I got to meet the Governor of the state that I am deployed with.
At least I am not the only one who thought this guy was a professor at first blush.
Since I was running on about three hours of sleep, I almost told him that the locals mortared my thesis, and that is why John Kerry banished me to Iraq. Then I realized that it was not in fact my economics professor, and decided to just be quiet for the time being until the feeling passed. It was safer that way.
Oh, it is good to be home having returned from a trip away to a foreign country. Man, was that a sketchy ride. And the locals are just plain whacked. I didn’t understand a damn thing they were doing the entire time. Or…wait. That was (is?) home. This is the foreign country. Right?
So, I want to thank all (three) of you that emailed to ask about content. Frankly, I’m appalled. I mean, with all the distraction that the InterWeb offers, you choose to hang out here. Did AOL close? Is YouTube out of content? MySpace not responding?
*…goes into Goldie Hawn mode…*
“You like me! You really like me!”
Seriously, I was taken aback by the queries. I honestly figured that no one checked this psychic vent out (while secretly hoping that The Wife does). Okay, in retrospect, it would be logical that this would be a means of communication to The Folks Back Home to keep in touch, or at least keep up with the goings on here. Sometimes I am not good with the whole Elephant in the Room thing. Just ask The Wife.
So, I am busily scribbling away at this madness, with a number of future posts promising to regale the hushed and awed audience with wild stories of nightlife in Baghdad, going out clubbing, raucous jaunts in the Theater District, and the art scene in the Syrian Desert. Oh, plus the one night where we got all in a tiff over the Syrah wine served us in this one dive, none of which will be true.
Therefore, some of the future postings will not be in chronological order, so it is highly recommended that the careful reader not look too hard trying to figure out what I am doing right this moment. In this case, the smart alecky trivial answer of “duh, sitting in front of your computer typing” is the correct one. I am putting down my remembrances, just some of the more amusing and telling stories, nothing more. Some are current, some are not, and I won’t tell you which is which. Hopefully, it will be more like Vonnegut’s Slaughter House Five, and not just a collection of disjointed ramblings.
Then again, come to think of it, Slaughter House Five was a collection of disjointed ramblings.
Crap.
Okay, hopefully it will be better than Cats or Rent. Or at least Hair. I think I can outdo Hair.
Story time. Flash back to this one time that I remember, one crazy day.
I was assigned to the most forward gate, CP Alpha, which is, quite literally, Past The Wire. Which means I spend a lot of time walking across it with only a pistol and my faith in The Eternal. Carrying a rifle for this part of the job is a waste and a burden. It gets in the way for searching vehicles, and is better in the tower for the overwatch to use for aimed fire. Besides, if something goes down, the range will be so close, that the rifle is too much. And mine is “special” with extra modifications, and that is better in a tower with clear fields of fire and lots of ammo.
Children are the bane and the blessing of this post. They invariably come down here, to mooch off the Amriki, find free food and water, and maybe just have a little more security. No one is stupid enough to do a shooting or robbery in a place where jumpy nineteen year olds tote machine guns with belted ammunition. The possibilities are numerous, violent, and quick no matter what combination could be tried.
So, of course, they come running up. And at this point are well trained. They immediately clean up the test fire pit, knowing that payment in candy and cold clean water is immenent. Once, they stole it and sold it. The proceeds were done with however kids here deal without Seven Elevens, and the goods sold were made into penetrators that killed Amriki in bombs. Used to be. Now, the kids turn over the brass and the supply is gone. And gone to the point where the former beneficiaries make threats, pleas, bargins, trying desperatly to get the easy source of bomb making manna back. Unfortunately, the hearts and minds of the children belong to the source of lollipops, shampoos, and toothbrushes. But rarely money.
At least for the next couple of weeks, until the little juvenile delinquents revert to their old ways.
So, I was perusing the news headlines, and found that there is a ruckus going on with some verbiage that was spouted in a public forum:
I read that to The Wife and I think that her response was better stated than anything I could come up with. A sudden intake of breath, followed by “That Dumb Schmuck. What, he figures that you are all a bunch of dropouts so we send you off to war?”
Is it really inconceivable that someone who is educated in the sense that they have the vellum duly stamped and approved by Accredited University would be in the military? Or that after joining the military for education benefits, a Soldier / Sailor / Airman / Marine would stay once he or she reached whatever goals were set?
I can sometimes buy the idea that The RichTM send off to war The PoorTM, but rather get in a frothy Marxist rage about class differences, I look at it from a systems perspective. (Hey, we all play to our strong suits.) The military is a way of getting ahead for those who would probably never get other opportunities. The fact of the matter in modern America is: if you are a minority and / or “economically disadvantaged” (i.e. you worry about bills to pay), then the military is a way to get college or get loans repaid or get training. Couple that with the military being color-blind and it is no wonder that minorities are over represented in the military compared to the larger population of the rest of America.
There is a bunch of backpedaling now with the comment, that it was a joke gone wrong, that it is a subtle criticism of policy. But there are two things that jump out at me. One is that when Number Two came home from school, she mentioned that one of her friends was talking about how Kerry said that “if you stay in school and do your homework, you will be okay; otherwise, you go to Iraq.â€Â Misquote or not of Kerry, that is the message that she was getting as the youth of America. So, is it fair to her as the child with a deployed parent to hear “oh, by the way, he is probably a slacker†from the streets?
But what really sticks out in my mind is the second thing, which is the composition of my unit and the skills that we have. Actually, the enlisted are probably better educated than the officers. We have at least two master’s degrees, degrees in psychology, chemistry, biology, political science, electrical engineering, aeronautical engineering, computer science, business, and graphic arts. We also have plumbers, electricians, and welders. There are diesel mechanics and some that do construction, both wood and metal structures. Finally, we have two individuals who passed their national exams as paramedics who are not assigned as medics.
Not only can we destroy a town, we can rebuild it. And probably better than it was. Not bad for a bunch of slackers.