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.