Day 121

Iraq; the land of magic and mystery. It truly is an amazing place. Its' beauty and mystery claim all of us, drawing each of us into her loving arms. Apparently, this is why everybody's hair is growing at an exponential rate. Guys are having to get hair cut every week, just to keep within Army regulations. There are a quite a few guys who are having their eyebrows trimmed for the first time in their lives. The number of mono-brows cropping up is becoming frightening. And the fingernails and toenails grow so fast we're constantly trimming them back. One guy trimmed his fingernails in the morning, put on a pair of gloves, and by 5 that afternoon, his nails had grown clean through the gloves. Don't believe me? Too bad; you're not here to disprove it, now are you? Is it the dry, warm air? Is it the constant movement, improving blood flow? Nay, it is Iraq, the land of magic and mystery. We're not going to talk about how fast my nose hair grows, or how quickly my back hair has started re-growing. After the joy of the pre-deployment waxing session I think I'll just deal with the itching. See what happens when I have something to say? Don't you wish I had just passed on today's entry?

Day 119

To blog or not to blog, there is always the question. If a person has nothing to say, should he say nothing, or should he express himself by saying he has nothing to say. But by saying he has nothing to say, hasn't he actually said something. And since something is more than nothing, then the something cancels out the nothing and you actually have something to say. When writing a blog, how really important is it to say something important. I mean, if it's really important, shouldn't you be saying the really important things to the people who are with you, rather than to a blog site being read by an anonomyous audience. So, if you say the only really important things to those people who are there in real life, doesn't that make everything in a blog unimportant. If it's unimportant, why am I doing it. I mean it's not like I don't have anything better to do, or maybe I don't. Perhaps I should cease my writing endeavours. Nope; I'm not going to do that. I just couldn't think of anything to write today and I haven't yet started reading. Also, I edited out all of the question marks from this blog. The sheer volume of their presence was overpowering. Good night.

Day 118

I understand the reasoning. I understand the policy. I even understand the necessity. But that doesn't make it any easier. I mean, really, would it do that much harm if they were to stop doing it? I'm not talking about doing it all the time, just every so often, such as holidays; you know, like my birthday. Don't you agree? (well, obviously not about my birthday being a holiday, as it already is one, in Iceland; and in Mountain, ND) What do you think? Oh, that's right. I keep on forgetting you're not here. Every meal we eat is on plastic plates and we use plastic silverware. Every meal. Every day. Day in and day out. (just so you know, this way they're not using water to wash dishes. All of our water is trucked in daily, and rationed) I think the first time I pick up real silverware when I get back home I'll actually stop moving and stare at it, wondering what it is. Except of course when we get the Iraqi version of Taco Bell or Burger King. Then it's all wrapped in paper, just like back home. Doesn't taste like back home, but at least the packaging is the same. Some years ago I got tired of washing dishes and decided to use paper and plastic dinnerware. Never again. It's real, or nothing. Speaking of real or nothing, thank goodness you're not here to try the milk. Ice cream; not bad. Milk in juicebox-type containers; not so good. About the only way I can tolerate it is to put the skim milk on really sugary cereal, and then eat the cereal, but leave the rest of the milk in the bottom of the bowl; the plastic bowl, that is.

Day 116 - pictures you won't see on CNN

Day 115

A person doesn't realize how much of their lives are driven by commercials. In my room I don't have a TV, and don't want one, and the few channels available at the dining facility don't have commercials. But this posting is not so much about the over-commercialization of our lives in the States, but more of a, "Hmmm". So, there I was, needing more than my daily allowance of caffine, and I decided to indulge in an Iraqi Coke-A-Cola. Knowing the effects Coke-A-Cola has on me, I prepared myself for the sugar and caffine rush that I was sure soon to follow. Where's the rush? Where's the shakes? Where's the insane moments of a sugar blackout? Not to be found in a can of Iraqi coke, that's for sure. Oh, it is cold, and it looks and smells the same, but it's just not the same. It is kind of neat that the cans all open with the same pull tab banned in the US so many years ago. And it's kind of neat that they all have English on one side and Arabic on the other. But it makes me wonder what is it that's being put in the sodas in the States that isn't being put in the sodas over here. I miss that rush from the can of Mountain Dew. Where's the justice? Where's the sugar? Where's the caffine? Oh, where, oh where can it be? But to get back to my first few sentences; when I was framing these comments about Iraqi Coke, the first thing to pop into my head was the song, "I'd like to teach the world to sing, in perfect harmony,..." We are all of product of our training, and apparently I've been trained well. I guess it's back to my quiet room, sans TV, and my bottle of clear water. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

Day 113

Day 111

Well, if my days were years, it'd be the day that Bilbo Baggins left the Shire for a new adventure, leaving all of his worldy posessions in the care of Frodo Baggins. (Is that an Ork horn I hear in the distance?) Those of you who know me know I don't dance. Those of you who have seen me try will also agree that I don't dance. Well, war changes all of us, and I've found that while here, I dance. Oh, it's not the typical type of dance you'd see in a club, but rather a dance of necessity. Called the pee-pee dance by more than one adult in Iraq, it's a shuffle maintained by many. It's amazing how fast the water takes its toll on you. One minute you're working at your desk, and the next you're moving around, not realizing you're acutally doing the pee-pee dance. You think you have it under control and all is well with the world, until your body says that dance time is over; it's time to go. I didn't realize how many times a day I went to the bathroom until I got here. There is no indoor plumbing anywhere. Every time the call of nature turns into a scream for speed, we have to don our hats, grab our weapon, and hope we make it to the port-a-john in time. I have watched more than one full grown adult jog across the parking lot, making a beeline, or a pee-line, for the port-a-john. As much as I despise the heat, I think I'm actually kind of looking forward to the heat, just so I'll sweat more water out and won't have to keep on dancing my way to the bathroom. I'm not saying I'm looking forward to 120 degree plus heat, but maybe I'll cut down on the dancing, which I don't care for, anyway. I'd write more, but they're playing my song; the dance is starting soon.

Day 108

Sorry I haven't posted in a while, but when each day is the same as the previous day, there isn't much to write about. I still haven't yet made it to the Zigurat; there's time. Work, and sleep, keep on getting in the way. You can't really classify this as a "groundhog day" situation. In the movie, Bill Murray was able to change something every day, and here, it's just the same. Well, that is until the wind blows, and you can't see the dirt for the dirt, but you know deep down that it's just the same. Something I've talked about before is Army's overuse of acronyms. But there is something here that I have yet to hear its acronym used. "The giant voice". There are speakers set up all over the place from which we receive messages. The speakers are many, spaced all around post, even in some of the buildings, and from them eminates a giant voice. It tells us things I can't post here, and shortly thereafter we usually hear a boom or two and the windows rattle. Actually, when it's only one boom, the windows vibrate and my fillings rattle. When it's more than one boom, it's still loud, but without the brain jarring after effects. And not only is it called the giant voice, but on all official notices around post, it's referred to as the giant voice. Come on, Army, where is thy acronym? I'm a soldier in need a new acronym to learn. Please teach me one. It could also be called he giant voice in the sky, GVIS, or Big Giant Voice, BGV, or Voice from above, VFA, but no, when the opportunity presents itself, the Army backs off from a perfect opportunity. Is there no justice? Well, it is a war zone.

Day 99

The last of the two-digit days. Where, oh where has all the time gone, oh, where, oh where can it be? With the nights cut short and the days cut long, oh where, oh where can I be? For those of you reading this who remember James Coler, I had an interesting moment today; he called me. He's also in Iraq, but rather than being on the front end of his tour, he's about ready to depart for lands much greener. He is a Lieutenant Colonel in the Marine Corps and finishing his third tour in Iraq. He is doing well, but in that Southern California way. He said that one reoccuring problem they have is that so many Marines bulk up to be Army strong, that when it gets hot, they can't take the heat. So, in an effort to assist his fellow Marines, he teaches a yoga class. He says he doesn't wear the spandex, but I wonder. I'm trying to think of something witty to say, but I think that last sentence is as witty as I can be. I tried something new today. In an effort to eat healthier I tried the local cottage cheese. This stuff is not like the "Land 'O Lakes" cottage cheese I get back home. It's a bit difficult to describe. The taste is identical, but the texture kind of takes you by surprise. The thicker parts are much smaller and almost a little bit crunchy. I know I'm supposed to try new and exciting things, but let's just say I left most of it on my plate. Tomorrow is my Cultural Awareness Briefing of the Ziggurat of Ur. They used to call it a tour, but most people felt they could walk off and do their own "ugly American" thing, so they changed the wording in hopes people will remain within the group and with the tour guide, I mean cultural awareness briefing guide. I bought extra batteries for my camera, and I promise to take more than a handful of pictures. But since it's a digital camera, and all of the images are stored in either a camera or computer, can you actually have handfuls of pictures any more?

Day 97

Well, now I've gone and done it. Picked up the one thing that that's going to interfer with my personal time. I bought a PSP from one of the soldiers here. Got a good deal, but with the system came the game "God of War 3". I played game 1 of the series on PS2 all the time. Game 2 of the series was ok, but game 3 is only available on PSP. There goes any time for reading, piano practicing, thinking, talking, and hanging out. I guess there are far worse things in the world. We have a soldier here who plays bass guitar professionally. He wants to put together a jam band for a St. Patricks Day party. He says we'll start rehearsal soon. I am way looking forward to it. My sister has teased me for some years about the Army's over-use of acronyms. I thought I had a good taste of them in the 20 years I've been in the Guard, but until I started my training at Ft. Lewis I had no idea of the sheer number of acronyms I didn't know that I had to learn. I won't bore you with a list, but one used frequently is COMSEC. It stands for communicaiton security. We need to be aware of what we say, who we say it to, and when we say it. There are things on Adder I'd love to put down here, but can't. There are things I'd love to have a picture of, but am forbidden to do so. When I get home, I'll tell you all about them. Back to COMSEC. One of the things we don't talk about is where we are and where we're going, and when. It's just for safety. If the bad guys know when a convoy is leaving post, they would be able to set up IED's and hurt my friends. So, color me su-prised when I find on the "Stars and Stripes" website, a full blown color map of the locations of all of the posts in Iraq. Check out the link. I'm in the lower left corner. http://www.stripes.com/standing/iraqmap.pdf

Day 96

It's Sunday night the 4th of January and I miss the Band. By now, weather dependent, they should be on the road to perform music in schools in western North Dakota. Hours upon hours of riding in a van, polluted by chips, spilled soda cans, cheddar flavored crack, the never ending group fart, the one that lingers for what seems like 30 minutes, the type that burns your nose hair, and the continous jokes, stories and inane chatter. Add to that getting lost, even if just for a short while, be it on the prairie or in the schools, staying in hotels that haven't changed their sheets since the last pheasant hunter vacated in November and eating in some of the best resturants in the world. Oh, how I miss it so. Oh, let me tell you about cheddar flavored crack. There is a company in North Dakota that makes cheese curls. They put this rocking cheese on it, and the curls are so good, that when you start eating it, you can't stop, just like crack. There are so many fat grams in it that after I eat about three handfuls, I want to puke. So then I have some more. But I digress. I miss the Band. Back in 1997 I worked at the Regional Training Institue for North Dakota. They made me leave the Band and drill with them. When I quit I went back to the Band. My time away was the crappiest 9 months of my life. I miss the Band. The worst day with the Band is better than most peoples' best day. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I miss the Band. I already know that on my last day with the Band, many, many years from now, they'll be prying my hands off of the door frame to get to me out. I miss the Band. In fact, I think the only way I'll move is if they pack the crack of my ass with C4, insert a blasting cap, and threaten to set off the charge. Butt, I know it's hard to get C4, so I should be safe. I miss the Band.

Day 94

So, there we were, living in tents in Kuwait. Ah, the peace, the quiet, privacy. Of the two pictures, one is a shot of the row of tents in which we lived in Kuwait. The other is a photo of a soldier, not me, and his laundry. It took between 2 and 4 days to get our laundry back from the post cleaners, and as we neared our departure date, that date kept changing. It'd creep up a bit, then fall back, and then creep up a bit, then fall back. Kind of like boxers on a warm day. Some of the soldiers, not wanting to leave clothing in Kuwait or have to carry their dirty unmentionables into Iraq, found a bucket or an unattended sink and washed some clothes and then hung them up to dry. I guess this soldier found it necessary to guard his drying clothes. You may think it a bit extreme, but it is, after all, a war zone. I carried my dirties with me into Iraq. It is, after all, a war zone.

Day 93

In a previous post I mentioned that I don't normally make New Years' resolutions. Then after saying that, I made one. Since I already broke my word, I'm going to make another resolution. I resolve, with all my heart and soul, never to volunteer ever again to come to this suckhole of a country. We're having a sandstorm today, my second since arriving. This one is more a dust storm than a sand storm. The difference is; no sand in your teeth or around the eyes, and I can see about a half mile, as opposed to about a half block. It's not all bad. I do get to do fun stuff every once in a while. There was a Transfer of Authority ceremony a few weeks back, just before the people we replaced rotated home. They needed 20 soldiers to stand in a formation in front of everybody, to represent the Brigade, and I was one of the lucky 20. Ya-hoo. If you look at the picture, I'm in the third row, second from the right. You can just make out the left side of my face. At this point, we'd been standing at either attention or parade rest or saluting for about 45 minutes. Right about now my only thought was, "I should have put Gold Bond on the boys."