern for the moment human life extinguishes. Breathing...breathing...slightly heavier breathing...silence...silence...silence...silllleeeeeennnnncccceee...[Editor's note: holy shit, is this guy dying right across from us? "Not it" on giving him rescue breathing...OK fine, ugh.]...and then it comes.  A sound like Deadmau5 and Diplo battling on the soundboards in a tribute to DJ AM using avant-garde jungle animal sounds and industrial forest clearing machinery. [Editor's note: Is this feasible? My club DJ game is slipping]. Immediatley we're all relieved that we don't have to provide rescue breathing, and then we remember that we are still awake...and that the sequence is going to start over and repeat...all night.  I'm not dropping names, but someone definitely said "please stab him in the neck".

0300 - Wake up, shuffle to the latrine and "pass water".  Everynight I'm shufflin'.

0415 - "That guy" rolls out of his bunk, after his alarm goes off, and stumbles through his wall locker.  Every creek is amplified. Every clunk is a sledgehammer against my ear holes. The light in the hallway is activated by the motion sensor. Back to sleep is possible, but not likely. I am defeated.

0430 - My alarm goes off. I catch it on the first note, because I do it like that. Courtesy is a cold bitch. See you out near the track for an accountability formation. Mornin' Wednesday.

The title of this post was meant to refer to my adventures around the base with the boss, riccochetting from office to office, popping our heads in with a "Howdy neighbor. Who are you? And what do you do?" Tomorrow, remind me. [Editor's note: I'm wearing my black out sleep mask and earplugs tonight. Touche.]

I should have said that I have eczema

The modern AVF Army has some serious institutional and infrastructural problems that will need to be rectified if we as a country intend to keep a premier fighting force. One of the significant issues that the Army, as a bureaucratic institution, has, is the inability to promote younger, mire flexible and more innovative officers to the upper ranks. To get to a point where you can effictively influence policy, you require a 30-40 year career. That means that our current general officer corps were commissioned in the late 70's to early 80's. So what does this have to do with eczema? Smallpox. During the cold war the US and USSR manufactured millions of tons of biological weapons to supplement a nuclear holocaust, for when irradiating everything simply isn't enough. There are only two labs in the world that still contain weaponized smallpox. One in the US and the other in Russia. Our leadership is still cold war paranoid that the Russians, who are no fans of Islamic fundamentalists (see: Chechnya) will give some to Al Quaeda or the Taliban to use on ISAF forces. So now all Army personnel going overseas must get vaccinated. This becomes a painful process including severe aches, fever and swollen lymph nodes which leads to an annoyed me. So, thanks in part to a leadership stuck in a cold war mentality, we must face a 4 in 1000 chance of cardiac arrest. Unless you have eczema...

or "If you line all of the LNO's up together, you may get a full set of teeth"

Tensions are rising, oh boy.  Day 12, and a few gnarly gripe sessions, in the books.  Smallpox vaccinations mixed with a little "barracks AIDS" stirred gently over 18-hour days with a 40 degree temperature night/day swing at 4,000+ feet above sea level.  Folks are dropping quick.  Upper-Respiratory-Infection is the word of the day, and every time someone says it we all have to scream and wave our arms like Chairy, Pterry, and Jambi.

Up at 0430 this morning to dress myself, shuffle out to formation, get counted, and then be on my way for "individual physical training". My PT consisted of wandering to the gym in zombie mode, stretching for 5 minutes, and then leaving in exchange for a longer shower. It was pretty weaksauce, I'll own it.

Tomorrow I get to ride back into the main post to verify a handful of certifications are received, inquire about more potential training opportunities, and ask a whole bunch of bubbas "WFT?" After that I'll stop by Starbucks to pick up one of those turbo "for your whole office" boxes, which I will promptly dump into my CamelBak and gobble up.

Quote of the day: "From now on if you have something to add in the meetings, I want you to pop up out of your garbage can and say it."

Onward! Get it.

or "Baba Booey"

I don't have much for you today. Minimal action, maximal meetings. Got some quick gym time in, but resulted in a late rack time. More PRT in the AM, see PiNk's intro post from earlier.

Thanks to those who responded back to my email. The more registered followers we can get, the more we'll feel pressured to sit down and emote.

Much appreciated,Catch you on the flip side.

Introducing PiNk

Hey lucky followers and readers of our foibles, im the new guy

Wow thanks K for letting me in on the good stuff. a way to drop those F bombs we want to say in a nice safe place. first i'd like to say great blogs i can feel the emotion and see the imagery. im not as eloquent. I came from a small unit where logic and common sense prevailed where you were treated like a big boy u made ur own decisions and were trusted. here in this unit I need to be ten minutes prior to ten minutes prior to an accoutability formation where after we do PT for parapalegics. yay! say the unfit, this is great stuff say some. K and I laugh. maybe if they had worked out in the past two years they wouldnt hurt so much. I overheard one soldier say "I dont workout because ill get sore" Im gonna get right down to it most of the stuff were doing is check the box. I dont mind the BS just do it and get it over with but there are somethings I do take serious, things that can keep u alive like physical training my preference is crossfit and olympic lifting. unfortunately crossfit is not on the iphone app that "they" use to conduct PT. "we all should be experts" says one NCO as he fumbles with his phone during a demonstartion of how PT should be conducted. laughable. "dont lock ur elbows at the bottom of a pullup, thats bad" why may I ask? did you read that in muscle and fitness (a.k.a myth and fiction). all this can be minimalized and rationalized using my great zen patience, but why when I got this great blog to "keep it real". hey I cant forget the other reason we are using this blog, to keep friends and family informed. On that note "Hi mommy baby, I miss you!" for those that havent been deployed being away from family is the hardest part. saying good bye. knowing that your one year old daughter is gonna grow up a year without you. and not being able to support my wife as she is in the last trimester of pregnancy. by the way its a BOY! its easy to focus on the negative as you saw in the former run on sentences but its hard to be negative when you have something like a baby coming. I should also b thankful i dont have to sit in those dog and pony, lip servicing, yes-man meetings K so very much enjoys.

by the way I like PINK

or "Rabe's Scabies"

The title is completely an inside joke, which makes it double-hilarious and super irritating for those outside the "trust tree". Sorry, that's how we roll...OK fine, I'll break it down. You see, our boss' last name is Rabe, so we, being his underlings, needed a bonding community label.  Seeing that we are sleep and nutrition deprived, for the most part, we charge deep down rabbit holes of giddy and sarcastic.  I tend to be toward the front of those charges, guilty. Welcome to the club.

Low key today.  Tom Brady lost his mojo, which made me muy malo (making up Spanglish due to my proximity to Mexico. I'm pleased with the results thus far), but I got to watch some of the game when we moved our little operations group down to the Morale, Welfare, and Recreation (MWR) building.  They've got one room with tables and chairs where folks go to get out of the barracks/offices and jump on the Wi-Fi signal.  The cool thing about that is you get to hear, and if your lucky, see everyone Skyping or FaceTime-ing with their people.  One of the Soldiers from our unit, who is steadily rising up the Extra-Obnoxious Mock Draft (the real draft happens when we hit Afghanistan, and stress will cause us to lose our patience and tact) was mouth-clicking and smooching and baby talking to her dog/cat (who cares, never acceptable). The second room has a huge projector screen with all of the games on, wide screen TV's for gaming and crap for troopers to escape for a second and socialize.  We sat there and casually worked through our tasks for the day.

Following that was a meeting, where I make snippy comments, another meeting, where I make more snippy comments, and sprinkle in some helpful facts and a witty quip or two. Then I focus to drop a little knowledge here for y'all. Hopefully soon after that retire back to the cubby of fun I call my bunk (lower bunk, first come first served. Woot woot).

Physical Training at 0500, where the motto is "we came here to chew bubblegum and inadequately warm up and stretch followed by calisthenic drills akin to Tai Chi meets low-impact P90X man-aerobics...and we're all out of bubblegum".

Tomorrow is already here.

Pre MOB

The anticipation of MOB has finally came to an end and it is here.  The leave packet at work is in, the name badge turned in, the apartment has been condensed and organized, cell phone set to turn off, credit cards paid off, bills set to auto pay, important papers put in important places, caretaker found for the car, cars registration and insurance renewed, and the girlfriend has a pretty ring to keep her company.

In the weeks leading up to MOB it was interesting and sometimes frustrating to hear the opinions of the people around me regarding the upcoming deployment.  One night I even met a girl that flipped out when she heard I didn't have some elaborate plan to spend the final days exclusively with my girlfriend coupled with extravagant activities (my family are in IL so they weren't around).  She even went as far to say that she has known a couple of Marine couples that were married when they deployed and the one that went "all out" for his wife when he left was still with his wife, and the one that didn't ended up getting a divorce.  As if that was that couples only issue I'm sure.  You may ask yourself where I found someone like this.... Laguna!!  It was interesting to see how worked up other couples that were close to us would get when thinking about our situation and putting themselves in it.  They would even get to the point that they would fight over the way their significant other vocalized they would handle the situation.

The weekend we left was tricky.  After the first day on active duty, packing our bags up at the armory, I could feel the frustration of how inefficient our day had been.  This frustration coupled with the anxiety of what was to come the next couple days was building.  This looming cloud could be felt in the car as my girlfriend and I travel to Chart House for one last nice meal before I go; this caused a short, snappy atmosphere to conduct conversation in that eventually diminished as the thought of the next few days were disguised with drinks and fine dining.

The morning we left you could see in the soldier's faces the anxiety lurking in the back of everyone's mind, it wasn't fear, it wasn't necessarily sadness, but the realization that it was all for real now, our time had come and everything in our "day to day" lives were about to change.  

or "Bale Ho"

Let me get this straight, the gas is vented from the building, and if we prop the front doors open, it creates a vacuum that sucks it back into the first floor? Seems legit. We all contemplated this idea as we sat outside on the concrete slab that is our "driveway" around 2200 (that's 10PM folks) for a good 30 minutes as monstrous Texican winged insects swarmed around the street lights, swooping down just low enough to make you uncomfortable.

After that little block party, to which one Soldier arrived in shorts and a towel apparently pulled directly out of the shower, we were given the "all clear" and "this is what happens when you prop the doors open" speech, and allowed to return. I hope the mastermind behind this scheme was pleased, they got to see half the unit in flip flops. File that away in your pleasure centers for date night downrange.

The anticipation of the new sleeping arrangements proved accurate (see yesterdays post) and the usual suspects did not disappoint. Snoring, talking, laptops receiving Skype calls at full volume, all types of lights and screensavers and Fizzgigs adding atmosphere. It made for unique sleeping...and by unique, I mean interrupted and not sleep. As people get more exhausted I will venture a guess that they will become more considerate.

In summary, I had Pashto language training the this morning, and I was falling asleep. So I went outside and sat on the bench against the chain link fence and woke up to little red ants crawling on my face...and boom goes the dynamite.

More to follow. Each day is an adventure.

Introductions

Introduction to be very informal at this time. I am in now and look forward to writing and/or reading what we all have to say over the next year. Signing off for now, but let's make it fun, hit it hard, and keep it REAL real.

or "Build to Brief!"

If it's good enough for Jim Bowie, then it's good enough for us.  Today we took "The Alamo" by force. Granted, being a SoCal element, we have a significant Mexican-American population, but I don't think it was much of an emotional event for any of them.

Side note: A game that we play with any of our out of region instructors, which seems to entertain all of our troops, is when reading a roll call of sorts and they hit either Sanchez/Rodriguez/Garcia/Hernandez/Ortiz is to all respond in unison "WHICH one!". Man that one kills, every time. The "Git 'R Dun" of CalGuard humor.

Right, right, so "The Alamo". Off the main base, in a remote area, meant to simulate more of a Forward Operating Base (FOB) environment.  We loaded, bused/trucked, off loaded and now we're rocking in a new crib.

Not too bad. Open bay (meaning 30 or so bunk beds and wall lockers in a long room with no partitions), community showers (but they are new and have curtains, whatever), and a decent chow hall within a 5-10 minute walk.

Side note: Fresh Pico de Gallo that will grow hair on your chest (PG version, for the bambinos) and then singe it. Ay dios mio (something like that). Also, who it getting in the habit of drinking coffee at every meal? This guy (who has also been affectionately referred to as "The K", and digs it).

Home sweet home it is, for now.  Let the group snoring, individual night-terroring, dream-FAPing, and various symphony of watch/phone/clock/Digimon? electronics commence, and the meetings roar on, like a freshly stoked fire on the patio of a cliff side Pasadena Hills palace. 

I'll still be here, firing off witty retorts, chastising the grandes, trying to get swole, and hoping to not step on my crank.  "Build to Brief!"

Significant emotional events

Bays are places made for work, not for ceremony. The floors are of made of cold, cracked concrete with walls of cinderblock painted in a shade reminiscent of forming thunderclouds. Voices echo off the walls creating a cacaphony of sound better suited to an Amazonian forest with its variety of wildlife than to a somber departure ceremony. It is interesting to observe the different processes going on. As it's so early in the day, most single soldiers are sprawled on the floor. Some are curled up so tight they look as if they want to fit in the gear while others are wrapped around themselves like a yoga mat. Of course, there are a few, arms and legs akimbo, looking as if a grenade just went off snoring away. The soldiers with husbands, wives and families are mostly gathered in huddled groups engaged in a variety of conversation. Some talk amiably while others quietly as if at a wake while many sit in quiet contemplation of the future. The children create most of the sound, playing, rough housing, cryig and getting in trouble as children are wont to do. For most of them this seems to be an adventure to be enjoyed. It is not until later that reality sinks in as they hold their parents with true sadness. The bus departure is the toughest part. The sun is overhead and beating in the bleary eyed troops and families making the transition from bay to parking lot. The tears begin welling in the eyes of many, threatening to unleash a torrent. For some the tears flow freely, flowing down cheeks and sparkling like sad diamonds in the sun. There are always a few stoics, staying strong for their families but their attempts to be like statues fail as one can clearly see the repressed emotions.struggling to get out. As the bus leaves all soldiers are looking out the window, cherishing and memorizing all they can about this last glimpse of their families. The bus travels to the airport on silence. However, once loaded on the plane, the natural uplifting types step into their role and the mood is lightened quickly. Cutting through the pale blue sky, another unit has left for war.

or "Mouth-breathers paid by the hour"

It's 0600, it's dark or still and comfortably cool. The line spills outside, and around the corner. Everyone is still waking up, stretching out, or off to the side indulging a weakness while getting cancer. Once inside, the snake continues around corners and doubles back on itself furthering the suspense.

Not Superman: Ride of Steel, Green Lantern or Captain America (whatever adrenaline releasing titles they hold). It's breakfast chow. Poor old breakfast chow.

For any of you not accustom to military life, which I assume is most of you, this is part of life for us now. No more walk up to Four Daughters Kitchen or quick drive to Uncle Bill's Pancake House. Paused are the days of rolling out of bed in your yoga pants and soft American Apparel v-neck t-shirt and whipping up something delicious in your own kitchen while Sirius radio plays in the background.

To our friends back in real life, when you grab your Starbucks/Coffee Bean/Peet's/Groundworks and either sit down for a delicious (or disgusting) breakfast, toast to us. Us, who are downgrading quality of life and those to whom this is an upgrade. Us, who stand in line for an hour, to eat the gruel, for it only keeps us alive (for meetings). Cheers.

Also, pardon my typo's and grammatical stumbles. Most of these posts are done via cell phone, powered by performance limiting chow.

or "Performance Impairing Controlled Pair"

Yesterday we received shots. For those who haven't had the pleasure of the Anthrax vaccine, it's rad and packs a decent punch (kind of like a dead-arm from Mayweather, when you have your gloves down at your sides and you're apologizing for a ill tempered head butt).  Side note: Muscle Up skill work and a Pullup/Pushup METCON are a good chaser.


During our 1984 sheep herd through redundant medical and finance stations, I was able to crack open my copy of Lights Out: Sleep, Sugar, and Survival.  Sad because learning about sunlight schedules, artificial light and carbohydrate craving during man made year-round Summer (AKA "put on your fat pad, Winter is a'coming") when trapped in a situation where everything contradictory is the accepted norm.


Sleeping is the coolest. It keeps me from being fat. Not being fat allows me to be productive (and aesthetically look the part of my profession).  Being productive allows me to succeed (a matter of perspective). Being successful allows everyone else around me to have to work less...and maybe even sleep more.  Did I just blow your mind up? I know.


On a positive note, hit the gym today with Owens, and he likes to throw down.  If we can get our schedule locked down, and trimmed of unnecessary babble, we will definitely have the opportunity to transform during this thing.  The tribe of followers we is already massing, and we have a chance to change people's lives. Legit. 

or "Ish just got real"

Remember this: you can't lose positive accountability if you just stand in formation until the next movement. Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast...except when rambling.

or "TTFN, yes...I mean, dueces."

Last day of freedom. A little depressing, but let's get this thing going.  Saw Damon Wayans and Damon Wayans Jr at breakfast this morning.  The kind of stuff I'll miss about LA. Minor interactions with those outside of your personal bubble and best known for public actions.


Shutting down the apartment is weird, really weird. Bumping into neighbors and friends and saying 
goodbye and absorbing the well wishes and "see you when you get back".


Next step, recruiter more contributors to this blog.  All-Star team of insight.  Welcome to our world.


Bangchowder.

or "Threat Level: Midnight"

Weeks of work and anguish over the finer details of this ceremony. Welp...here goes nothing...LEROOOOOOOOY JENKINS!

or "Cool Story Bro"

Nothing hits the spot after a long night of bag packing, last minute "blah blah blah", and 3 hours of sleep like a steaming hot CamelBak full of 1SG formation freestyle.  He means well, intent on keeping us informed, but must have run out of note cards. If we are going to see each other every single day between now and the end of the month, I don't need a minute by minute run down of that last day while locked in an uncomfortable position dress-right-dress.

Unless you are Hank Azaria, Jon Benjamin, Mel Blanc, or Billy West...imagine how much you like to listen to yourself speak, then divide that by 10, and that is how much everyone else enjoys it. Deliberate brevity is key. Thanks for coming out...

or "The Bruin Went Over the Ocean"

This will be my attempt to keep contact with "normal" life as I mobilize to Afghanistan throughout 2011-2012. I hope to provide an interesting and/or informative perspective to those who choose to follow.  Thanks.