or "Revival"

It's oddly pleasant in Ali Al Saleem, Kuwait tonight. A comfortable temperature in the low 70s, with a breeze that almost feels like an evening in Florida. I can't sleep. My internal clock is flipped after our expidited travels, but maybe I can work that to my advantage tomorrow and sleep off the sweltering 120 degree heat that comes along with a Kuwaiti day in August.

Here is how we got here.

Back on the 27th of July four of us from TF Mad Dog departed our home FOB to make our way back to Fort Bliss, TX with the mission of linking up with our replacements and aiding them in the final weeks of preparation. We made it out of Sharana with no issues, and were streamlined through Bagram in a matter of about 10 hours and only one uncomfortable night in the Passengers Terminal. Getting in to Kuwait posed no real issues either, and we were making record time moving east.

Along with our personal gear, we were luggin around a large (3'x3'x4' ish) Pelican Case full of the medical records for our three units. We had no idea how heavy it was, but it took two of us with strained grips and grit teeth to carry it around. Until Kuwait it had all been military flights, and we just had to get it from pallet to pallet. Not bad. At the Kuwaiti Liaison desk we were informed that the funding code for our paperwork gave us priority just below that of Soldiers travelling on Emergency Leave, and that we would be flying commercially through the Kuwaiti International Airport.

Even better, except...apparently the culture surrounding the airport had a set of rules the US Military was obligated to screen Service Members through in order to avoid offending our hosts. These rules include: no shorts, no white t-shirts, no visible tattoos, no "out of country" logos, no open-toe shoes, etc. Having no knowledge of our full itinerary, two of us had no long pants. A trip to the base Post Exchange, and $50 later, we did. We play by the rules. Hours later, we face the young woman at the check in counter as her eyebrows raise when our giant box of files almost breaks the 120kg mark. My travel orders allow for unlimited baggage, but no piece can weigh more than 70lbs. Hmm.

The baggage assistants in Kuwait are aggressive. They come just short of taking your bag off of your back and putting on their carts to force their services on you. In this instance, these guys saved our tails. Only 20 minutes short of the ticket counter closing, these two gentlemen (who yes, smelled like feet) hustled us cardboard boxes to redistribute the folders and then got them taped up and wrapped in plastic. Of course this cost me another good $50 or so. Ultimately, we made it. No shortage of a sizable scene in a foreign country. Editor's Note: When we arrived in Texas and attempted to deliver this package, we were calmly told that no one would touch the files until our advanced party made it back, about a week ahead of us. What's done is now done.

For two weeks we got to hang around with our replacing counterparts, assisting in every way possible with "reality check" first hand knowledge of "how it really works". They are from South Carolina, they have fun accents, and they will do a great job taking over for us. Upon our return, it is on us to share with our Californian team their personalities, manning differences, and any perceived strengths/weaknesses in comparison to our makeup. In my baton-passing advisory role I hope to be able to post more often. Bookending this experience is better than all out abandonement, no?

As we raced the sun heading east, weather threw us a curveball coming into Atlanta. A 45 minute diversion to Birmingham was all it took for us to miss our flight from Atlanta to Amsterdam. No major crisis. Delta was able to rebook us on another flight just a few hours later, and it allowed us time for Pei Wei and Starbucks in the International Terminal. Fancy.

El Paso -> Birmingham/Atlanta -> Amsterdam -> Kuwait -> ?

We sat for about 30 minutes at the baggage carousel outside the Customs before a man came and brought our attention to a sign that had been posted no more than 10 feet from us. "Please come to Baggage Customer Service upon arrival" with all four of our names following. Our checked bags didn't make it out of Atlanta.

That earns us a free party day in Ali Al Saleem, in our same civilian clothes, with no hygiene items or bedding. At least I'm not sleeping, that's when you get funky anyway...

No complaints from me though, this has been quite an experience. We're almost there, and now I know all of the new guys. Cheers, K

or "Old Timer"

Just a quick check in today, with a note that caught my attention on the way to lunch.  Yesterday marked my 13 years Time In Service (TIS) date.  That's a long ass time.  Even more attention grabbing is the fact that I am only 7 years away from a 20 year letter, with which I could formally retire from a career.  Of that 13 years, the US has been engaged in conflict in two environmentally awful places (culturally...your culture is your culture, do as you wish, not my place to judge) for over 10 years.  If my trend of deployment rotations holds true, and the talks from the US stay close to what is discussed, this would be my last deployment in the OIF/OEF era.  Weird to think about, right?  I'm not sure if I remember what the Army was like before these wars.  That ever-looming threat (motivator) of "you better take this seriously, because it's not a question of 'if" it's a question of 'when'" will no longer be valid.  Sounds boring.  Chew on that.  K

or "The Real Black Gold, I Pledge Allegiance"

Just over two weeks ago, on February 1st, I attempted to mess with the formula...and I learned a tough life lesson.

 

At the tail end of January, I was coming off the completion of a workout schedule block, and I was getting sloppy with my diet.  It's true.  Treats from the end of year holidays lingered, and Valentine's Day poison was starting to arrive.  It was getting cold, I was trapped inside, there was a lot of darkness.  No excuses though, things needed to change. 

 

At the same time, in pretty typical fashion, everyone wants to get involved with my health practices...in theory.  "So...when do you guys do abs?"  "Is there a day in the schedule where we work calves?".  Sick of the silliness, and hoping to prove a point, I challenged some of the more notorious "gotta work abs" folks to a 6-Pack Challenge.  Yes, it was a very Jersey Shore The Situation moment, but there is an embedded lesson for these misguided kids.  Bottom line, if I was going to make a showing, I needed to clean up my fuel. February 1st was the day, which translated to a January finale blow out.  My true Mardi Gras/Fat Tuesday was a big let down, and it sealed the deal.

 

Back to the story.  Wednesday February 1st: no more sugary BS, cut way back on the dairy, and...dial down the coffee.

 

I made it through breakfast just fine.  A freezing cold latrine and shower area were enough to wake me up for a while.  I stayed alive through the 0700 meeting decent enough.  The 0800 meeting always puts me out, mostly because the lights are dimmed in order to better see the slideshow on the flat screen TVs (it's 2012, that's how we roll), so the energy dip was anticipated.  The next test, my 0830 meeting, was first real hurdle.  Every other Wednesday is a meeting about Plans, that focuses on 3-6 months in the future and what we are doing.  It's informative, but boring, and I attend via the computer, so it's even easier to zone out.  No more than 10 minutes in, crash, my head was on the desk.  I was done.  I had nothing in the tank.  No higher-power surge.

 

After about 10 minutes knocked out, I was able to walk around outside while visiting people and gain a little wind.  Lunch gave a small boost, but then an even worse crash.  Again, head on desk, and I was hurting.  Determined that this was just caffeine DTs, I drove on.  Not really a headache, or any physical pain, but turbo sluggish and relative uselessness.  Uselessness is not mentioned in my Duty Description.  Dinner rolled around, I ate light because I wasn't really feeling it.  Again, 15-30 minutes later almost completely useless. 

 

The day finished up, with me barely making it.

 

Thursday, February 2nd, back to the Mother of All Coffees.  Like a boss.  Surprise surprise, I have a caffeine dependency.

 

Life lesson learned: Don't just jump into the deep end.  I wasn't ready to cut out sugar and caffeine at the same time.  Also, maybe the stresses and schedule of this deployment don't necessarily make it a prime time to look to self-imposed dramatic lifestyle changes.

 

Second life lesson learned: Coffee is delicious, and it will remain my vice.

 

The K

I get knocked down. . .

It finally happened. See, this whole time I've been secretly laughing to myself as it happens to everyone else. Some get about two "Beat It" moves in before hitting the ground, others simply have their feet float above their heads before landing not so smoothly on the incredibly hard ice. I couldn't explain why it had never happened to me, i thought maybe I had developed a POSE method of walking that was conducive to good balance. Maybe god just loves me more, always a possibility. Then it happened. I'm walking in front of an MRAP that's waiting for me to get out of his way, there's a good three or four other soldiers kind of looking at me like they know they're about to get a show. Next thing I know my right foot is up in the air, my arms are flailing like a retarded bird and luckily (not really) my tailbone was there to break my fall. God doesn't love me more. The world stopped spinning for a minute as I sat there thinking of all the good things that could come from suck starting a 9 mm. Then, as the pain and embarrassment begin to subside I find courage, and taking a page from the Chumbawamba book, I get up again.

Note: This is an anecdote of inspiration and heroism in Afghanistan.

Has it been too long?

I havent posted since well before I went on my first assignment back in November. If I remember correctly, The K had three mustache hairs before I left, which is less than the four he had by months end. I fully expect to run out of breathe before finishing a solid paragraph. So much has happened since my last check-in, most of it a healthy mix between hilarious and downright depressing. Example, an e-4 telling an LT hes so gay in a room full of other officers is hilarious. A conference call ending with individuals bitching about snowmen and soldiers being "in uniform" is so depressing. Being told by reps from brigade that we are not authorized to wear their patch when ive been telling people this for months is hilarious. I have fully committed to rocking double dragons for the duration of this deployment. Why wouldnt I? Its my unit patch. I am more proud to represent my own unit than I am to wander around looking for a daddy to let me wear his, but i digress. Coming to the realization that we are just mall security for civilian contractors has probably been the hardest part to digest. Youll never see a civilian wipeout in the ice because they all have the nifty little spikes attached to their shoes. Why dont the soldiers have these? Why did I just see a CW4 eat shit on the ice while a contractor walked by effortlessly? Why does my battle buddy have more scars from the ice than he does from combat while the civs take on the snow at a full sprint? The saddest thing about this is that when someone does crack their head open we will be issued spikes and ordered to wear them in the dead of summer. Sometimes the decision makers miss the point more than Nate Kaeding misses field goals that matter. Ill close with something I found hilarious. When the lab rats came to Aryan to try and make some sense of the "Aryan Rash" they concluded that the water was "hard" and that people needed to not shower everyday and apply lots of lotion. First of all, hard water? What the hell is that? Are you just making stuff up now? Secondly, people need to be told when to apply lotion? Isnt your body pretty straight forward when it requests some moisture? This part of my body burns and is starting to crack, I wonder what that means! Seriously? I know this was sloppy, but its good to be back.

or "Uhhh, hey, how about this weather? Snowy enough for ya?"

Finding it hard to sit down and write, but there is this:

Back in Cali, more or less snow? Son of a...

or "You Gotta Get...That...Dirt..Off Ya...Shoulder...and Upper Lip"

[Editor's Note: Yes, this is more than a month delayed. Hush your mouth. I don't want to present y'all with sub-standard product. Appreciate that. Sassy]

Movemember took us by storm. It was a month of relocation, readjustment, uncertainty, and horrendous facial hair. The time really did seem to pass faster, as our days were occupied in great part by discussion of how rugged or "Megan's Law" everyone looked (fair enough, probably in poor taste, but there were a lot of "Good evening Sir, my name is So-And-So, and I am required by law to inform you that I have just moved into the neighborhood" jokes. They were funny.)

At the end of it all, our efforts in lazy grooming raised over $100. The silver lining to this cloud of Tom Selleck dreams.

The debate connected to this entertaining event is: Did I win, because my childishly incapable flavor-saver was so poor that it prompted more cringing than compliment, but I stuck with it? Or did I lose, because of the aforementioned facts?

If a hearty mustache is the measure of manliness, well shit, I guess I'm left with sports cars, guns, and developing a rabid football/hockey alliance. 17 days into the challenge, one of the Soldiers from the unit we replaced crossed me in the hallway and gasped "Sir! What is that?" 17 days in! To add insult to injury, old JMiah decides he want to get in on the fun, on or around the 25th. Within 3 days, that swarthy son of a, had a legitimate Highway Patrol caterpillar growing, thick and full.

This all took place as we were:

1. Meeting the unit we were taking over for (didn't really care too much, they were going home,screw them)

2. Being introduced to our higher headquarters (not the best first impression, looking like a 14 year old that hadn't had THAT talk with his Dad yet)

Once the finish line was in sight, it got much worse. I felt like everyone I interacted with, in person, was staring at it like it was a new pair of implants. "MY EYES ARE UP HERE, you're a pig." It became a big self image concern. Do I have any credibility with this thing? Whatsoever?

You'll all be glad to know that this adventure cemented my lack of desire for excessive facial hair. Not a strength of mine.

I will offer a challenge though: Hair Hole April. If you are one of the lucky LumberJacks that can grow a dense beard that connects your chest forest, eyebrows, and around to the back of your neck, this one is for you. Invented by me and Secret Squirrel, it's a full mustache that continues all the way around your mouth. So moustache, soul patch, and whatever you can incredibly fill in between. We see a lot of Afghans in the chow hall, these dudes can bust out a beard, for better or worse. Let's just say, if smooth facial skin were real estate, these fine gentlemen would be dead broke. Foreclosure.

That's it. 2012 for life.