and then...

There was a lot of cheering on the plane as we took off.

I suppose this is the part where the narrator says "and they lived happily ever after."

I'm not sure if I buy that, though.

The Uniform Fetish

My life for the past six months in a thousand words or less.

I was told by a Tech Sergeant from the new rotation that replaced me, to wear my uniform when i'm flying on one of the connecting flights in the continental US on the way home.  Basically, how the flying logistics for redeploying back home works is that you hop on a rotator flight, which is basically a chartered flight that shuttles US military personnel from a deployed location back to a stateside airport.  After that, there's usually a 24 hour layover, and then you catch a connecting civilian airline flight to go back home.  On those connecting flights, you don't have to wear a uniform.  You can wear whatever you feel like, because once you're back stateside, it's almost like you're a real person again.

The reason why I was told to wear my uniform on the connecting flights to go home is because nine times out of ten, the flight attendant will stop you at the gate and ask if you're coming back home from a deployment.  If you are, she'll usually get all misty eyed and bump you up to first class, which means warm hand towels, free drinks, better food, and from what my friend robyn told me, real fruit served on real plates, all while thanking you profusely for your service.

Now this isn't a bad thing, per se, but I'm uncomfortable with doing this because I think it's lame and I hate patriotic/nationalistic bullshit.  Michael Moore, in his Digby blog, writes about the fetishization of the military in american culture (well it was more of a quip, really), and how you can't even move a military member's coat without thanking him for his service.  And it's kind of true.  When I was drinking at a dive bar outside of Keesler AFB during tech school, there were people who would buy me and my friends drinks while thanking us for our service (and usually regale us with stories that start with "I would've joined the military BUT...") as if the only thing you have to do to be an "American Hero" is to sign your name on an enlistment contract and get a bad haircut.  When I went to get my predeployment dental screening from my dentist, he thanked me no less than three times for "my service" and sent me off with a clean bill of dental health, a firm handshake, and a salute.

Okay, I was lying about the whole saluting thing.  He didn't actually do that.

Don't get me wrong, i'm not saying that the military and everything they do is worthless, and I'm not denigrating the bravery of men and women in the blah blah blah.  I'm also not slamming these people for being thankful for whatever it is they think i'm doing, but the underlying ideology behind their responses is what bothers me:  Patriotism defined as nationalism personified in the military service member (and also free markets and corporations, but that's for another discussion).  Where a cruise missile is more patriotic than a teachers' union.  Where policy discussions on deficits and debt focuses almost exclusively on unrelated issues like abortion, or cutting medicare (damn those greedy old people!) but taking a look at defense spending?  Oh no no no.  that's unpatriotic.  Where someone can hijack a political discussion by saying so and so served in (insert military campaign here).  

Person A:  John McCain was a Navy pilot who got shot down over Vietnam!  He was a POW!
Person B:  Yeah, well he's also an idiot.  So I'm not voting for him.

But, you know, I am as god made me.   and I'd much rather spend a 10 hour flight back to Hawaii in first class, eating fresh fruit off a real plate than crammed in coach eating stale sandwiches and munching on in-flight peanuts.  Is there such a thing as sitting in first class cynically?

In real terms, it probably doesn't matter either way, but man.  fresh fruit off a real plate in an airplane with a warm towel? 

that would be pretty damn awesome.

before I forget...

Thanks to all the people that sent me a frillion gazillion bags of li hing mui.  From li hing mui mango, red li hing mui, crack seed, li hing mui ginger, li hing mui lemon peel, li hing mui powder itself, I mean, jesus christ, it was an orgy of li hing mui out here in the desert, and I don't even like li hing mui (except for li hing mui gummies, those are awesome).

but it's the thought that counts.  So I appreciate it.

Oh, and special thanks to robyn, because she sent me one of those blue japanese scrubby washcloths, which was a godsend.  because the haole showers just weren't cutting it.  and nail clippers, because for whatever reason, the BX tent here NEVER has fricking nail clippers.  And the books with the talking bears.  No, no, not Berenstain Bears.  the Golden Compass series.

It was awesome.

On the Ossassination of Osama Bin Laden

I actually don't really have a lot to say about this topic because I don't have strong feelings towards it either way, but I guess I should write something about it for all two of you readers out there in internet-land.  I mean, I think it would've been better if he was captured alive and taken back to stand trial (preferably in a federal court, not "disappeared" into Guantanamo Bay), but if he was shooting back and he got killed, then in the words of Ivan Drago in the movie Rocky II...

Bin Laden was a radical extremist with a dream to establish a fundamentalist Muslim caliphate in Middle East, and conducted terror attacks on local Arab governments ruled by despots (like Egypt) until his cabal came to the conclusion that in order to topple the corrupt governments of the Arab world and form a pan-Muslim empire, they had to take down the imperial power that was propping up these dictatorships, namely the US.  And to that end, he flew planes into buildings, drove boats into US Navy ships, and plotted and conducted other terrorist acts.

So the fact that he actually is dead now doesn't exactly fill me with grief and i'm definitely not going to get starry-eyed and wax eloquent on how "violence is not the answer," and "make love, not war" or whatever.  But at the same time, the amount of patriotic chest beating that's happening and the throngs of crowds cheering like the US just won the World Cup over the death of a man bothers me.  I think at this time, we as a nation should be reflecting on what impact US foreign policy has on people in the Middle East, and how these terror movements are a response to the US supporting oppressive dictatorships and US imperialism (cultural, economic, or otherwise) and how we can engage and address the Muslim world in a thoughtful, productive way.

Because honestly, it doesn't make sense to declare war on a tactic.

That being said, I think people stateside are reacting a lot more strongly to the news than people out here (at least on this base).  While there are college kids outside of the White House chanting "USA!  USA!" and batting around beach balls, this morning, in the chow hall, people were largely ignoring the television sets blaring "Osama Bin Laden is Dead!!!" and just eating their breakfast.

My conversation with my roomate about this topic kind of went like this:

Me:  "Hey, man.  Did you hear that Osama Bin Laden is dead?"
Him (taking off headphones, because he was watching Battlestar Galactica on his laptop):  "Huh?"
Me:  "Osama Bin Laden is dead."
Him:  "Oh.  really?"
Me:  "Yeah.  It's all over the news."
Him:  "How'd we get him?  Drone strike?"
Me:  "No.  I think a SEAL team went in and whacked him."
Him:  "Oh.  well.  that's cool."
Me:  "yeah."
Him:  "Yeah."

*short pause

Him:  "Does that mean everyone gets to go home now?" *snicker
Me:  "haha."

*Roomate then puts his headphones back on and watches more Battlestar Galactica.

Eschaton

November '10:  I wanna go home.

December '10:  I wanna go home.

January '11:  I wanna go home.

February '11:  Iraq is really cold.  And I wanna go home.

March '11:  I wanna go home.

April '11:  I wanna go home.

May '11:  ...Now what?

Slang and Nomenclature

Hurt Feelings Report:  The appropriate form to use when dealing with butthurt individuals

butthurt; adj, \ˈbət-ˈhərt\
1.  To be in an inappropriately indignant state over a perceived personal insult or over something trivial and petty.

After being called out on his lies, Timmy was in an egregious state of butthurt.

Down the rabbit hole.

Not to be confused with the 80s band.

So some army dude out at the Patriot missile site called up Network Management and was like "Yo, man.  there's some beepin' comin' from the thang thang out there by the tower with all the wires from a black box.  Two air force guys came out earlier and replaced something in the thang thang and it's still beepin'."

The NETMAN guy, SrA Johnson (named changed to protect the person's identity), bewildered, was like "what's a thang thang?"  Eventually he figured out that it was the UPS that was beeping.  An UPS is basically a battery backup for electronic equipment and when the batteries run low it usually emits high pitched beeping that drives everyone in the building crazy.

Johnson tells the army guy to call our CFP (the equivalent to a helpdesk), and the CFP was like "why did you tell him to call us?  This is a CE issue."  So CFP just creates the ticket and sends it to NETMAN to deal with it.  Johnson gets the work ticket and transfers it to my shop with no annotation.  So when I get it i'm like "what the hell?"  so I annotated it by typing in under "work info", "this is not a CST issue.  this isn't even a comm issue.  have the user call CE." and I transferred it back to NETMAN.

Johnson got the ticket, thought about it, and then transferred it straight back to me with no annotations.  So I transferred it back to him with a note that said "see last update."  A few minutes later, the ticket shows up AGAIN from Johnson with no annotation. Irate, I called up NETMAN.

"Johnson."
"Sir?"
"What the fuck."
"uh..."
"UPS batteries running low is NOT a comm issue.  It's a CE issue.  Have the user call CE and put in a ticket."
"Got it."
"Never send this ticket back to me again."
"Yes sir."

and then I hung up.  It was pretty close to awesome.  Or at the very least, amusing.  To me, anyway.

In regards to the previous threat of impending government shutdown...

People were a little worried about the Republicans threatening to shut down government over issues that had nothing to do with the deficit, job creation, or the economy (like funding for Planned Parenthood). 

On Growing Old and Dying... well not so much the "dying."

"NOOOOOOO!!!"

I want to make a short film and write a play.  You know, do something creative.  Those are my two goals before i get old and jaded, and work a 9-5 office job that I hate.  and get fat.  and bald.  and have a future wife who cheats on me because i'm emotionally unavailable and sexually impotent.

I don't think that's too much to ask.

"I guess that's why I work at Initech."

I always think of it like this:  Okay, so the guy doesn't know shit about computers and network issues.  But then again, I don't know how to fix a jet engine, and this guy does.  We all have different skill sets.

But then again, if I magically had a jet engine in front of me and I needed to fix it, I wouldn't call up EMXS and be like "hey.  so I have a jet engine and some avionics equipment that stopped working.  Can I throw them in the trash?"

btw, the answers to the questions are no; hell no; I didn't ask for YOUR name, I asked for the computer name;  think about what you just asked me.  no.  really.  reflect on it.  now go away.

And Now, a Metaphor.

So I was eating some "multi-grain pringles" that came in some random care package from some random part of the American midwest.  They're one of those random packages, where unknown elementary school kids pack a box full of random sundries and candy, along with badly drawn hand made cards that starts off with "Dear Soldier" and says stuff like "thanks for killing the bad guys" or whatever.

Anyway, so the packaging on the Pringles can makes it look really healthy, like "oooh.  multi-grain!" and it looks and tastes oddly like a very salty oblong Wheat Thin.  But then I looked at the ingredients and apparently "multi-grain" doesn't necessarily mean "whole grain."  It just means they have different types of flour, like corn flour, wheat flour, flower power, or whatever.  Basically three kinds of processed garbage flour packaged in a yellow can with a picture of a wheat stalk on it.

So yeah.  I'm still eating garbage.

It's just garbage that tastes healthy.

Forward Deployed, Forward Deployed

"Where I live, there are rainbows...  life in the laughter of morning, and starry nights."

Back home, there are beaches.  There are trees.  There are hot chicks in bikinis.

Things aren't monochromatic.  Things aren't dead.

Dreary, dreary, dreary.

Leaving a piece of Americana wherever we go.

"Goooooood morning Viet...  Iraq!"

Nameless.  Faceless.  ____less.

"Keoni wuz hea!"

Leaving our marks wherever we go.  Because in the big picture, we are all transient personnel.  "I existed too!"

Wah wah wah.

Just in case Charlie is outside the wire, ready to start shit.

"It ain't me, it ain't me.  I ain't no fortunate..."

Actually, it IS me.

"Welcome to the 4077th."

 Semi-permanent structures for semi-permanent people.

But there's more than just gray aircraft and desert colored buildings.

The converted shipping containers behind the 12+ foot blast walls house people.

To Roethlisberger's credit though, he did not rape a child.

People who like to watch football and follow the Super Bowl.   

Sometimes I think my life here is an episode of MASH.

People with lives.  People who are interesting.  People who love.  People who are funny.  People who smile and joke around.  People who are assholes.  And people who are bored, desperate to find something to do.

I'm pretty sure those patches aren't authorized.

Sometimes I think in the middle of all this abstraction, analyses, and "systems," it's forgotten that at its most basic level, the people who constitute this system (or any system) are individuals.  Not nameless, faceless, robots in tan flight suits and desert colored uniforms that mindlessly march around. Unfeeling.  Uncaring.  Maybe they conform, but also maybe they resist.  And they assert themselves within the framework that they're in, because ultimately they occupy multiple frameworks, even if they're wearing a flight suit.

It's something to consider.  This doesn't invalidate abstraction and theory, be it Marxism, or feminism, or screw the military-ism (which I'm a big fan of), or any other type of -ism.  But at the same time, maybe people are complicated.  And the abstractions and theories describe "reality," helps to interpret and contextualize it, but does not define it, in and of itself.

Maybe life is complicated.

And maybe behind this blank empty picture, which gives off a certain impression,

Is this.

Or this.

Because I guess people can be defined by the relationships they forge with each other. 

In the film SLC Punk, the main character, Steven "Stevo" Levy, has a decision to make:  stay true to his "punk" roots, sticking it to the man, and maintaining his notions of ideological purity, or cut his hair and go to Harvard law school.  Basically, he has to choose whether or not to "sell out."  The implied answer (according to the film) is that the question doesn't really have any meaning.  In most cases you can't "sell out" to anything because there's nothing to "sell out" to.  People are individuals. 

Or maybe I'm just rationalizing, hand waving and going "abracadabra."

As the van got dirtier, more things were written.  Some had to be censored.

But whatever.  Ideological purity is overrated.  It's all gray areas anyway, some are closer to black and white than most, but it's still all gray, depending on how you define it.

"Deuces," Iraq.  It's been fun.

Two months and eleven days left until freedom (and not in the overtly patriotic fox news way, but in the sense of "I get to go home.")

And the Red Heels Go "Click."

I'd like to go home now. I'm kind of over it. But hey, just about three and a half more months left, and I'll be back home... doing whatever it was that I was doing before.

(nothing.)

but yeah. it's not too bad here. The work schedule sucks, 12 hour days, six days a week, and the job is pretty fast paced and stressful, plus I'm in charge of troops, so I have to take care of them and make sure they're doing what they need to do.

actually, being in charge of people is half the stress of the job. Once I got that down, everything kind of just fell in place. the teaching and coaching experience really helped me here.  along with my natural penchant to swear and mock things.

I'm supposed to go downrange soon. You know, head to some other sunny undisclosed location, carry a gun, etc etc.

but whatever. 3 1/2 more months.

and honestly, time has been flying by here. long days, short weeks. before I know it, this will all be a memory. so i'm trying to take it all in, learn as much as i can from this experience, because I know, one day, when i'm 50, i'll look back and be like "remember when i was deployed to shitfuckistan? yeah, that was like a watershed moment in my 20s."

life changing moments are hard to come by, I guess.

"Downtown, lights will be shining, on me, like a new diamond."

I can't find my wallet.

After registering in DBIDS, getting my JPAS from my unit security manager, going to the CAC and going to or receiving or filling out a bunch of acronyms, I got to go off base to explore the town with six guys from my unit. 

The person in the picture is obviously not me.

The city is very metropolitan.  At the souks, which is kind of like a traditional marketplace mixed with highly commercialized restaurants, you can sit down, drink absurdly strong arabic coffee, and talk to Russians, Britons, Bangladeshis, Filipinos, Australians, and so on.  And of course, in general, the whiter you are, the richer you are.  The British and Aussies work plush jobs in the financial sectors while the Bangladeshis, Filipinos, and whoever else are usually the ones serving you food, trying to hawk trinkets at you saying "come here, my friend!  I give you good price!  Special price!"

And of course, you can always tell who the American military personnel are.

Occasionally you will see natives walking around.  They are EXTREMELY wealthy.  They don't really talk to other people aside from themselves, they are buried beneath their traditional garb and reflective aviator sunglasses with gold frames.  They drive around land cruisers, BMWs, Bentleys, Mazzaratis, basically any luxury car you can think of.  I saw a couple of Hummers driving around by people in white robes without a care in the world.  It must be nice to be rich and have gas prices at $.70 USD.

Che lives.  The Emir would be displeased.

This is the BAM, which stands for Big Ass Mall.  I'm sure there's a more graceful name for it than the one the military gave it, but it is what it is.  It's five stories and it has an ice skating rink on the bottom floor.  It's generally geared towards wealthy patrons, with stores selling Gucci bags, Rolex watches, and all kinds of high priced items that, if you have to ask the price for them, you probably can't afford it.

You're better off going to the souks and buying an imitation Rolex for $50.  Fake it till you make it.

The city is a weird combination of the traditional and the modern.  Women in burkhas (or as the military calls them, "ninja suits") using iphones and buying expensive perfumes.  A prayer area in a hypermodern mall, where people bring their own cardboard boxes to lay on the ground and kneel on during their daily prayers.

A mosque the size of a castle outside of a soccer stadium where Japan played Jordan in an international soccer tournament.