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