Ode to a Dying Camel

How would Jesus vote?

2012-02-09T20:11:00.002-06:00

I am often quite befuddled at how Christians view Presidents. For the past few decades, it seems as if Republicans pretty much get an automatic pass while Democrats are demonized no matter what brand of Christianity they profess.

I had a short, but interesting political/religious discussion about this on Facebook today. A relative posted this article about a person who spoke before the President at a recent national prayer breakfast. The speaker, Eric Metaxas (starting at 35:40 in the video), apparently spoke negatively about the President's professed Christianity, insinuating that Obama is a phony Christian. The article implied that Metaxas is a "prophet," since his speech supposedly preempted many of Obama's topics -- and there was no possible way Metaxas could have had an advance copy of the President's speech.

So, Metaxas is a "prophet" because he's smart enough to call Obama's bluff before he does it? Or is it because he's echoing the judgmental sentiments of the Christian right?

A few hours after I posted those questions, a commenter responded, "When does God hear the prayers of the wicked? Only in a prayer of repentance. The stiff necked, like the Pharaoh was used to do God's Will...before that there were many lessons to be learned by the unrepentant. This prayer breakfast should have been a prayer vigil on their face behind closed doors! Obama had no place there, period! Unless he repents and turns from his thinking and his sin." Sadly, another person cheered that one on.

I'm no Democrat, but just what is it that makes Obama "wicked"? Why are Republican presidents practically canonized while Democrats are the devil incarnate? Perhaps the first reason is that Democrats typically are "pro-choice," while their Republican counterparts are against any form of legalized abortion. Not to debate that topic, but maybe Evangelicals have a point. However, Dems are always in favor of social welfare programs, especially for the needy, the sick, and the elderly. Isn't that a good thing? I'm pretty sure Jesus said it was. Maybe it's because since WWII, most Democratic Presidents avoid wars while Republicans do not.

Let's review a little recent history, bearing in mind that just about all of our Presidents were professing Christians. Nixon said publicly after his fall from grace that he thought he was above the law. Carter drove us into recession, then there was Reagan -- the "gold standard" of modern Christian Republicans. Reagan, who spent us into the ground, compromised his principles on numerous occasions, and whose wife regularly consulted with astrologers. And, I will remind you, that Evangelicals in his time used to say he was a candidate for Antichrist since Ronald Wilson Reagan = 666. His successor, Bush 41, got us into Iraq the first time (a proximate cause for 9/11, mind you) and broke all his campaign promises for "no new taxes". Clinton did some good for social welfare, but arguably some of his legislation ended up causing at least some of the fiscal mess we're in now. He could have been a greater President if he had kept his pants zipped. Bush 43 (professed Christian) bullied us back into Iraq, castigated everyone in the DoD who criticized how we did it -- ignoring every Clausewitzian or Sun Tzu principle along the way -- and got us even deeper in debt. Obama has spent more than almost all previous Presidents combined, arguably with some benefit.

I watched the video of Metaxas's speech, and realized that it was not he who was insinuating anything against Obama's religion -- in truth, it was the article's author, Mark Joseph, who twisted Metaxas's words to express the chip on his own shoulder in order to demonize Obama. If you just read the article, it would appear that Metaxas was downright disrespectful to the President -- but nothing could be more false, and any intelligent person could see from the video that it is Joseph, not Metaxas, who echoes the judgmental sentiments of the Christian right.

Metaxas's 30-minute speech was actually quite interesting. He talked mostly about two men about whom he has written biographies: William Wilberforce and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, two men who had the moral courage to stand up against injustice, and changed the world because of their faith. In fact, Metaxas makes a particularly interesting point in his thesis with this statement: "dead religion demonizes others." (at 59:10 in the video) He goes on to say that whether you are against abortion or homosexual marriage, those who support them are not necessarily evil.

Alas, I should know better than to try to have an intellectual discussion with an obvious Evangelical. Here was some more pseudo-spiritual rhetoric from the Facebook discussion: "anyone who supports the things [Obama] does cannot enter the kingdom of God...[I am] just making a comment and interested in hearing from those who may feel the same way."

Falling back on the "Obama is wicked" side of any political argument is the na-na-na-na-boo-boo way out, especially when you can't even express why you feel that way.

But again, why is Obama "wicked"? In the eyes of Evangelicals, it's only because he's a Democrat. Perhaps Evangelicals follow a dead religion.

Which of course is a perfect excuse to embed this loosely related video of an old 80's Christian rock song by one of my favorite artists, Steve Taylor.

Strange sounds in the sky, or crop circles of a different kind?

2012-02-04T21:39:00.002-06:00

The internet is all abuzz lately over these "strange sounds" that people are posting all over youtube. Some say they might be angelic trumpets heralding the beginning of some sort of Apocalypse or possibly connected to the Mayan 2012 thingie, while others speculate alien origins or even government experimentation with secret weapons. This guy has some pretty logical explanations -- most notably that the sounds are eerily similar to sci-fi movies -- but then blames a preacher without any proof. There is even a preacher who warns that listening to the sounds will cause demon possession (yikes!). Anyone remember crop circles?

There are of course detractors who provide documented evidence that this is nothing new, and this link has probably the most plausible explanation yet -- clever viral marketing, possibly for an upcoming sci-fi movie sequel. (This link corroborates that theory.) It contains a nearly 15-minute video compilation of many clips from around the world, most of them clearly showing some urban or pastoral setting with clearly creepy, unnatural sounds emanating from unknown sources.

Note that the video also shows the approximate dates of these clips - most of them are around the second week of January, 2012. So, before you accept any of the other-worldly explanations for these phenomena, ask yourself one thing: what would possibly compel seemingly unconnected people all over the world to go outside and shoot video of nothing, all at once? And then, what would compel these people to post these clips all at the same time? Youtube is full of many others, some of which claim there are similar sounds that are barely audible (if at all).

Disregarding my suggestion that this most recent spate of videos is too coincidentally timed, let's look at this logically. Some of the videos have almost no sound at all, so we can pretty much throw those out. In the ones with something audible, many of them sound exactly alike -- this is a reason for debunking these on some sites, like this one. So, that leaves us with a handful that don't apparently sound like all the others. But, like with just about all inflammatory video clips, there is too much room for the power of suggestion. Where is the video being shot? How many neighbors have their stereos blasting some sci-fi sounds just for fun? What industrial sounds could account for this? We, the listeners, just don't have enough information to be able to judge if these sounds are real or fake. Seems to me that they are all either a clever hoax, explainable coincidence, or could be the audible results of some government high-tech weapons experiments.

Most overlooked, though is this: if this is real, and really is other-worldy, then why hasn't everyone heard it? Why hasn't the mainstream media caught on and captured audio of their own?

Whatever the reason for these strange happenings, I can tell you one thing: it is not a sign of the Apocalypse or extraterrestrials. And -- after having watched nearly an hour of these things -- I can also honestly say it doesn't cause demon possession.

Don't forget, folks, that many, many people made Apocalyptic predictions for 1988 and 2000 -- and one particular false prophet had visions for 2011. Remember how those turned out? I may be going out on a limb here, but I will boldly predict that 2012 will end with a similar whimper.

One thing does disturb me, though. I've seen some of my Christian friends post that they're not worried because "God will take care of me." It's that sort of head-in-the-sand thinking that actually perpetuates the nonsense. Either you believe in the Apocalyptic hype and are doing whatever it takes to prepare for the coming disaster, or you don't believe in it for obvious reasons -- make a choice already! (My mother covered her bases in 1999 by stockpiling water and canned goods.)

One thing is for certain, though -- as I've said before, there is a funny thing about doomsday prophets. They're always wrong.

But, maybe I've found an explanation for all the noise:

Remember you saw that here first!

Strange sounds in the sky, or crop circles of a different kind?

2012-02-04T21:34:00.000-06:00

The internet is all abuzz lately over these "strange sounds" that people are posting all over youtube. Some say they might be angelic trumpets heralding the beginning of some sort of Apocalypse or possibly connected to the Mayan 2012 thingie, while others speculate alien origins or even government experimentation with secret weapons. This guy has some pretty logical explanations -- most notably that the sounds are eerily similar to sci-fi movies -- but then blames a preacher without any proof. There is even a preacher who warns that listening to the sounds will cause demon possession (yikes!). Anyone remember crop circles?

There are of course detractors, and this link has probably the most plausible explanation yet -- clever viral marketing, possibly for an upcoming sci-fi movie sequel. It contains a nearly 15-minute video compilation of many clips from around the world, most of them clearly showing some urban or pastoral setting with clearly creepy, unnatural sounds emanating from unknown sources.

Note that the video also shows the approximate dates of these clips - most of them are around the second week of January, 2012. So, before you accept any of the other-worldly explanations for these phenomena, ask yourself one thing: what would possibly compel seemingly unconnected people all over the world to go outside and shoot video of nothing, all at once? And then, what would compel these people to post these clips all at the same time? Youtube is full of many others, some of which claim there are similar sounds that are barely audible (if at all).

Disregarding my suggestion that this most recent spate of videos is too coincidentally timed, let's look at this logically. Some of the videos have almost no sound at all, so we can pretty much throw those out. In the ones with something audible, many of them sound exactly alike -- this is a reason for debunking these on some sites, like this one. So, that leaves us with a handful that don't apparently sound like all the others. But, like with just about all inflammatory video clips, there is too much room for the power of suggestion. Where is the video being shot? How many neighbors have their stereos blasting some sci-fi sounds just for fun? What industrial sounds could account for this? We, the listeners, just don't have enough information to be able to judge if these sounds are real or fake. Seems to me that they are all either a clever hoax, explainable coincidence, or could be the audible results of some government high-tech weapons experiments.

Whatever the reason for these strange happenings, I can tell you one thing: it is not a sign of the Apocalypse or extraterrestrials. And -- after having watched nearly an hour of these things -- I can also honestly say it doesn't cause demon possession.

Don't forget, folks, that many, many people made Apocalyptic predictions for 1988 and 2000 -- and one particular false prophet had visions for 2011. Remember how those turned out? I may be going out on a limb here, but I will boldly predict that 2012 will end with a similar whimper.

One thing does disturb me, though. I've seen some of my Christian friends post that they're not worried because "God will take care of me." It's that sort of head-in-the-sand thinking that actually perpetuates the nonsense. Either you believe in the Apocalyptic hype and are doing whatever it takes to prepare for the coming disaster, or you don't believe in it for obvious reasons -- make a choice already! (My mother covered her bases in 1999 by stockpiling water and canned goods.)

One thing is for certain, though -- as I've said before, there is a funny thing about doomsday prophets. They're always wrong.

But, maybe I've found an explanation for all the noise:

Strange sounds in the sky, or crop circles of a different kind?

2012-02-04T21:30:00.000-06:00

The internet is all abuzz lately over these "strange sounds" that people are posting all over youtube. Some say they might be angelic trumpets heralding the beginning of some sort of Apocalypse or possibly connected to the Mayan 2012 thingie, while others speculate alien origins or even government experimentation with secret weapons. This guy has some pretty logical explanations -- most notably that the sounds are eerily similar to sci-fi movies -- but then blames a preacher without any proof. There is even a preacher who warns that listening to the sounds will cause demon possession (yikes!). Anyone remember crop circles?

This link has probably the most plausible explanation yet -- clever viral marketing, possibly for an upcoming sci-fi movie sequel. It contains a nearly 15-minute video compilation of many clips from around the world, most of them clearly showing some urban or pastoral setting with clearly creepy, unnatural sounds emanating from unknown sources.

Note that the video also shows the approximate dates of these clips - most of them are around the second week of January, 2012. So, before you accept any of the other-worldly explanations for these phenomena, ask yourself one thing: what would possibly compel seemingly unconnected people all over the world to go outside and shoot video of nothing, all at once? And then, what would compel these people to post these clips all at the same time? Youtube is full of many others, some of which claim there are similar sounds that are barely audible (if at all).

Disregarding my suggestion that this most recent spate of videos is too coincidentally timed, let's look at this logically. Some of the videos have almost no sound at all, so we can pretty much throw those out. In the ones with something audible, many of them sound exactly alike -- this is a reason for debunking these on some sites, like this one. So, that leaves us with a handful that don't apparently sound like all the others. But, like with just about all inflammatory video clips, there is too much room for the power of suggestion. Where is the video being shot? How many neighbors have their stereos blasting some sci-fi sounds just for fun? What industrial sounds could account for this? We, the listeners, just don't have enough information to be able to judge if these sounds are real or fake. Seems to me that they are all either a clever hoax, explainable coincidence, or could be the audible results of some government high-tech weapons experiments.

Whatever the reason for these strange happenings, I can tell you one thing: it is not a sign of the Apocalypse or extraterrestrials. And -- after having watched nearly an hour of these things -- I can also honestly say it doesn't cause demon possession.

Don't forget, folks, that many, many people made Apocalyptic predictions for 1988 and 2000 -- and one particular false prophet had visions for 2011. Remember how those turned out? I may be going out on a limb here, but I will boldly predict that 2012 will end with a similar whimper.

One thing does disturb me, though. I've seen some of my Christian friends post that they're not worried because "God will take care of me." It's that sort of head-in-the-sand thinking that actually perpetuates the nonsense. Either you believe in the Apocalyptic hype and are doing whatever it takes to prepare for the coming disaster, or you don't believe in it for obvious reasons -- make a choice already! (My mother covered her bases in 1999 by stockpiling water and canned goods.)

One thing is for certain, though -- as I've said before, there is a funny thing about doomsday prophets. They're always wrong.

But, maybe I've found an explanation for all the noise:

Strange sounds in the sky, or crop circles of a different kind?

2012-02-04T21:19:00.000-06:00

The internet is all abuzz lately over these "strange sounds" that people are posting all over youtube. Some say they might be angelic trumpets heralding the beginning of some sort of Apocalypse or possibly connected to the Mayan 2012 thingie, while others speculate alien origins or even government experimentation with secret weapons. This guy has some pretty logical explanations -- most notably that the sounds are eerily similar to sci-fi movies -- but then blames a preacher without any proof. There is even a preacher who warns that listening to the sounds will cause demon possession (yikes!). Anyone remember crop circles?

This link has probably the most plausible explanation yet -- clever viral marketing, possibly for an upcoming sci-fi movie sequel. It contains a nearly 15-minute video compilation of many clips from around the world, most of them clearly showing some urban or pastoral setting with clearly creepy, unnatural sounds emanating from unknown sources.

Note that the video also shows the approximate dates of these clips - most of them are around the second week of January, 2012. So, before you accept any of the other-worldly explanations for these phenomena, ask yourself one thing: what would possibly compel seemingly unconnected people all over the world to go outside and shoot video of nothing, all at once? And then, what would compel these people to post these clips all at the same time? Youtube is full of many others, some of which claim there are similar sounds that are barely audible (if at all).

Disregarding my suggestion that this most recent spate of videos is too coincidentally timed, let's look at this logically. Some of the videos have almost no sound at all, so we can pretty much throw those out. In the ones with something audible, many of them sound exactly alike -- this is a reason for debunking these on some sites, like this one. So, that leaves us with a handful that don't apparently sound like all the others. But, like with just about all inflammatory video clips, there is too much room for the power of suggestion. Where is the video being shot? How many neighbors have their stereos blasting some sci-fi sounds just for fun? What industrial sounds could account for this? We, the listeners, just don't have enough information to be able to judge if these sounds are real or fake. Seems to me that they are all either a clever hoax, explainable coincidence, or could be the audible results of some government high-tech weapons experiments.

Whatever the reason for these strange happenings, I can tell you one thing: it is not a sign of the Apocalypse or extraterrestrials. And -- after having watched nearly an hour of these things -- I can also honestly say it doesn't cause demon possession.

Don't forget, folks, that many, many people made Apocalyptic predictions for 1988 and 2000 -- and one particular false prophet had visions for 2011. Remember how those turned out? I may be going out on a limb here, but I will boldly predict that 2012 will end with a similar whimper.

One thing does disturb me, though. I've seen some of my Christian friends post that they're not worried because "God will take care of me." It's that sort of head-in-the-sand thinking that actually perpetuates the nonsense. Either you believe in the Apocalyptic hype and are doing whatever it takes to prepare for the coming disaster, or you don't believe in it for obvious reasons -- make a choice already! (My mother covered her bases in 1999 by stockpiling water and canned goods.)

One thing is for certain, though -- as I've said before, there is a funny thing about doomsday prophets. They're always wrong.

What would Jesus occupy?

2011-12-09T14:09:00.007-06:00

With all the #occupy protests around our country lately, it was only a matter of time before our main political parties started claiming divine inspiration. On CNN's Belief Blog this week, Republican Tony Perkins writes "My Take: Jesus was a free marketer, not an Occupier" and points to one obscure parable to support his obvious thesis. Not to be outdone, today's Kansas City Star sports a left-leaning editorial in rebuttal. In "Sorry GOP, Jesus was probably an 'occupier'," Barbara Shelly uses even more parables to swing Jesus to the left. But later she sagely notes, "The creator endowed humans with an endless ability to conscript Jesus and his words for their own ends, so all of us will come to our own conclusions."

Well said, but I would argue that Jesus would have preferred to not choose sides. His parables were simple illustrations of spiritual truths -- not of governmental machinations or capitalist societies. Arguably, especially reading beyond the Gospels into Acts, one might deduce that God prefers socialism over all other forms of government.

This sort of thinking has pervaded professional sports for a long time as well. Does giving God credit for a win garner favor for future success? To wit: Tim Tebow, the NFL's latest evangelical phenom (and, arguably, one of the greatest college quarterbacks ever). God help me, I just can't hate the guy -- but up until last week's astounding Broncos win over the Vikings, I thought his team was winning in spite of him.

But, I digress. In military contests, as well as professional sports, both sides claim God is on their side. Even Napoleon said something about God favoring the side with the most artillery, and look where that got him. Both sides in the War of Northern Aggression claimed God's favor, but it took the killing of over 600,000 Americans to decide who was wrong. Even though they probably both were.

So, what would Jesus do? He'd probably tell the occupiers to "r ender therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's," tell the bankers to play nice, and then feed all the occupiers with some little boy's lunch.

All that aside, I admit the #occupy movement does have a few valid points. But, perhaps they should be careful not to bite the hand that feeds them. And the political punditry at large needs to stop co-opting God into their petty little right-wing and left-wing boxes.

All of this brings me to a perfectly valid excuse to play this clip from Monty Python's Life of Brian.

Thoughts on geocentrism

2011-12-09T10:11:00.000-06:00

It's been a while since I've used this particular blog, what with the goings-on in Majors' School and all.

A long-time friend recently posted an article about Galileo, who recanted his heliocentric astronomy theories in the face of a tortuous death at the hands of the Catholic church. Four centuries later, believe it or not, in this day and age there are actually people who still believe in a flat earth. Others still believe the earth is round, but fixed in space with the universe revolving around it.

That article sparked a memory of a site I found once: fixedearth.com. The site is poorly designed and full of rhetoric -- the author thinks that all science is basically a Kabbalah-based conspiracy. He also believes that almost everything we need to know about the universe is in the verses of the Bible. Here is a brief summary of his main "scientific" points:

1. Earth is the center of the universe, and does not move.
2. The universe revolves around the earth once each day.
3. The size of the universe is much smaller than scientists would have us believe.

However, I notice some potentially fatal flaws in this reasoning -- so, out of curiosity, I emailed the guy. Here's how it went:

Me -- "...let's consider Pluto, which you accept is 3.67 billion miles from Earth. That means the diameter of its orbit is 7.34 billion miles, making its speed 266,840 miles per second -- still 1.4 times faster than light speed, assuming my simple math is correct. Isn't this the fatal flaw in your logic? How can a planet travel faster than light speed? And if the math used to reach my conclusion is 'occult math' and therefore in error, then how do we determine the correct formula to determine Pluto's speed?

"I would [also] like to know ... how can you reject all other scientific assertions, yet accept measurements within our known solar system, that ostensibly come from the same kabballist methods?"

"There is more about your logic that still puzzles me. On the one hand, you state "

Scripturally, as we shall see, the stars are in the 3rd Heaven of the firmament."

Yet on another page, you state that half of the 12,000 stars we can see aren't stars at all but reflections of the 6,000 stars that are visible with the naked eye. However, doesn't the Bible simply call stars as "stars," and not reflections? If the Bible calls them stars, then that's what they are -- nothing more, nothing less.

"Here is yet another conundrum. If Venus and Saturn are the only planets mentioned in the Bible, then where did the other six come from? Wouldn't Saturn be the outer edge of the 2nd heaven? What about nebulae? I have seen certain nebulae within my own telescope, yet they are not mentioned in the Bible. Did I imagine them?"

His reply --

"The whole geocentrism concept has been buried under almost five centuries of the work of Satan's best liars and frauds from the secretive Pharisee Religion's Christ-hating Talmudist and Kabbalist Rabbinate. Any challenge seems ridiculous, but geocentrism is the God's Truth and it's coming, like it or not.

"Your universe size is very insightful to have been arrived at so quickly. That figure would barely work. I think between six and eight billion is what is required to accommodate the huge New Earth and New Heavens promised in the Scriptures. All the figures are given in the first of seven "Size and Structure of the Universe According to the Bible and Non-theoretical Science" essays. Scroll down about 35% and look for numbers 1-6 on this subject.
http://www.fixedearth.com/Size%20and%20Structure%20Part%20I.htm

"The 4th and 6th of that series will answer a lot for you too. #4 is listed under "Star Trails..." in Subject Area #1 at the bottom of www.fixedearth.com. The others are in Subject Areas #5 & #8, I believe.....

"Don't get too hooked on the speed of light limitation. That is theory, of course, and lately challenged widely. However, the real universe's extremities can get around within that limitation."

I admit I haven't yet reviewed the references in his response from his site, but I just might. His answer was, predictably, full of rhetoric while not addressing actual answers to the problem with his logic -- the quintessential, "Biblical hand-wave" of logic that is so prevalent in dicsussions such as these.

And, also typical that he subjectively chooses which facts fit his theory.

Callsign: Diamond 9

2011-01-26T23:05:00.000-06:00

Since I've been "in the field" all week and am suffering Facebook withdrawals, I hope all who read this post consider it my heartfelt thanks for the many birthday wishes I received today (I can read the posts on gmail).

"In the field" is a phrase only Soldiers truly understand. When Soldiers go on field exercises, we often work 20-hour days, go long periods without showers, eat food we wouldn't feed our dogs, and are lulled to sleep by the drone of a diesel generator. It is not camping -- we train for war. And we love it.

I have often commented in recent years that no matter how miserable, cold, wet, dirty, and tired I am on a field exercise, it still beats the best day in the office. Why? Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment, but doing what I do -- leading the Soldiers who run tactical networks -- is what I love.

It's been said that soldiers aren't happy unless they're bitching. After watching the brutal conditions in the battle of the bulge scenes in the "Band of Brothers" series last weekend, I vowed to never complain about going to the field again.

Last year on my 41st birthday, I was in Germany on Army business -- hobnobbing with officers from France and Poland, drinking German beer and sipping real champagne. This week was a far cry from that, but memorable nonetheless.

Because I'm moving on this summer, this will be my last "field exercise" for a very long time -- and if my Army career continues how I hope, probably forever. I can honestly say this rocket artillery unit is one of the best units I have ever been in, and I hope my next job is as rewarding.

O (Un)Holy Night

2010-10-12T19:47:00.001-05:00

Ah, Fall is in the air...that magical time of year heralded by the crisp morning dew, the changing colors of the deciduous leaves, and the anti-Halloween nuts sticking in my craw.

Yes, them. Who could forget the people who would have you believe that if you dress up your kids in those evil Spider-Man costumes and go door-to-door begging for candy, you are participating in the same pagan rituals that could one day make you into a goat-sacrificing devil-worshiper who slips razorblades into candied apples? Yes, folks, it's time to jump on that bandwagon once again and go on another witch hunt.

Having grown up in a strict Evangelical household, I am well-versed in "hallelujah nights" and other such "Halloween alternatives." I even have friends who, while we were in high school, dressed up as Apostles and walked the neighborhood handing out religious tracts on All Hallow's Eve.

I don't necessarily regret any of that, but one of my main criticisms of most modern Christians is they spend far too much time pointing out how wrong everyone else is, instead of trying to convince them that their interpretation of a certain Jewish carpenter is better than whatever they're into. I am frequently amused at how such otherwise well-meaning Christians single out things like this or Harry Potter or the magic of Disney, or try to rally the troops to put Satanic toothpaste makers out of business, but conveniently forget that our most holiest of days -- Christmas and Easter -- also have their roots in "pagan" rituals. (At least, according to a simple Google search.) Never mind that most Christians are completely ignorant of the actual history of Halloween or its associated urban legends; indulge me for a moment while I pick apart some of the more common arguments against Halloween:

1. Trick-or-treating is bad because some poor people (centuries ago) used Oct. 31 to beg for food. Really? Even though it was "officially" started in our country in 1943, in order to stem the tide of miscreants running amok, and it worked?

2. Dressing up in costumes (witches, ghosts, etc.) is bad because some Druids did it to fool evil spirits. Hm...I thought fooling evil spirits was a good thing.

3. Jack-o-lanterns are bad because Druids used them. Didn't they use them to light the way for the good spirits, or to ward off the bad ones?

4. Some people do bad things on Halloween, so good people shouldn't celebrate it. Don't people do bad things on the other 364 days of the year?

Just like vegans who wear leather shoes with non-recycled rubber soles, Christians who criticize Halloween revelers are misguided at best, and are at the very least ignorant of the Bible.

Here's the point: the Apostle Paul wrote that what is sin to one person is not necessarily sin to another, so Christians ought not to criticize one another for celebrating one thing or another (look it up yourself, I'm too lazy - hint: New Testament). Most anti-Halloween crackpots will point out that ancient Celts used all sorts of things in their rituals, like bobbing for apples, bonfires, or other things most sane people consider harmless. (I'm not making this up - see links on the first article linked above.) But they single out trick-or-treating as the one evil thing that's sending our kids straight to hell in a literal hand basket. What the Celts did centuries ago, or the Satanists do now, with those symbols of their religions should be of no concern to anyone who chooses to celebrate Halloween -- in the same way that ancient Roman sun-worshiping practices have no bearing on how we celebrate Christmas. Those symbols mean different things to different people -- and to most, nothing at all.

Here's another point: modern Protestants seem to think that almost all things Catholic are bad, and apparently blame the Catholics for starting Halloween in the first place. Yet, those same Catholics who created All Saints Day also made Christmas and Easter from various other pagan holidays (again, look it up yourself). So, by extension of logic, those who exchange gifts and watch A Miracle in 34th Street on Dec. 25 are also participating in the same heathen rituals as did the Roman sun-worshipers prior to the fourth century A.D. (or is it C.E.? I'm always confused.) And those who let their kids hunt for colored eggs on Easter are equally leading them blindly into paganism. I have never been Catholic, but I'm not inclined to think that they are any more wrong than any other religion. The Council of Nicaea apparently thought that warding off evil spirits before the day of remembering the good ones was a good thing, so Halloween really can't be all that bad.

The well-meaning woman who wrote the article linked above (okay, here it is again) says that when you go grocery shopping, you are still a grocery-shopping participant even though you don't buy everything in the store...so, if you dress up like My Little Pony and beg for candy at strangers' doors, you are inviting evil in your life just like the ancient Celts. Which is a lot like saying that doing your laundry in your garage makes you a car. Or a washing machine, which is what I would probably dress as this year if I weren't so lazy.

So, what are you going as? Just make sure you don't bob for apples near any bonfires - you'll go straight to hell for that.

My new favorite credit card company, or how I learned to stop worrying and love the F-bomb

2010-08-12T12:08:00.003-05:00

Don't ask me why, but I have three credit accounts with Wells Fargo. This week, they charged me late fees and caused overlimit charges on all three, even though I paid the bills online, and informed me the charges will be sent through a third time on the wrong payment account -- after more than an hour of interrogating their "Customer Service" manager identified only as Tommy 3370, the only answer I could get out of him was that once a payment is scheduled online, it cannot be stopped even if the bills gets paid from another account.

I had discovered that the payments from one checking account were withdrawn at the same time as the late fees were charged to the other one, and it took me talking to FIVE people (including one hang up) to even get an answer as to why. I had originally made the payments from the wrong checking account, prompting the first round of fees. I made the changes on Wells Fargo's site, then rescheduled the payments -- but according to Tommy 3370, even if I had closed the original checking account (which I will), Wells Fargo could do nothing to stop the original payments from going through three times or until they are paid, whichever comes first.

So, I vainly tried to convince Tommy 3370 that his company is effectively screwing me for trying to do the right thing after my initial error. He predicatably insisted his supervisor was not available, and would not tell me when he would be. Go figure.

As it turned out, I discovered that Wells Fargo's customer service guys don't necessarily mind if you call their competence or intelligence into question. Usinng words like "moron" or "idiot" is just fine -- but apparently dropping an occasional f-bomb isn't. Who knew? When I first started letting out the occasional vulgarity, the morons would politely ask me to stop using profanity -- which of course made me more upset, leading to more cursing. Hey buddy, how about giving enough of a damn to solve my problem and not worrying about being offended there, Tommy 3370?? I don't really care if you like the f-bomb or not, because I've just spent an hour insulting you without it anyway -- apparently you're too stupid to realize that in the first place, pal.

When I was a fresh Soldier, my very first Platoon Sergeant (Jimmy "Groovy Man" Saunders) used to say, "swearing is a crutch for the conversationally impaired." He was right, but I've often wondered why some people are offended by certain words. Who really cares, and who really decides what is vulgar, profane, or obscene? There is a difference - but religiously speaking, there is arguably nothing in the Bible (depending on your interpretation) that specifically prohibits saying words that conservatives have long since deemed offensive (this link still makes me giggle like a schoolboy). The FCC is so concerned with protecting children from hearing those words on TV or radio that they hear from their friends anyway, but it's okay to use other words that mean the exact same things. Think times are bad now? When I was six, I got pulled out of Sunday School by my ear and got my mouth washed out with soap because the teacher thought the preacher's kid (me) should most decidedly not be whispering the f-bomb and giggling about it with his cousin. (Sorry Mom, but it's a good thing you're not in my Tactical Operations Center this week.) I never heard it on Gunsmoke or I Love Lucy, but I knew it anyway. (What's the first dirty thing ever said on TV? "Ward, I think you were a little hard on the Beaver last night.")

Western society has been entirely too worried about keeping kids from being desensitized to all the "dangers" of the modern world that it is little wonder we're all so messed up when we leave the nest and have to figure out how to deal with the harsh realities of life on our own. So where do we draw the lines? More importantly, do even we really need to draw those lines?

As George Carlin used to say, "no thanks, I've already had a bar of soap."

A Tale of Two Boot Camps

2010-08-11T21:04:00.001-05:00

About June 30, 1989, I was one of several hundred newly-shaved Army recruits suffering through Day 0 of Basic Training in the sticky, summer heat of Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri.* Sometime shortly after lunch, we rode in sardine-packed silence in the “cattle truck,” (which was rated to hold 50 of us with gear but held 80) from the Reception Center to our new home for the next 8 weeks. With Drill Sergeants barking orders and telling us we have “5 seconds and the first three are gone” to do the duffle-bag drag from bus to formation to barracks, those that failed to comply with said orders earned the privilege to perform some random exercise like pushups, flutter kicks, jumping jacks, or whatever in the boiling Midwestern sun.

Although I was quite used to Florida humidity, my last uniform consisted of a whistle and swim trunks, not boots and long pants. As recruits buckled and fell to the ground like flour sacks from the heat, medics would rush water to them while the Drills continued to bark. After the shake-down inspection to ensure everyone had every necessary t-shirt, sock, bootlace, helmet cover, and canteen, we were herded to our barracks rooms for more barking, where I distinctly remember doing pushups in a puddle of my own sweat and determining that inside was not much cooler than out. The shock of it all was, to say the least, overwhelming.

Fast-forward to last week. Our younger son is now carrying the torch as a trainee in Air Force Basic Training at Lackland AFB, Texas. His first call to us was all of three minutes, to give us his address – and he was uncharacteristically emotional, cracking up as soon as he heard our voices. The past weekend was a longer call and a much more cheerful voice on the line as he explained that although the weather is very hot, they do not march or even stand at attention if outside conditions are “red flag” or “black flag,” the two most severe Wet Bulb Globe Temperature categories that reflect heat and humidity. I was not surprised, but I’m sure on my Day 0 none of my Drills paid much attention to the heat, let alone flag colors.

But I also will never forget the way my shaved head felt on the green-wool blanket on that first lonesome night, as I tried vainly to sleep at the position of attention to avoid my Drill’s wrath. Or, even more vividly, marching and signing in cadence -- which has to be one of the funnest parts of Boot Camp -- to "B-6-10, B-6-10! Late at night when I'm sleeping there's a Drill Sergeant creeping all around..."

Our son appears to have overcome the initial shock of “what the hell did I get myself into” that I knew all too well – and is beginning the adventure of his life as he trains to be a Pararescueman. Raise a glass for him tonight.

*a.ka. "Fort Lost-in-the-Woods, Misery"

Slicker than snot on a doorknob

2010-06-28T18:52:00.000-05:00

As a born skeptic, one of my favorite topics is to pick on self-aggrandizing televangelists who prefer to spread their theology of blame-the-victims instead of, or as a price for, helping those who are sometimes unfortunately subject to the wiles and whims of Mother Nature. Lately, those voices have been eerily (thankfully) silent on the subject of the big, giant, man-made oil slick that looms sinisterly in the Gulf -- save a few who have heralded it as a sign of the Apocalypse (you can't make that kind of stuff up).

Then comes a group of well-meaning Christians who, several weeks ago, felt it necessary to form a human "prayer chain" across the beaches of Mississippi -- apparently in the sincere hope that the Almighty would see there are enough of them fervently praying and would stop the oil from sullying their otherwise pristine state. Alas, it appears their prayers weren't fervent enough as today comes the disheartening news that the oil slick did indeed start washing ashore on several Mississippi beaches.

Now, the God of the Old Testament was one miracle-flinging dude, especially when the Israelites in particular prayed hard enough. This usually had something to do with slaying Philistines, although -- amidst the tattoo bans, bears attacking kids for taunting priests, and other assorted R-rated tales of ribaldry -- there are plenty of stories of earthquakes, astronomical phenomena and weather-related miracles being attributed to the Big Man. Apparently some modern-day believers think that is the way He still does business, despite a distinct lack of New Testament evidence. I don't necessarily take any view on that particular theological topic, although I'm really more of a Deist.

But CBN (my favorite televangelist's enterprise) felt it necessary to report on the prayer chain -- while they are as yet silent on the ultimate (if not predictable) result: it was an epic failure. Why? Did not enough people pray, or did they not pray long enough? Maybe they could have better spent their time in action, pitching in to help relief efforts or mobilizing boats to skim the oil before it came to them. Maybe they should have prayed for a plan a la Y2K.

I know the evangelical's answers, as I grew up believing them most of my life: it's all part of God's plan; we can't fathom what his purposes are; blah, blah, blah -- from the same people who swore they knew the answers before the oil hit the beaches. Who proclaimed that God would save them because they gave their money to the church. Who certainly preached that just like Joshua marched his troops around the walls of Jericho day in and day out without any apparent purpose, the treacherous walls of oil would fall before his people and they would not be harmed. Nothing to see here, move along.

I gave up pretending to know those answers long ago -- but I do know they wasted their time.

Recently seen on the interwebs

2010-02-25T13:37:00.003-06:00

The Most Interesting Man in the World

2010-01-13T07:17:00.003-06:00

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas. Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row. I woo women with my sensuous and godlike harmonica playing.

I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Meals in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.Using only a hoe and a large glass of water I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, and I was scouted by both the Braves and Cowboys. I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I'm bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding.

On Wednesdays I repair electrical appliances free of charge. I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don't perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. I have been caller number nine and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal force demonstration. My batting average is over .400. My quarterback passing rating is 158. My deft floral arrangements have earned my fame in international botany circles. Children trust me, especially twins. I one read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed covert operations for the CIA.

I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me. A full tank of gasoline costs me one dollar.I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid on time. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four-course meals using only a Mouli and a toaster oven. I breed prize winning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performed open heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.

My charm is so contagious vaccines have been created for it. Years ago, I built a city out of Lego blocks. Today, over six hundred thousand people live and work there. I am the only man to ever ace a Rorschach test. Every time I go for a swim dolphins appear. Alien abductors have asked me to probe them. If I were to give you directions you'd never get lost and you'd arrive at least five minutes early. My legend precedes me the way lightning precedes thunder.

Even my parrot's advice is insightful. If there were an interesting gland, mine would be larger than most men's entire lower intestines. My shirts never wrinkle. I am ambidextrous. I once knew a call was a wrong number, even though the person on the other end wouldn't admit it. You can see my charisma from outer space.

My beard alone has experienced more than a lesser man's entire body. My blood smells like cologne. On every continent in the world, there is a sandwich named after me. In every known galaxy, there is a planet named for me. I don't believe in using oven mitts, nor potholders. My cereal never gets soggy. It sits there, staying crispy, just for me. My pillow talk is years ahead of its time. I taught a horse to read my e-mail for me. Respected archaeologists fight over my discarded apple cores.

I once had an awkward moment, just to see how it feels. My organ card even lists my beard. I've been known to cure narcolepsy by just walking into a room. I'm so magnetic I can't carry credit cards. My reputation is expanding faster than the universe. I live vicariously through myself. I say nothing tastes like chicken...not even chicken. I once lowered the sea level by throwing sponges into the ocean.

I can burp-speak in multiple languages. In college I convinced twin girls that I too had a twin, and I switched between my twin personas when the mood fit. During college I never wore shoes in class. I have worked as a construction worker, commercial fisherman, newspaper writer and attorney all in the same day. I once let three men punch me in the face to see if I could feel pain. I've won three consecutive disco dance contests.

The police often question me, just because they find me interesting. I once punched a magician. That's right. You heard me. When I order a salad, I get the dressing right there on top of the salad, where it belongs...where there is no turning back. If a monument was built in my honor, Mt. Rushmore would close due to poor attendance. I don't just stick with flour or corn tortillas, but mix freely between the two.People hang on my every word, even the prepositions. I could disarm you with my looks, or my hands, either way. I can speak French in Russian. It is said the sun comes up later on the 6th of May, in case my Cinco parties run long. The Mayans prophesied my birth. Even lucha libres remove their masks in my presence. I once taught a German shepherd to bark in Spanish.

I once buried a time capsule full of things that haven't happened yet. I have been pronounced dead 7 times...make that 8. My bear hugs are actually hugs I give to bears. I can't be bought, but my beard clippings have been know to show up at auction. I have never lost a sock. If I disagree with you, it is because you are wrong. I was once 100% certain about being uncertain.

Most songs about love are written for me, about me, or by me. I'd never initiate a conversation about the weather, even in a typhoon. I'm against cruelty to animals, but I'm not afraid to issue a stern warning. Whatever side of the tracks I'm currently on is the right side. If I crossed them, I would still be the right side. I won the same lifetime achievement award twice. When I go to a restaurant waiters tip me.

My toe-nail clipping are considered legal tender in some third world countries. I was going to become a god, but felt it was a lateral move. When I was born, the doctors thought that I was such a beautiful baby that they smoked Cuban cigars with me in the delivery room to congratulate me on a job well done.

I voted for Obama, just to see the chaos. When I wake up the roses smell me. I was once found guilty of being innocent. I sleep with a night light, not because I'm afraid of the dark but because the dark is afraid of me. I hold a Doctorate in Originality which I teach at Stanford where no one ever passes. When I go skydiving Peregrine Falcons always trail behind me. When I look in the mirror there's never a reflection, not because of vampirism, but because I'm only one of a kind. I can defeat anyone in a game of chess without making any moves. A leader of a country once took a bullet for me on a failed assassination attempt.

I have written proof that the Bermuda triangle is actually a parallelogram. I once put myself up as collateral. I am so respected, even my enemies list me as their emergency contact number. I once licked a poisonous frog just to see what would happen. I once snapped my wife's bra strap just to see what it felt like to get slapped in the face. I have stopped chickens from crossing the road and I know which came first. I save seals from drowning. Raccoons admire my dexterity.I know who killed JFK. I won the arms race. I can see the Northern Lights from South America. I counsel the Dalai Lama on matters of spirituality. The Pope once requested an audience with me.

I invented string theory from discarded dental floss. If I woke up on the wrong side of the bed I would still have a good day. I hold the world record for holding the most world records. I know exactly how many blondes it takes to change a light bulb. If your GPS is slow, it's because it's waiting for my response. I watched as Neil Armstrong landed on the moon... from the moon. I can play Mozart and Beethoven on the piano at the same time. I am smarter than a fifth grader.

Christmas update and anniversary musings

2009-12-22T02:00:00.003-06:00

In lieu of sending Christmas cards -- and mostly because I'm lazy -- this update will have to do for all our friends and family this year. Besides, we've all pretty much kept in touch recently anyway.

First off, the Powell family is doing well this year despite some bumps in the road. After 28 long months away in Kuwait, I returned to Oklahoma in June -- to a half-empty house and a marriage in need of major fixing. The time away was good professionally, but the emotional trauma of being separated for so long took its toll on our family in ways we couldn't have imagined. Many of you know, to varying degrees, the travails we endured this year, and know that we very nearly came to divorce. Suffice it to say that by the grace of God our family is healing -- and today we celebrate our 20th anniversary.

The kids are doing great, and are all living at home. Dallas turned 20 recently, is working retail in the mall, and plans to enlist in the Army. Christian is a high school senior, state championship swimmer (currently ranked 2nd in the 100-fly at the 5A level), and is considering several colleges in the area. Our little Abigail is now 12, and enjoying being a middle schooler.

This past year, as most of you know, I have been training for triathlons and even competed in a couple. My long-term goal is to do a full Ironman by 2011 -- as long as I can overcome by abject hatred of running. I've been a Major for nearly three years, and my latest position is as the Communications/Electronics Staff Officer for a Fires Brigade here at Fort Sill -- basically, that means I manage all the computer, phone, and radio networks for a cannon and rocket artillery unit. Fortunately, we're not deploying anytime soon. I am eligible to retire as of this year, but it looks as if I will very likely stay in through the next promotion (to Lt. Col.).

Lori has taken the last few months off from work and enjoys being a homemaker and awesome mom to our kids. I still find it incredible that she has stuck with me all these years, and know that we will continue to make our marriage even better, now that we have stood the test of time.

We miss all of our family and friends across the world, and wish you all a Merry Christmas!

Love,

Dallas, Lori, Dallas, Christian, and Abbi

The Case of the Missing Really Big Truck

2009-11-25T19:38:00.002-06:00

Several weeks ago, my boss handed me an assignment to investigate a missing HEMTT -- a very large vehicle that a Captain in our unit was responsible for. It seems that the poor company commander had a habit of losing accountability of equipment in his unit, and this particular item was one that had been discovered missing here while the Captain and his unit were deployed to Iraq.

So for days I tromped around all of my post's motor pools, checking serial numbers on EVERY flippin' HEMTT I could find. I even asked a few of the fine, properly compensated civilians at the Directorate of Logistics (DOL) -- knowing that several of this Captain's vehicles had passed through their hands to other stateside military installations -- but they all told me they had no record of it. Alas, two weeks of searching produced nothing so I wrapped up my investigation and recommended charging said Captain with about $5,500 for simple negligence -- the maximum I could even though the price tag of the lost truck was over $160,000.

But no one just loses such a big truck. Short of dredging all the nearby lakes, I figured someone simply shipped the thing off to Afghanistan and lost the shipping documents (which, I learned, are not automated here).

As it happened, the day the Captain sent his rebuttal to my recommendation -- basically whining that he was too busy around the time the truck was lost -- someone from DOL called up to inform us that the vehicle was indeed in their lot as it had been since October 2006, after having new bumper numbers painted on it. I set out to inspect, and there it was in a back corner of the motor pool, just as spiffy as if it had come off the showroom floor despite three years of supposedly sitting in the elements. DOL's sheepish excuse was that they were so busy they just forgot about it all this time. Although I smelled a rat, our commander was ecstatic that the truck was actually located and ordered the investigation closed.

So today I sent a simple email to the Captain with pictures of the truck and a short note: Happy Thanksgiving, you now owe me beer.

This week's PX complaint

2009-11-06T13:49:00.002-06:00

After my morning "Majoring around" haircut today (since our network folks figured out how to block Mafia Wars at work), I figured I'd to surprise my wife by bringing home lunch. I made the egregious mistake of going to Robin Hood, the only halfway healthy eatery in our Post Exchange's food court. The lunchtime crowd was already forming by 1125.

Perusing my options on the sign near the drink counter, I decided on a new toasted grilled chicken with marinara and mushrooms. Upon placing my order, the less-than-helpful lady behind the counter had to ask her manager if they sold that, since it wasn't on the menu behind the counter. When I asked her if she *actually* worked there, she told me she never reads the signs outside of her little kiosk.

Normally this sort of thing would get my blood boiling -- espcially since she's slower than molasses running uphill in January -- but six months of Zoloft has calmed me quite a bit. So she made up my footlong on Italian herb & cheese bread, and rang it up to go. I dutifully spun around to the drink counter only to discover that there were no large lids fitting Robin Hood cups. Going back to the kiosk, I encountered ever-so-competent Robin Hood Lady No. 2:

Me: Excuse me, do you happen to have any lids to fit these cups?

RH2: They were out yesterday, they must not have got any in today.

Me: Well, do you have any behind the counter?

RH2: They were out yesterday, they must not have got any in today.

Me (thinking she must not have heard my last question): Okay, but do you have any behind the counter?

RH2: No.

Me: Well, I ordered a large drink to go, so I would appreciate at least a different cup with a lid so I don't spill my drink in may car.

(At this point, the pizza lady in the next kiosk hands me a smaller cup, which I reject.)

Me: Could you at least get me a large cup from Burger King next door?

(Even though this would have taken all of 10 seconds, RH2 ignores me -- which pushes me over the edge.)

Me (in front of everybody): COULD I SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER PLEASE?

(Manager lady hears my complaint, then goes to Burger King and retrieves...a large lid.)

Me: This lid is obviously too large, could you PLEASE get me a cup that fits it?

Manager: Well sir, their cups are larger and cost more.

Me: I DON'T CARE - I PAID FOR A LARGE DRINK TO GO AND YOU PEOPLE KNEW YOU WERE OUT OF LIDS.

(Manager lady leaves and comes back with a large BK cup.)

Me: Thanks, but I shouldn't have had to wait five minutes for you guys to figure this out.

Manager: I'm sorry for your inconvenience.

(I pour my drink into the new cup, defiantly leaving the used one on the counter.)

These are the most of my worries lately. Life is good.

One of those days you never forget (redux)

2009-05-16T15:59:00.001-05:00

With barely a month left on this 28-month extended tour, I felt it appropriate to re-publish this one from a couple of years ago, with a little editing...

Friday, May 16, 1991, was one of those fateful days I'll never forget. I was living in Fulda, Germany, and had driven my newly-purchased beater BMW with a friend's wife to Frankfurt-am-Main airport to pick up my young wife and our son, who was then only 17 months old (he is now 19 years old). We sped along Autobahn 7 to Fulda that afternoon without incident, and Mary Anne (my friend's wife) asked me to stop at the unit HQ to let her husband know we were back. I introduced Lori to my Platoon Sergeant (Jimmy "Groovy Man" Saunders), who later told me that he "didn't have the heart" to tell me then what he had just found out in the commander's office: we were on our way to Kuwait.

Oblivious, we drove to our new apartment on the other side of town, and started unpacking her things. Little Dallas toddled to every room, and I bounced him on the bed a few times. (I always loved wrestling with my boys when they were little.) Then, at about 7:30 p.m., the doorbell buzzed. Robert and Mary Anne Jones, and our friend Rick Mitchell, came to break the news to me. We were to leave in two weeks, and start processing tomorrow -- shots, wills, and life insurance forms. I still didn't even have a phone in our Army-furnished apartment.

I was devastated. Over the previous eight months, I had spent maybe four weeks with my young family. Following a year of language school in California, the Army sent me to training in Texas and then Massachussets, and because of the Gulf War build-up, we weren't even allowed to go home for Christmas. Lori and Dallas stayed with me at the Army Lodging at Fort Devens for several days, and returned when their plane was diverted in Rochester due to snow. We stayed in a tiny, one-room apartment in Ayer for three weeks -- no furniture, a blow-up bed, no car, and a 5-inch black & white TV. We still have pictures of little 1-year-old Dallas, up to his waist in snow. We loved every minute of it.

Then came my assignment to Germany, and a three-month wait to get housing set up, orders to get them over there, and passports. Living in the barracks, my buddies and I watched the entire Gulf War on TV over billiards and beer, never suspecting for a second that the Army would send seventy-five Russian and German linguists to Southwest Asia. I began making the arrangements, and spending the first installment of my enlistment bonus on things I couldn't afford. Finally, the day came when my wife and I could start our lives together again -- only to be delayed yet again.

Lori turned 19 three days before I left. On her birthday, I took her sightseeing downtown -- which, due its typical old-Europe charm, would have been great if we hadn't locked the keys in the car. We caught the bus to our neighborhood, and I walked a few blocks to the landlord's house. It was a balmy Sunday afternoon, and he was having a leisurely brunch with his family. Once I finally got the message translated through his son, I had to wait almost an hour for him to finish eating. They did not have a spare key, but fashioned a plan. We took a neighbor's ladder over to the apartment -- stuck through the sunroof of the landlord's BMW -- and I climbed through an open balcony window to get my extra keys. Fortunately, I had not locked the window before we left!

The next months were to be some of the toughest that our marriage would have to endure. Lori found out she was pregnant with Christian, and couldn't bear the smell of cooking. She lost weight. I was helpless in Kuwait, and couldn't afford many phone calls (thank God for today's cheap technology). Lori couldn't legally drive in Germany, and didn't know anyone there, much less the language. Long story short, Lori's aunt and uncle (who was in the Air Force) graciously took her and Dallas in after moving to Holland. They let them stay for most of the last month of my deployment, and that probably saved our fledgling marriage -- plus, her mother told her to tough it out. It would be years before I could meet her uncle and thank him personally.

My unit, the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment, spent only three frustrating months in the desert. It would have been more, but an accident in our motor pool destroyed more equipment in one day than the entire Iraqi army did during the war (another story in itself).

Thank God for accidents.

One degree of Kevin Bacon

2009-05-13T00:56:00.004-05:00

At this morning's official Signal Regimental Week Prayer Breakfast, the Chaplain -- speaking on the seven Army values -- described a scene in the latest Kevin Bacon movie, Taking Chance. Bacon's character is escorting the body of a fallen Marine home for the funeral, and at the airport security checkpoint he refuses to remove his dress uniform coat festooned with medals, ostensibly because it was his sacred honor to wear the uniform while performing his duties. I haven't seen the movie, but I presume that after some edge-of-your-seat moments of consternation, the TSA agents reluctantly let him on through with little more than a wand wave.

Nice try, Hollywood -- but in real life things ain't so easy. A couple of years ago I also volunteered the same duty, for my friend who had taken his own life. I too was told to keep my uniform on at all times until I got to my final destination, but at the first security checkpoint at 0600 at OKC, I faced a similar decision. Only I figured it was better to meekly comply than to be taken to some moldy storage closet and accused of hating America whilst being waterboarded for three hours by some huge, greasy, underpaid TSA agent as the plane takes off with my friend's coffin in it. My duty was to escort my comrade's body to its final resting place, not wake up in an undisclosed location and get my 15 minutes of fame on CNN because I've got a bone to pick with the collective ignorance of the TSA. I even let them scan my backpack which had the folded flag in it, that I would ultimately present to my friend's widow at the funeral.

Of course I had to strip down to my socks, pants, and undershirt in front of everyone, and when I complained I was pulled aside for "special screening," even after I broke protocol to reveal my mission. Now in that tense moment I didn't imagine some action-packed scene where I grab the agent's gun, shoot my way onto the plane and highjack my way to Atlanta just in time for the funeral -- I would never have dreamed of that, not even for a fleeting second. Even if I had to take a rubber glove for the team (which I thankfully did not), I was going to accomplish my mission. But I at least got to tell the TSA supervisor that it was a shameful moment in our country's history when a man in uniform had to be subjected to such nonsense. I later wrote a strongly-worded letter to the TSA on their website telling them they should be ashamed of themselves, but I have yet to receive my apology. And I refuse to be nice to any TSA agent until I do.

But none of that sells movies, or makes for good points in Chaplains' sermons.

Now quick, who can connect Kevin Bacon to Kenneth Branagh, using only military-themed movies?

All hail the Signal Corps!

2009-04-16T09:54:00.004-05:00

An email went out this week from our higher headquarters with two rather odd attachments: an .mp3 file and lyrics to the US Army Signal Corps Regimental song. The email came from a high-ranking Sergeant Major, who passed on word from other even higher-ranking Sergeants Major that every Soldier in the Signal Corps must know the lyrics and tune for official ceremonies and the like -- and even exorted leaders to ensure that we are all practiced. I just learned that our subordinate company formations -- in a "combat zone," mind you -- will now practice two days a week.

{insert facepalm here}

Every Soldier knows the Army Song, and we sing it at official ceremonies. I confess that after my first 11 years as a Signal officer, I never knew there were lyrics until last year, when I arrived at this unit and overheard two younger troops singing it loudly to their First Sergeant. Whenever I hear it, I make up words in my head to the very Sousa-esque tune: "We are the Signal Corps, if you don't like it, you can kiss our ass," over and over again. Keeps me awake at ceremonies, anyway.

No other Army branch would dare to be so gay as to even have a song -- other than the Field Artillery, but theirs is just the Army song with lyrics about cannons and howitzers, as if there were a difference -- much less make everyone sing it. Not only that, but our leaders apparently expect us to know it sober! Manly branches like Armor or Infantry don't do such things, unless of course there are copious amounts of adult beverages being consumed first. Our song is kinda catchy, but it's no Ballad of the Green Beret. And I can't freakin' get it out of my head now.

If the Military Intelligence Corps had a song, it would of course be Secret Agent Man, which, many years ago during my training to be a Counterintelligence Special Agent (no kidding), I once attempted to sing at a karaoke bar with a bunch of my classmates. Everyone was drunk so it didn't matter that we didn't know the lyrics, which is pretty much the point of karaoke anyway. Good times.

Which brings me to another, somewhat salient point. Most people who know me ask why I didn't become an MI officer. I told them that the one thing I learned at OCS was that everyone wants to be either Infantry or MI, because they think they're the sexiest branches of the Army -- they think that Infantry is all about killing bad guys, which it pretty much is, and that MI is all cloak-and-dagger, which it most certainly is not. Well that, and I also learned how to sleep standing up. We also used to sing the OCS song every night before bedtime, but I would be hard pressed to sing even the first line of Benning School for Boys (its original title) nowadays. OK, maybe the second line escapes me.

I told the Sergeant Major in our higher HQ that I would gladly express my displeasure to the Chief of Signal the next time he is in town -- but only after I hear him sing it.

Another FAIL pic

2009-04-14T07:39:00.004-05:00

Seems to be a running theme lately. Several weeks ago, this water truck struck and killed 10 camels (10 camels! Ah, ah, ah...) on a road up in the northern desert country. Or as I prefer to call it, the Great Sea of Nothing. I think the driver survived, only to pay through the nose for killing the white camels, which are rarer.

I ran, I ran so far away

2009-04-12T02:18:00.006-05:00

I added another t-shirt to my drawer with my first-ever triathlon today -- 400m swim, 12k bike, 3k run. Final time was 48:29, and I took second in road bike division! Interesting way to celebrate Easter.

The first-place winner of my division was a 25-year-old, young punk Sergeant from my unit who caught me on the run and beat me by a minute. I would have given him a run for his money if I hadn't taught spin class on Friday night, hadn't guzzled a sugar-free Red Bull ten minutes before my heat started, if I didn't completely foul up the swim-to-bike transition (3:22 is way too long), or if the pool wasn't three degrees cooler than boiling. (Bo [head lifeguard], if you're reading this -- 88 degrees was way too hot, brother! Especially when it was 72 when I practiced earlier in the week. I think I saw some TCN's dumping vegetables and raw chicken in after the last heat.)

Whatever the cause, I literally almost passed out in the water halfway through the swim and never could get my breathing under control for the rest of the race. I still managed to get out of the water a full two minutes ahead of everybody, and on the first lap on the bike I noticed my jersey was on backwards so I turned it around. Thank God no one got a picture of that.

You have to admit the misspelling on the plaques is priceless.

For any Russian-speaking Xians out there: Иисус воскрес.

Star trekkin' across the universe

2009-04-11T07:49:00.007-05:00

Today we were treated to a special screening of the eleventh Star Trek movie, a month before its release in the States. Now, I've never blogged a movie review, and I've never been one to give away movie plots when I know no one else has seen them. But oh, what the hell -- SPOILER ALERT: all the good guys live in the end of this one and, equally as predictable, the first no-name red uniform guy dies a horrific death.

The new Star Trek movie was an absolutely riveting event to remember. The main actors came and visited as well as the director, J.J. Abrams. They were all graciously cool, and came in after the show for a Q&A and a few pics and autographs. I got to shake hands with the new Kirk, Chris Pine (he said "Hey thanks, brother!"), and got a pic with the new Sulu, John Cho (from the Harold & Kumar movies).

The movie was by far the best one yet -- definitely better than any of the cheesy Star Wars prequels (I'm lookin' at YOU, Jar-Jar Binks) -- and certainly should prove to be a huge hit even for the uninitiated young'uns who don't even know what a Vulcan mind meld is. I sat next to a friend and fellow officer who, even though she is in her thirties, had never before seen any of the movies or TV shows -- like, what rock has she been living under all this time, eh? About half an hour into it, she whispered that she was lost -- in the movie's buildup, you kinda have to know at least some of the original series to appreciate it -- so I told her to savor the moment, and then she was lost in Karl Urban's aura the moment he came on screen anyway.

For those that don't know, this adaptation the mother of all prequels, going back to the very genesis of the whole Star Trek story. It certainly has the best of everything good about the entire series -- dazzling effects, awesome action, brain-hurting time travel, and even young Kirk gettin' it on with an alluringly green alien. The actors were all spot-on playing the younger incarnations of all the main characters, and deftly manuevered the great comic banter between Kirk, Bones, Spock, Sulu, Chekov, and even Scotty. Purists will appreciate the absence of overly large ductworks, but I curiously noted that the starship Enterprise's maiden voyage included no less than five unceremonious changes of command -- like everyone was too eager to give up command of the ship!

The film even had one of my favorite actresses, Winona Ryder, who did a cameo as Spock's mother. Not her sexiest role -- alas, her character only has three lines and doesn't live long or prosper. And I was disappointed to see that Winona didn't come to the screening. If you're reading this, Winona, call me.

And if either of my sons are reading this, you are forbidden to see this movie until I get home! Well OK, maybe just once.

I'm sure James Doohan and Gene Roddenberry are smiling somewhere, toasting over Romulan ale.

Arifjan movie theater sign FAIL

2009-04-03T13:57:00.001-05:00

Of headphones and men, part 33 1/3

2009-03-31T07:32:00.002-05:00

Update on the banned headphones in the pool: I finally saw the "Military Intelligence" Lt. Col. today, who told me he had read my initial message while he was away, and was not aware that the policy prohibited headphones in the pool but that the policy was under revision and he would consider my request.

Didn't I mention that he was the one who signed the policy back in September?

Oh, but the plot thickens. He informed me of a move that is currently afoot to ban headphones altogether on the outdoor track and inside the gym -- despite written policies to the contrary, some high-ranking officers and NCO's just can't live with people working out to their own music. Apparently some Colonels and Command Sergeants Major really don't have anything better to do; and when I told him just that, he didn't respond.

I also told him these are reasons why I don't go to on-post gyms back home.

But, I am itching for the pool to warm back up so I can use my new $50 Aquapac earbuds that just came in the mail today. At least I'll get to try them in Qatar tomorrow.

Another moronic Army rule made by those with too much time on their hands

2009-03-16T04:17:00.001-05:00

Several months ago I wrote about a new policy at our pool which prohibits guys from wearing spandex shorts, aka "jammers." I found out this week that rule has been changed, thanks in part to my complaints, and we can now wear said jammers -- but only in the mornings when practically no one is around to get offended. The rule's proponent apparently argued (to my roommate who is a lawyer, no less) that "no one here is a competitive swimmer anyway," then grudgingly approved the change.

As if that weren't asinine enough, the same person who made that rule also is now attempting to enforce another one prohibiting headphones in the pool. This person is a Lieutenant Colonel -- and in this case, a stereotypical example of Military Intelligence in action. I am not making this up.

I got a copy of the policy, and contacted the Lt. Col. who signed the memorandum. Here's pretty much how the email thread ran:

ME: Sir, the lifeguards told me yesterday that they are being told to enforce some new rule that prohibits using headphones/mp3 players in the pool. Do you know anything about that? Is it some sort of a joke? I have a hard time believing anyone would have the time to seriously consider attempting to enforce something so silly, much less actually formalize it. (I actually sent this.)

LTC: No, Major, this is not a joke. And I don't appreciate your snarky tone.

ME: Well sir with all due respect, this new rule seems arbitrary at best. I've easily logged 150 miles in this pool over the last two years (including 6 last week) -- while wearing my headphones -- in just about every weather condition imaginable here. No issues whatsoever, and I'm even adult enough to stop for Reveille in the mornings all on my own. I maintain that there is not one documented case ever, anywhere, of anyone getting hurt because they were listening to music while swimming. In fact, I can attest from first-hand experience that it is inherently more dangerous running on a treadmill with headphones (which is allowed) than swimming with them.

Furthermore, wearing wax earplugs is allowed if I want to keep water out of my ears for health reasons, even though that completely blocks out all noise whatsoever. Suppose I'm in the middle of swimming laps and the lifeguard needs to get my attention for something [like maybe some attractive member of the opposite sex has a sunscreen application emergency, or Taco Bell has two-for-one burritos]. Even without my headphones, I can't hear the lifeguards when I'm in the water anyway so the lifeguards have to wait until I get to the edge of the pool to tell me whatever it is they need to tell me. That makes sense. Quite frankly, sir, this rule does not -- and in my opinion is just an obvious waste of time.

LTC: Too bad, Major, suck it up and drive on.

ME: Thank you, sir, for reaffirming my appreciation to the Army for not making me an Intelligence officer.

(While much of that exchange hasn't happened yet, that's pretty much how it probably will go. I did actually forward copy of the policy to a friend in the Inspector General's office who thinks the same way. In reality, though, the lifeguard told me he wouldn't stop me from using mine.)

For Jimmy

2009-03-14T01:55:00.006-05:00

(My apologies for a long, serious note this time...)

Lately, the entire Army has been undergoing mandatory, intensive suicide prevention training in an attempt to stem the tide, as it were, of alarmingly increasing numbers of suicides within our ranks. Whereas the previous training consisted of bland statistics and check-the-block PowerPoint slides, the current training is at least a refreshingly honest effort at quality, thought-provoking stuff. In groups, we watch an interactive video with different scenarios and discuss how we would react in given sitations. (I found this website of resources which, among other things, contains a Good Charlotte video that's worth the download.) Most of the scenario-based training focuses on PTSD, which is apparently the most common root cause of Soldier suicide attempts. Statistically, the overwhelming majority of Soldiers who take their own lives do so out of broken relationships.

All of this makes me think of Jimmy, and even today it's still hard for me to sit through suicide prevention classes.

A couple of years ago, Jimmy was a fellow Captain at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. We worked together in the same unit, and had a lot in common -- we were about the same age, got commissioned at Officer Candidate School around the same time, married and had kids in our very early 20's, and both spent enlisted service time in Military Intelligence. Neither of us had yet been deployed to the Middle East, and we had both recently been to Korea. He was a Field Artillery officer who taught MLRS (making him a bona fide rocket scientist), and we would often swap stories of past experiences that usually involved either stupid Soldier tricks, consumption of copious amounts of adult beverages, or some combination of the two. We had a shared fondness for beer, although his tastes were far more, um, economical than mine. One time, Jimmy, me, and a third Captain/friend sandbagged a physical fitness test because we were mad at our boss (read: we did the bare minimum). Another, he put together an excellent weekend golfing tournament for the unit.

Late in 2005, Jimmy and I were both picked to help stand up a brand-new school for Lieutenants. As instructors we shared many experiences and built a strong bond with other officers and NCO's, many of whom were from other Army branches like Military Police or the Adjutant General Corps. We worked long, tough hours training newly-minted officers from all over the Army -- from Finance, Transportation, and Personnel officers to Signaleers and Infantrymen -- and collectively suffering the trials of establishing a new training system on a post that didn't really want or have room for it.

But in the midst of all that, Jimmy's wife was leaving him and their teenaged kids. In our few talks about that, he professed to be happy about it, almost relieved. One day he walked into my office and told me his daughter was missing and he was sure she had run away with her boyfriend. I offered to help and told him my wife (who works at a local retail store) would watch out for her. We knew his wife from unit social functions, but that was about it.

Just a few weeks later, one morning in November, I was in the batttalion conference room preparing to sit in a staff meeting for my boss. The commander asked me to come out in the hallway, and he and my boss told me that Jimmy's body had just been found in his truck by a park ranger next to a lake in the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, which borders the northern edge of Fort Sill (and is my favorite place for long bicycle rides). He had apparently placed a lighted charcoal grill in the cab of his truck, closed the windows, and started writing his last note.

For at least a few of us, we now had to stop everything and focus on what to do next. His wife had been notified, we appointed a Casualty Assistance Officer, and later that day I volunteered to escort Jimmy's body to Atlanta for the funeral. We had to get his effects together -- the things he left behind in his office, the uniform he would be buried in -- and plan the memorial service. Some of us remarked that Jimmy will owe us big time in the afterlife.

But the training missions still had to continue. Some 150 officers were in the field for their last exercise, and just after dinner that evening the battalion commander assembled the troops and let them know what happened. Right before that, my boss asked me to take charge of Jimmy's platoon. That night they were scheduled for a 10-mile ruckmarch (hike) across the rolling-plains backcountry of the post, culminating in an all-out assault right after dawn on a mock Iraqi village.

After the commander briefed the troops, I introduced myself to Jimmy's platoon. A short while later, two Lieutenants approached me and said that the rest of the platoon was assembled in a building at the field site. They were understandably despondent, and didn't feel like they could continue their training missions. I addressed them all -- I don't remember exactly what I said, but it must have been inspiring. I'm sure I said something about death being an unfortunate part of what we Soldiers do; I do know I told them that because Jimmy was my friend, and I would lead them through this last difficult training mission. So starting at about 3 a.m., we solemnly walked through the starry Oklahoma night, with me in front the whole way. Not one person complained. I walked for Jimmy.

Three days later, another Lieutenant in the platoon approached me and said that the 30-plus Lieutenants had collected enough money to plant a tree and erect a small memorial stone in the courtyard near the barracks, in Jimmy's honor. He had asked what the procedures were to request such a thing through the proper approval channels and as I started explaining it, I stopped myself -- and told him that sometimes, it's easier to get forgiveness than permission. Go ahead and make it happen, LT, I'll cover you. It turned out that young officer had just a year before been a Staff Sergeant in a unit Jimmy commanded, and Jimmy had helped him get to Officer Candidate School.

That week I had the even more difficult task of accompanying my friend to his final resting place (in the National Cemetery in Canton, GA), and presenting flags in his honor to his grieving mother and widow. For those who have never witnessed one, a military funeral is a truly significant emotional event -- I have attended several over the years in various capacities, but never for a friend. One thing I will not forget: the minister at the funeral had been a boyhood friend of Jimmy's, and he said that he refuses to believe that this man's life should be judged by one irrational act.

In the aftermath, we learned more things about Jimmy that we never knew. His daughter had run away to her mother and accused Jimmy of an unconscionable act that we never in a million years would believe he would even be capable of (and still don't). The daughter was subsequently hospitalized and couldn't attend the funeral services. Jimmy had an older son from a previous relationship, that Jimmy didn't even know about until the boy was about 15. Now 18, I met him at the funeral and he was the spitting image of his father. Among other things, the widow later complained to the battalion commander that the memorial service held on post inappropriately condoned his suicide (neither of us attended, as it was the day before his funeral we were in Georgia preparing for). Several months later, she wrote her Congressman complaining that the Line of Duty investigation had not been completed (thus holding up potential benefits outside of life insurance) -- and even demanded that the tree and marker be uprooted and destroyed.

It has been said that suicide is the ultimate act of selfishness; I happen to agree. To those of us who knew him, Jimmy never displayed any sign of wanting to take his own life. And he surely wanted it that way -- he was the kind of person who always seemed to do whatever he made his mind up to do. He was a deeply troubled man, but didn't show it. In retrospect, even had I known then what I know now, even through all the Army training, I can't say I would have done anything differently. Jimmy once told me that many years ago, he proposed to his wife on the top of Mount Scott (the highest point in the Refuge); the lake where he was found is close to the foot of the mountain, and I believe he would have done the deed on the mountain if the winding road to the top were not closed at night.

Had he lived, we might never have been lifelong friends. But as such things happen, we might have crossed paths again anywhere in the world -- Iraq, Kuwait, the Fort Sill PX -- we would have had that little bit of camaradarie that results from shared suffering. Which is why I will always share a bond with those who knew him and I will remember him fondly when I see the tree and marker that still stand, drink a cheap beer, or go on another idyllic bicycle ride through the Refuge.

But Jimmy was my friend, and I will always miss him. So it goes.

Three is a magic number

2009-03-03T03:20:00.004-06:00

My mom and stepdad are celebrating their 36th wedding anniversary today, 3/3/09, which is apparently square root day. Even more fascinating is that on 3/3/03, they celebrated their 30th.

I'm sure all that numerology means something, I'm just not sure what. So here's to 36 more!

And since I can't remember enough html right now to hotlink the pic, maybe this cool website can help out: http://3isamagicnumber.com/

If any of you dear readers can tell me what famous actor got his start on The Electric Company, I'll give you a nickel. If you're too young to remember The Electric Company, {cough} Jess... {ahem} then nevermind.

2009-02-25T03:01:00.002-06:00

This one made me LOL, for obvious reasons.

Link

When words fail to describe the dismay, there's always the facepalm

2009-02-20T06:52:00.003-06:00

A Soldier recently exercised his Consitutional right to communicate with his Congressperson thusly (redacted for obvious reasons):

"[Dear Congressperson Jones:] Good morning, I just want to write to you to say what a great job you are doing for the state of [North Georgingtonahoma]. I am a Soldier...[with] a little over five years...and I'm currently in Kuwait now. Since being deployed and being in the military I follow the news a lot more, my only concern is, is there any other way deployed Soldiers can find out what is going on back home (news, government, etc.) other than the internet. It is sometimes hard getting on the internet due to mission...what idea's do you suggest?"

Let me explain. Soldier has access to free newspapers he walks past at least three times a day, free Internet at work 24 hours a day, free TV (30+ channels, including FoxNews and CNN) at every recreational and dining facility within a 500-meter radius of where he works and lives, free calls home whenever he wants -- and feels he doesn't have enough access to news from home. Not only that, he thinks that his Congressperson has the time to explain it to him -- when said Congressperson would really rather be doing something productive, such as driving cars into rivers, reading the 1100-page stimulus bill or entertaining lobbyists from the National Organization of Origamists (if one exists, I don't know).

I wish I were making this up.

For those that don't know, this means a lot of senior leaders in his organization have to take time out of their schedules to explain it in a letter to the Congressperson's staff, who will in turn explain it to the Congressperson. Who will, I hope, try to at least co-sponsor a bill making June 15th National Origami Day. I for one, will celebrate by neatly folding dollar bills into swans when I pay for anything at Wal-Mart.

Messages from invisible sources, or what some people think of as progress

2009-02-19T11:15:00.005-06:00

This gem comes from my favorite "news aggregate" site:

http://forums.fark.com/cgi/fark/comments.pl?IDLink=4220530&cpp=1#new

The discussion thread stems from a young poster's request to know what life was like before the Internet. This is not unlike certain nameless officers working for me, who have never had the pleasure of shining their Army boots. ({ahem}Jess...{cough})

My response: I memorized [gasp!] phone numbers. I still remember some today that I haven't dialled in 20 years, but I have to look at my business card to find out my own cell number.

More importantly, it reminds me of a visit to my Dad's house about three years ago. My daughter and my nephew, both 7 at the time, were with me. Dad proudly displays a museum-quality, manual typewriter on a bookshelf, through which thousands of pages passed years ago. He asked the kids if they knew what it was -- my daughter did not, but my nephew blithely responded, "I think that's a typewriter. They used those in the Civil War."

About a year ago I related that experience to a superior officer who, despite three redundant network tools at his disposal, insisted on using floppy discs to process and store hundreds of weekly staff tasking requests. His boss, having overheard, said, "So you're calling him a dinosaur?" My reply: "Damn right, sir!"

Our generation was dubbed the X generation because Baby Boomers thought technology was making us lazy. I'd say we did OK. But maybe -- just maybe -- one of the subtler reasons why the GWOT is dragging on so long is because we are spoiling the current generation of our Soldiers with so much technological comfort that our grandfathers never had in previous wars.

I may be getting old, but I too don't know how I ever lived without today's modern technological advances, many of which we never dreamed about when we were kids. I'm addicted to Facebook and its nefarious ways of helping me keep in touch with long-lost friends and their 25 Random Things About Me lists and the endless drives down Memory Superhighway. When searching for a friend to invite to an informal high school reunion, I located his sister on Facebook and within minutes I had all I needed!

I admitted to someone recently that I can't imagine not living with my DVR as it quietly saves my favorite shows, patiently saving them for me to watch commercial-free whenever I please. Or my cell phone tether, despite its occasional midnight cravings, begging me to answer some technological crisis or random power outage with alacrity and dispatch. I haven't caught CrackBerry fever yet, but I'm sure there is no innoculation other than the iPhone.

We think our kids will never appreciate what they have because they haven't had to endure the hardships we did, like: VHS, riding the bus to school as a senior, walking to the corner Majik Market to play Space Invaders, or putting hand-written letters in these mysterious blue boxes and waiting two whole weeks to get a response. And we're probably right. But our grandkids are gonna wonder how we ever got by at the turn of the century with as little as we did.

Disgruntled customer: 2, Sprint: 1

2009-01-31T19:18:00.003-06:00

I think I'm onto something here. It only took a few hours for a response this time, and on a Saturday at that! I guess all I have to do when Sprint screws up is email the right threats and insults to the right executives and they take care of me right away. Hm.

Disgruntled customer: 1, Sprint: 1

2009-01-31T13:07:00.004-06:00

It's the end of the month, so it must be time for me to rant about my favorite cell phone company again.

Dear Ms. Crutchfield:

You people absolutely disgust me, and I am sick and tired of this stupidity. I just returned to Kuwait and examined my current bill, only to find out that your company has failed yet again to get my account right. I am now being charged a $200.00 "Early Termination Fee" for phone number 580-XXX-XXXX, even though I never asked for this number to be terminated. Six months ago I asked that this number be put on military deployment hold until I return in June of this year. I have no desire to change that, and never expressed any intentions to do so. In fact, I told you personally on the phone just three weeks ago that I am looking to upgrade that line in June -- why on earth would you charge me $200 to terminate it when I have given every indication to the contrary?

Refund the $200.00, plus all associated taxes and fees, to my account immediately.

This really comes as no surprise and just reinforces the collective incompetence that Sprint continues to show. Time and time again, your company has failed to get my bills correct despite my repeated complaints and phone calls too numerous to count. I am exasperated beyond the point of frustration, and am submitting a complaint to the Better Business Bureau this week. I should have done it a long time ago, but from now on every time Sprint fails to satisfy me, the BBB will know it. Given Sprint's long and sad history of customer service failures with me, I suspect that the BBB will get to know me quite well.

Sincerely,

Disgruntled customer: 1, Sprint: 0

2009-01-01T11:30:00.002-06:00

Woudn't you know it, less than 24 hours after I sent the letter to my favorite cell phone company yesterday, a nice little refund in the amount of $217.80 appeared on my online bill. It helps that I kept the last messages from some executive muckety-muck from the last time I had a tiff with them ... and some fellow unsatisfied customer posted the email addresses of every executive in the company.

I hope George is starting 2009 off with the mother of all hangovers.

Happy New Year to my favoritest cell phone company in the whole wide world

2008-12-31T13:22:00.003-06:00

Dear Sprint,

I am an extremely dissatisfied customer despite more than four years of paying my bills on time with your company. All I want is a refund of an erroneous charge, and your company is punishing me for being honest. The phone number in question is 580-XXX-XXXX.

I was recently charged $200 because my wife had to get one of our teenager's phone replaced, despite the fact that I already pay $7 per month for the insurance and paid the $50 deductible. When the charge appeared on our bill in October, I called Sprint and was transferred to Assurion. I told Assurion the truth -- that is, my wife mailed the broken phone according to the instructions included with the replacement phone. Assurion told me that I should see the refund in 1-2 billing cycles. Two cycles have passed, and yet no refund -- and Sprint is punishing me by classifying my payments as late, even though I have paid all other charges ahead of time.

I attempted to call today (31 Dec.) to get this matter corrected. The first supervisor was courteous, and attempted to get Assurion on the line -- a manager at Assurion put us on hold, then never returned and the call was dropped. I called and spoke to another Sprint supervisor, who immediately transferred me to Assurion without listening to my problem. Assurion again told me that I should see the refund on 1-2 billing cycles. I again called Sprint and was repeatedly told the very same information by a supervisor-drone named George (#619675), and that there was nothing he could do until Assurion received the broken phone. He told me he didn't care about my situation and that even if the phone got lost in the mail I would still be responsible for the $200 charge.

Note that I am an active duty Army officer and have been serving in Kuwait since March 2007. I have been a faithful Sprint customer since November 2004 and have never even once been late on a payment. However, in those 48 months I have had to make at least 45 separate phone calls over billing errors that your company cannot seem to get right (I wish I were making that number up). It seems that every time I make a change to my account, Sprint makes some new error that causes me to have to call and berate some underpaid representative who has deplorable customer service skills or speaks English as a third language. I'm sure George will drink himself into a stupor tonight just because he had to deal with me today.

The truth, the way I see it, is that I pay your company, not Assurion. You take a part of my money and give it to Assurion to insure my teenagers' phones so that when they break or lose them, I pay you another $50 so that Assurion sends me another phone. I should never have to talk to anyone in Assurion -- this should be a simple, one-stop process where I call Sprint, who handles every issue regarding the lost or broken phone. In the four years I've been a customer, I have easily paid over $1000 just in insurance, yet you want to charge me another $200 for a useless piece of junk that got lost in the mail.

I could have easily lied and told Assurion that the dog ate the phone so our unsuspecting preteen daughter threw it away right before the trash was picked up, or my teenager left the phone on the bus coming home from a swim meet and didn't realize it all weekend. That would have been more interesting and much less painful to deal with. In fact, I could call Assurion right now and concoct any story I want about finding the mailing envelope on the kitchen counter and realizing we really did drop the phone in the shark-infested water while snorkeling off Cozumel because we were too hung over from the previous night's two-for-one margaritas on the cruise ship -- and I would have my refund, no questions asked, even if my imaginary flight got stuck in Houston and a week's worth of Montezuma's revenge was more important than calling Sprint to replace some stupid phone.

But no, since I decided to tell the truth, to be honest and follow your instructions, you still want to charge me $200 for a useless piece of plastic and silicon gadgetry that probably cost you $1.50 in parts. I hope you at least paid poor George way more than that just to listen to me rant and berate him on the phone for an hour this morning.

Do the right thing -- refund my money now, plus the $.80 late fee and all associated taxes. Then I'll stop calling George and all his other customer service supervisor buddies and telling them they need to find another line of work. Either that, or cancel all my phones immediately without any "early termination fees," so I can take my business to a company that might at least have a clue what good customer service is.

Christmas musings and observations

2008-12-25T11:15:00.010-06:00

Ah, Christmas...the time of year when Christians the world over celebrate the birth of our Lord in various ways -- college football, parades, movies, the giving of gifts, and the like.

Here in the Kuwaiti desert, things have been festive. Filling in for my Battalion Commander while he's been home on leave, by week's end I will have attended four days of holiday parties, all the while trying to mind what I eat. To counter the extra calories and cholesterol, I've been cycling more. Today I went on a 47-miler with a couple of friends, battling the Oklahoma-like winds that I miss so much. On Christmas Eve, I did 21 miles after a mile swim, and on the 23rd I did 23 miles.

What better way to celebrate Christmas than with butter sculptures and ornately carved fruit? The Dining Facility was chock full of them -- Mary & Joseph with baby Jesus, Santa on his sleigh (with only two reindeer), Obama and Bush shaking hands....wait, what? Apparently the Third Country Nationals at the DFAC ran out of Christmas things to sculpt. See pics below.

Even more creative, if not outright strange, was Joker Claus at one of the parties. Yes, an enterprising junior officer dressed up as Santa from the neck down, but his head was dressed as the Joker in the latest Batman movie. You can see a video clip here -- his performance was, creepily, pretty good. He obviously had some leftover Halloween makeup he didn't want to waste...but, and those that know him will agree, only he could make it work and get away with it.

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As a kid of divorced parents, I usually had two Christmases: one on Christmas Eve with Mom, the second at Dad's the next day, after travelling to see him. I've always considered myself lucky in this respect: I have remained close to both of them my whole life.

This year, even though this is the first (and hopefully only) Christmas I have ever had to spend away from family in 19 years, I am especially grateful for everything and everyone in my life. Lori and I celebrated 19 years of marriage this week, and I dutifully sent flowers (at work) and jewelry. The best reason for us to be thankful is our oldest son recently walked away from a deadly car accident with nothing more than a bump on his forehead and sore ribs. It was clearly not his fault, but the family of the other man is certainly in our thoughts and prayers.

Don't blame me, I voted for (insert losing Republican candidate's name here)

2008-11-06T05:10:00.012-06:00

I normally don't wax political in this blog, mostly because I am forced to maintain my sobriety here in the desert. But waking up to The Announcement this week was hardly a surprise to me. I predicted several months ago to some friends that if Obama got the nomination he was a lock, and even last week told a buddy that Obama would win in a landslide.

I must admit that I am not anywhere nearly as dismayed as my conservative influences think I should be. President-elect Obama is either the Antichrist or the Messiah, depending on who you ask. There are a few things about this entire process that concern me, however.

First, because I didn't vote for Obama, I am a racist. I also predicted months ago that the left-leaning media would at least imply this. For the last several weeks, they did more than that.

Secondly, an alarming number of conservatives predicted all sorts of calamity if McCain didn't win. I even got a plethora of emails forwarded to me from some so-called "prophets" who either wrongly predicted that McCain would win, even going so far as to proclaim various "moves of God" were that to occur, or predicted that God would punish America if Obama won. One particular crackpot even went so far as to say that God told him in 2000 that not only would Bush serve two terms, but we would suffer an economic crisis toward the end of his second term. ("I'm not telling you who to vote for, but if Obama gets elected, God's gonna be really pissed!") Well, thanks a lot for sharing your incredible insight with us back then, pal! We could have voted someone else in back then and perhaps avoided all this mess. How much money did you make selling all your Freddie Mac and Countrywide stock earlier this year, by the way?

Most of this drivel was little more than recycled versions of Pat Robertson's book, "New World Order," that predicted similar woes -- in 1992. These sorts of things seem to have a nasty habit of creeping up whenever it looks like a Democrat is already ordering drapes for the White House.

The most disturbing feature during this election has been the calls for assassination of Obama -- even from audience members at Republican campaign speeches. Why these asshats aren't in Gitmo right now is beyond me, but had I noticed it before sent in my ballot, I would have changed my vote on that alone. I sure didn't see any condemnation of it by McCain or Palin, much less any conservative press.

So what happened in the election -- did God suddenly throw in the towel and decide sometime on Tuesday, about 9:45 p.m. EDT, that not enough Christians prayed for McCain to win? The prophets are thus far silent, but I'm sure when all the post-mortem analysis is over, we'll find that more people voted for McCain than for Bush in either 2000 or 2004. But McCain didn't lose because Christians failed to meet some pre-ordained prayer quota -- he lost because his campaign was too negative, too closely allied with Bush, and kept reminding us ad nauseum of the five years he spent in NVA captivity. Sarah Palin didn't help his campaign much either. Well OK, let's be real -- he lost because he got fewer votes.

I've never been on the "Obama is a communist, Moslem, terrorist-fist-bumping Antichrist" bandwagon that the false prophets are driving anymore than I believed Palin to be the inexperienced, backwater, religious wingnut (update: clueless hillbilly) that the left-leaning media did a pretty good job of portraying her to be. I'm not saying Obama should be immortalized on Mount Rushmore just yet, but I certainly don't believe any of these doomsday prophecies about him.

For the last century or so, Christians have been sheepishly deluded into thinking that America is God's second chosen nation after Israel, as if we've mystically achieved some heavenly Most Favored Nation status. I am equally unconvinced that God doesn't have better things to do than worry about how many Christians prayed for candidate X, anymore than he cares about high school football game scores. The God I believe in isn't that petty. There is not one shred of scriptural evidence to suggest that Jesus even cared about politics (or the almighty dollar) almost 1,800 years before America was formed -- so it seems to me that if God really does care enough about American politics that He wants to use only Republican Presidents for good in the world, then things sure would be a whole lot different today. Or at least they should be.

Am I really supposed to believe the world is about to be cast into hopeless turmoil just because a black Democrat got elected as President? Should I start buying my own generators and stockpiling supplies to prepare for the impending Great(er) Depression? I'm sorry, I just can't bring myself to swallow that -- anymore than I swallowed all the failed Y2K doomsday prophets about 10 years ago. Republicans have screwed things up for years now, even when they had the White House and with or without a majority in Congress -- maybe the Democracts can do something. Let's just hope they don't screw things up more, or even worse, continue to do nothing.

As unprecedented numbers of people voted this week, surely millions of true believers cast their vote for Obama despite all the desperate, eleventh-hour "warnings from God." After weeks of sitting on the fence, and marking unknown local Republicans for office, last month I finally sent in my absentee ballot for McCain -- regardless of whether or not it was actually counted, doesn't that score me extra points with God?

More importantly, since I seem to be so prescient, maybe I should be elevating my own prophetic status. Just start sending me all your money now.

Under the heat

2008-10-23T12:33:00.007-05:00

Today is the 25th anniversary of the Beirut barracks bombing. In honor of the brave Marines, Soldiers, and Sailors whose lives were taken that day, I offer only the simple lyrics of one of my most favorite songs, "Under the Heat" by The 77s. The song was written as a tribute, and released on their 1984 album, All Fall Down. Its lyrics seem eerily prescient today.

Like a snap of the fingers
It was just that quick
The building had fallen
And shattered and
Melted under the heat
We found a buddy
Who was covered in blood
He kept trying to get up and look
Lay down, lay down, lay down marine
Under the heat
All our lives changing
Under the heat
"Take your cameras and
get out of here"
"Forget it" said the C.O.
"You're out of line,
you're angry, I'm angry,
they're angry,
just do the job."
Under the heat
We stopped to listen for voices
And then we'd dig with
Whatever we had
Listen and dig, listen and dig,
Listen and dig
Under the heat
All our lives changing
Under the heat
Reaching through this
Curtain of fear
My arms are stretched
Beyond the limit
I take the heat from
Streaming tears
To bear the cold and
Walk out in it
Walk out in it
My plans for the future
Are a frozen picture
That has fallen and
Shattered and melted
Under the heat
All our lives changing
Under the heat

--Papers fluttered in the gentle October breeze and a page from a pocket-sized Bible lay on the ground. It was open to the book of Psalms. The passage said, "For they do not talk of peace, but against the quiet ones of the land they plot treacharies..." From the San Fransisco Chronicle Monday, October 24, 1983

Dude, it's just a shirt

2008-10-04T23:42:00.011-05:00

When I'm either cycling or teaching spin class, I wear typical cyclists' garb: stretchy biker pants, special shoes, and some sort of loud riding jersey so I can be seen on the road. My favorite top is a replica of the jersey worn by the 1980 Soviet Union Olympic cycling team -- it is bright red, and emblazoned with the infamously yellow hammer, sickle, star, and "CCCP" on all sides. As you might imagine, this shirt elicits the most comments -- especially here at Camp Arifjan, where it is not uncommon to see Brits, Poles, Estonians, or any number of other coalition troops mingling around with us. I've even had chow-hall conversations with some Eastern Europeans who have told me they speak Russian better than they speak English, as they were forced to learn it growing up.

Early this morning as I was warming up for a long ride, reveille sounded and as always I dutifully stopped, dismounted my bike, faced the music, and saluted. Moments later I passed a bus stop and was flagged down by a curious Staff Sergeant who asked me if I was from Russia. I chuckled and said no, explaining that I bought the shirt online. He sort of cocked his head to one side and said, "Isn't that Communist?" I realized he was serious, but I was in no mood for an argument so I replied, "You're kidding me, right? I suppose if that works for you then whatever. It's just a replica of a 1980 Soviet cycling team jersey." But this guy appeared honestly offended.

After a short, dumbfounded pause the Staff Sergeant replied: "But that represents Communism."

Eager to get on to my workout, I said, "Look bud, I was a Russian linguist in 1989. You can think whatever you want," and off I rode, while the aghast soldier remained on the curb.

When I was in Russian language school, our teachers -- all native Russians -- prepared us for the final exams in reading, listening, and speaking. One particular assigment I remember was an oral essay in which I discussed the issue of flag burning with Mrs. Rudikova, whom we affectinately called "Rude Dog." Instead of taking the predictable kill-em-all stance, I told my teacher, in Russian, that there should be no laws against burning flags because flags are just cloth symbols and inherently, don't really mean anything. Flag burners are little more than attention whores and if we just ignore them, they'll probably stop. The look on her face was priceless -- and it was hard for me to keep a straight face.

Maybe the Staff Sergeant was confused because he saw a guy in a Soviet shirt saluting the American flag at reveille, or maybe he is just too young to really remember the 80's. Maybe he never saw "Rocky IV," which everyone over 30 knows is the real reason Communism is dead. (For last night's spin class, I played all 80's music, and one song was Survivor's "Burning Heart" from the movie.) Perhaps the young NCO, like most Americans, is tragically too jingoistic to understand sarcasm or satire -- or that sometimes, a shirt is just a shirt.

He would have really been confused if I'd answered him in Russian.

Of headphones and men, part deux

2008-09-02T03:52:00.007-05:00

Not too long ago, I wrote about an incredibly absurd rule at Fort Sill that allowed Soldiers in PT uniform to wear headphones in the gyms, but only if the Soldiers were actually exercising on a treadmill, elliptical machine, or other cardio equipment. Some Sergeant Major, with apparently nothing better to do, once actually chased me down in a gym and tried to "enforce" that rule on me, solely because I committed the egregious offense of walking to the weight room while listening to music. The rule has since been changed, thanks to my questioning of it to senior leadership.

Not to be outdone, however, one of our illustrious commanders here at Camp Arifjail has decided to crack down, as it were, on some serious offenders at our outdoor pool. There are apparently things going on here that are so appalling, so unconscionably heinous even, that two new rules are about to be put into effect, or else the terrorists will win, and the Earth will stop spinning on its axis (if you believe that sort of thing). The first new rule makes Spandex shorts (a.k.a. "jammers") inappropriate, effectively banning swimsuits from the pool for guys. The second one, still under consideration, outlaws waterproof headphones.

I am not making either of these up.

Until recently, the only real dress code for pool patrons was no thongs, no two-piece suits for women, and no Speedo-style suits for men. Too easy, right? Well, for some guy a couple of weekends ago, apparently not. He was wearing knee-length jammers, the kind many swimmers like me wear when working out. Skin-tight yet modest, they normally cover far more than the bottoms of women's one-piece suits. Normally, that is, except for one Mr. Upper Thigh Tan Guy, who apparently felt it necessary to not only wear his jammers while tanning on the pool deck, but to hike the legs up to get more of an even tan closer to his crotch.

I confess I don't know the whole story, but apparently someone complained, pool management got involved, and suddenly the Area Support Group (ASG)-Kuwait unit leadership was aghast that guys were even being allowed to wear Spandex at the pool to begin with. So they called for a review of the policy -- and this is where the story gets stupid. Any leader worth his or her salt would at least call the alleged criminal's commander, ensure he or she was banned from the pool for a week or so, then drive on to bigger and better things like fresh bananas in the chow hall or fixing the rampant A/C problems here. That would make sense.

Instead, the leadership of ASG-Kuwait has astutely deemed it necessary to ban Spandex swimming suits for guys. That's right, hundreds of grown men who already comply with the very simple rules are now being punished for the actions of a handful of idiots, because some of the people in leadership positions are too lazy to enforce said simple rules. So now we all have to cover up with loose shorts that, arguably, can be less modest -- but not the ladies and their one-piece suits. Women are still allowed to wear Spandex and show off all their bumpy parts, camel toes, and moose knuckles but if you're a guy, you're screwed. OK, so there aren't hundreds of guys wearing jammers, but this new rule will apply to people like me -- those of us who swim endless miles at the butt-crack of dawn, when hardly anyone else is there -- despite the fact that we're not the ones prancing around the pool deck with our ass cheeks hanging out.

So I also found out that ASG-Kuwait is even considering a ban on waterproof iPod/headphone use in the pool, for no reason whatsoever other than someone "might get shocked." All I can say about that is, "what the hell?" It's OK to use headphones on treadmills, and even on the outdoor tracks -- but they will no longer be allowed in the pool. The new rule will allow iPods on the pool deck, however. Maybe someone complained when I used mine during all those endless laps to win the 21-mile "English Channel" race last month.

Besides, using an iPod on a treadmill is dangerous! I once fell off a treadmill while trying to pick up my iPod, which had slipped out of its case as I started a run. It was quite a comical scene made for YouTube -- me stopping running, obviously forgetting I'm on the thing, trying to pick up the iPod, falling on my butt on the treadmill which is now at full running speed, then flinging off of it and onto the floor. It happened in full view of everyone in the room, but the only thing I hurt was a little of my pride. Good thing there were no video cameras around.

Now most of you are probably thinking that if a ban on jammers and waterproof headphones is all I have to complain about on a so-called deployment, then life here must be pretty good. And you'd be right. Well, besides the perpetually incorrect movie schedules at the theater, the utter lack of fresh produce or enough Nintendo Wii's at the PX, or the fact that I have to pay $35 a month for crappy wireless Internet service in my room.

But all that aside, it's pretty sad when so-called leaders have nothing better to do than worry about these things. They must have so much time on their hands that all they do is sit around their offices, dreaming up more senseless rules to enforce on their minions. Forcing these ridiculous, junior-high dress codes on mostly responsible adults -- most of whom wear uniforms every day anyway -- is just plain asinine, especially when those that are making up these arbitrary rules don't even bother coming to the pool.

I guess my high school Physics teacher was right: common sense ain't so common. Maybe I'll just have to be a blatant double-offender. But only in the mornings, at the butt-crack of dawn.

A hellacious ride

2008-08-25T02:57:00.003-05:00

This weekend some of us completed a grueling, 100-km ride around Camp Arifjan in honor of the "Hotter 'n Hell Hundred," an annual race held each summer in Wichita Falls, Texas.

The story in the local paper is here:

http://www.timesrecordnews.com/news/2008/aug/23/bringin-heat-worldwide/

And pics from all three events we staged are here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/dapowellii/HH100

The race's organizers sent me dozens of shirts this year, so some friends and I decided to sign people up to earn them through either a two-hour spin class, or the bike ride. The first spin class was on Thursday night, Aug. 21, and the second one was this morning starting at 0530. I taught the first spin class -- both classes saw 40 participants each.

Saturday's ride started at 4 a.m. We had about 25 mountain bikers, who rode for about 15 miles, mostly on dirt and gravel roads around the camp's perimeter. Five intrepid road bikers braved the dry heat for four hours, all of us completing the 100-km (62 mile) ride with only a couple of incidents. The sun started breaking over the horizon just before 6 a.m., and before long the temperature started climbing. We took a break when the mountain bikers finished and handed out their shirts and water bottles. Before that, one of the road riders wiped out coming around a corner at about mile 26 -- but she toughed it out and finished the ride. Another person had a flat tire about at about 40 miles, but he had enough emergency supplies with him to fix it long enough to get to his room and replace the tire and tube, then he completed the ride. The temerature at the end was right at 100 degrees -- not quite hotter than hell, but close enough.

In all we had well over 100 people take part in the events, and a good time was had by all!

It is finished!

2008-08-09T03:59:00.003-05:00

At 1145 a.m. Kuwait time today, I completed the last 30 laps of the 21-mile "English Channel" swim contest -- and won the event in my age category and overall, by a good few miles.

The entire swim took just five minutes shy of 12 hours. I surpassed my goal of six days, once agin surprising myself. My strategy was to swim the 756 total laps by doing 120 laps every morning, then as much as I could at night -- in the first three days, I swam 200 laps per day. This morning I swam 126, then went back at lunch to plow through the last 30. I should get some sort of medal and a t-shirt in a day or so; a pic or two will be posted later.

I certainly wasn't the fastest swimmer out there, maybe just the most determined. A twentysomething soldier in my unit was always out there too, having swam in college a lot more recently than I. Another older gentlemen started swimming in our lane the other day, and introduced himself only as Mark. When I protested that I didn't want him to get in the way, he told me to keep up. He doesn't swim much more than 60 laps a day, but boy is he fast! I can't keep up for more than a couple minutes. Turns out he's 50, and he's a one-star admiral who used to swim at Annapolis.

I guess sheer determination, lots of Red Bull and Power Bars, and my waterproof iPod case were what fueled my quest. Sometimes I didn't know where the energy came from, but I slugged it out. Oh, and I decided not to go for the 100 miles. Time to get back to a normal routine.

Killing time when I should be sleeping (or working)

2008-08-05T08:30:00.004-05:00

It is once again time for me to start "swimming the English Channel" -- 21 miles in a pool with 23-yard lanes. This year, the contest spans 43 days, from 6 August through 17 September. Since I've been back in Kuwait, I've been training for this at an average of about 10 miles per week.

Last year, I did this after a nearly 20-year hiatus from any type of swimming at all (besides coaching the kids' team in Korea). I surprised myself by finishing in 12 days, winning the 30-39 male category (despite some 30-year-old guy who swam his way through college, started the contest late, and finished with over 110 miles). This year, I plan on sprinting through the initial swim in at most the first 6 days, swimming only in the early morning or at night. I have every day in the contest mapped out as to how many laps I'll swim; when it's over, I will have completed over 100 miles. Time will tell how those plans go!

Additionally, some friends and I are planning on a long bicycle ride in honor of the "Hotter 'n Hell Hundred," a race in Wichita Falls, Texas, on 23 August. The race organizers sent me about 100 t-shirts last November, which I handed out. This year, they want to know if we're going to ride. Some of you know I have my road bicycle here now, and have ridden around Camp Arifjan a few times in the early morning hours. I only know of three others who also have road bicycles, and they're game for the long ride. We'll probably only do 100 kilometers, about 4 hours of riding.

So by the middle of next month, I will have completed over 100 miles swimming and over 100 miles biking.

I still hate running.

A word on leadership

2008-07-21T11:55:00.003-05:00

I had an epiphany recently. I realized that rank can sometimes have the same effect as overindulgence in alcohol: it tends to amplify a person's most dominant qualities. A sober jerk becomes a complete moron when drunk; happy people tend to make jovial drinkers. The same can be said of one who has rank, particularly in the military. Good leaders tend to improve with rank and position, while bad leaders tend to get worse.

Case in point: my first supervisor at my last unit was a complete moron who fortunately got fired before he got anyone killed. I don't say that about many people, but the poor man was too dumb to realize he was stupid. One time, when I was in Atlanta preparing for my first trip to Kuwait (where he was), I sent him an email asking what I should do there to prepare for my job here. His reply was, "We'll talk about it when you get here." I was too dumbfounded to even ask, "Huh?" Unfortunately, the higher I climb up the Army ladder, the more people like that I meet. Does stupid just gravitate to me?

At the other end of that spectrum lies a different superior officer, who also works in the same Cubicle Hell that I did -- and who is too smart for his own good. Thankfully, I did not work for him; God help me (or him) if I ever do. This man was in academia long enough to add a whole bunch of impressive-sounding letters to his name, but was away from the Army so long that he forgot how to be an effective leader. This pompous blowhard has an ego the size of Texas, and treats everyone around him -- including some of his peers -- like West Point cadets. He's always the smartest man in the room, and makes sure you know it within about five minutes. For months on end I would hear him loudly proclaim his utter disdain for the organization, especially to his cronies over the phone. He once had the audacity to tell one of his officers that he knew my job better than me, and that his officer should strive to not be like me -- but for all his disrespectful bloviating, he never had the intestinal fortitude to confront me personally. When confronted by someone junior, he usually hides behind his rank.

It was people like those two who made the organization what it was: not a genuine team, but a loose collection of individuals. While both of these men were polar opposites in intelligence and education, they both either forgot or else never learned some basic tenets of leadership. I've always said that effective leadership -- motivating others toward a common goal -- is simple. Treat people with respect, before you expect them to respect you, and they will do anything for you.

Apparently for some this concept is too complex, while for others it is not complex enough. And that is unfortunate for the officers and soldiers who have to endure such incompetence.

Grab your helmets, here comes a war story

2008-07-11T03:00:00.008-05:00

Many of you have heard me tell this once or twice over the years, but it bears repeating. A couple of you were there as well.

On July 11, 1991, at approximately 1100 hours, a thundering explosion shook me out of bed. I was at what was then Camp Doha, Kuwait, with the Germany-based 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment's 511th Military Intellgence Company. Some 75 Russian and German linguists strong, we deployed as part of Operation Positive Force, *the* contingency plan just in case the recently-defeated Iraqi army decided to re-invade Kuwait. I still have no clue why the Army in its infinite wisdom sent 75 Russian and German linguists, so don't bother asking -- but I can tell you that I heard more Russian radio traffic here than I ever did in Germany (probably from some border dispute with Kazakhstan at the time).

Still asleep from the previous night's guard duty, I stumbled out of the building to witness dozens of my comrades running down the street, gazing at the explosion's fallout some 1,000 meters to our north. Popular theories at the moment as to the cause of the ruckus ranged from enemy mortars to a guarding M-1 Abrams tank shooting a wayward vehicle. Or maybe a fuel tank exploded in the heat? I decided it wasn't my problem so I visited the latrine, then blearily headed back for bed.

Then a second, much louder explosion ripped across the desert, shaking the warehouse buildings where we lived and shattering the small windows atop the 20-foot walls. The curious were now running back to the barracks, convinced something in the motor pool was on fire. I hastily threw on everything I could grab in 10 seconds: boots, pants, flak vest, dogtags and helmet were all I could muster before we all gathered on the leeward side of the building. The explosions were coming fast now, one right after the other, and I won't lie -- I was scared at first.

After a quick accounting of every Soldier, our company joined the rest of the Regiment in running for our lives. It's quite a sight to see thousands of Soldiers streaking, yelling, and jumping over the fence that separated our compound from the U.N.'s, which was normally off-limits because they allowed beer. I sprained an ankle upon landing; I heard one buddy proclaim "We'd better get our combat patches for this!" (We did, later.) Over the next 8 hours, we sat quietly as the explosions still rocked the base and eventually died down. All day long, medics were carrying in Soldiers on stretchers, seemingly by the dozen. Most of them were heat injuries -- when the explosions started, the temperature was already well above 100 degrees.

We found out that indeed a fire in a vehicle in the large motor pool on the north side of the camp had caused a massive cook-off of ammunition. All of our unit's vehicles were combat loaded, meaning they carried a full complement of live ammunition just in case -- and all the extra ammo was stored in nearby containers, exposed to the searing heat. The subsequent investigation revealed that a Field Artillery unit had just returned from field exercises, and an ammunition carrier had experienced an electrical fire that didn't get extinguished before it was parked next to all the other vehicles. A Major on the scene called over a fire truck, stuck the hose in the hatch of the burning vehicle, and told everyone to run to safety. The ensuing chaos flung debris and unexploded ordnance as much as three-quarters of a mile; I even saw a whole engine on the ground, a half-mile from the motor pool.

My newly-pregnant wife and toddler son were in Fulda, Germany with the rest of the spouses. The initial radio reports they heard -- from none other than Paul Harvey -- were that at least 50 Soldiers had died as a result of the explosions which did rattle windows in downtown Kuwait City, some 10 miles across the bay. In truth, there were some serious injuries but no deaths until two weeks later, during the clean-up of the unexploded munitions, when three Soldiers were killed instantly after a tank round exploded without warning.

A couple of weeks after the incident, we had a previously-scheduled visit from Gen. H. Norman Schwarzkopf. We all stood in formation and watched as his helicopter circled the disaster site, then landed. The General awarded some medals for near-heroic acts during the incident, gave a thankfully short, hooh-ah speech in which he erroneously called us the "Blackhawk Regiment," then left. (The 11th ACR is the Blackhorse Regiment.) I found out later that "Stormin' Norman" ripped our Regimental commander a new one all the way there and all the way back. (Historically, some of his ass-chewings were legendary.) We returned to Germany in September after only three months deployed, and got a new commander the following March. The old commander, Col. A.J. Bacevich, was the only commander of that unit to not get promoted to Brigadier General. Another Colonel told me years later that Bacevich took full responsibility for the incident, even the faulty ammunition storage. The new commander was Col. William S. Wallace, now a full General.

The 11th ACR was my first unit in the Army, after nearly two years of Russian linguist/interceptor training. I've since run into many others who were there that day, and they have their own stories. One guy in my unit even had the presence of mind to take pictures of the explosions, and sold copies of the best ones (like this one to the right). One of those, which is buried in an album at home somewhere, even showed a guy sprinting from the showers in nothing but a towel and flipflops. I even later saw pics of the site taken from the air; it looked like a nuke had gone off in the center. The Army still considers that day the worst accident ever, and I'm told someone here in Kuwait actually has a safety video describing it.

[Interesting facts for you numerologists...

Date: 7/11/1991
1991/11=181
time: 11 a.m.
Unit: 11th ACR
Temperature: 110 F
Hijri (Islamic) calendar year: 1411

...Coincidence?]

The German philosopher Nietzsche said, "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." I guess I'm a better man for having lived to tell the tale.

My Presidential campaign kicks off

2008-07-09T09:49:00.001-05:00

Here.

Some Independence Day weekend thoughts

2008-07-05T07:33:00.003-05:00

I am reading an ongoing discussion today on Fark.com, my favorite time-wasting website, about Pettty Officer Michael A. Monsoor (http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,376243,00.html) -- the Navy SEAL who in April was awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously for his actions in Iraq in September 2006. In short, he chose to save the lives of his comrades by diving on a live grenade during a firefight -- when he could have jumped out of the way, likely meaning others would have died. This hero was buried in San Diego, and President Bush attended the ceremony.

In the Fark discussion, as in many of them I read, there were several trolls who were out to denounce the war, vent their opinions about Bush, or otherwise denigrate the SEAL's honor with their tripe. Most others came to the defense, telling the detractors to take their rhetoric elsewhere. One particular person, however, got my goat by bringing up 1st Lt. Ehren Watada, the Field Artillery officer who, in 2006, refused to deploy with his unit, the 2nd Infantry Division (of which I am a proud alumnus). This was part of my reply on the discussion thread [the abbreviations and apparent misspellings are particular to the site]:

"Watada is a first-class coward who deserves a blanket party, but instead walks off scot-free. He joined well after the initial Iraq invasion, -- and in the Field Artillery at that. If he truly thought it was an unjust war, he should not ever have joined in the first place. But oh, he saw the light after he started reading a little, eh? Sorry pal, too late now!

"The rest of us Soldiers might not all agree with what is going on in this part of the world (I'm in Kuwait), but we do what we do out of a sense of duty not only to our country, but to the men and women next to us.

"That farking moran Watada is a disgrace to the uniform. Any idiot who signs up knows that once you're in, you're at the complete disposal of Uncle Sam. That inlcudes giving up some of the Constitutional rights we serve to protect. You don't get to pick which wars you go fight, you just go -- and in the position he was in, he should have gone if but for the sake of the men under his command, to at least ensure everyone made it home alive. He could easily have vented his frustrations on a blog. Instead, he chickened out because he thinks we had no right to be in Iraq.

"Monsoor's selfless sacrifice stands in stark contrast to Watada's bad need of a good biatch-slapping. And your pathetic attempt at trolling in this thread is misplaced at best. If you really think that idiot is a hero, then I challenge you to sign up today. Otherwise, STFU and GBTW."

//Rant over.

More reminiscence

2008-06-23T03:41:00.001-05:00

(Note -- after a four-month blogging hiatus, I am back...this time, blogging at work.)

June 23, 1989: A trepidatious, 20-year-old man left his home in Tampa, Florida, bound for the U.S. Army's Basic Combat Training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. Not having any idea what to expect, I endured the next eight weeks of training and conditioning and emerged a Soldier, ready to take on the myriad challenges the Army would throw at me. I even kept a journal of my experiences, which I'll someday type out and post here.

The only two people who saw me off at the airport that day were my mother, and the love of my life -- who was, at the time, three months pregnant with our firstborn. Two hellacious weeks of boot camp convinced me to do the right thing and marry the girl; I had finally worked up the nerve to ask her with 50 of my comrades in line behind me at the payphone booth, all yelling because I had taken up more than my allotted 10 minutes. For this particular weekly call, the haranguing was worth it. She of course said yes, and the rest is history.

Almost 19 years later, our son graduated from high school. My post-Basic training prevented me from being present for his entry into the world -- in fact, he was two weeks old at our wedding. This time, I would not miss his graduation for anything. After two days of waiting for a flight out of Kuwait in early May, I hitched a ride with a Reserve unit that left Iraq to finish their demobilization process at Fort Hood. I still had to rent a car and drive for 5 hours to Lawton, but at least I still made it home on Mother's Day.

On Father's Day, I returned to Kuwait for a second, consecutive year. Most people who know I have done this think I am crazy, and they're half right: I always tell them I love the searing heat and blowing sand that much. My closest friends know the consternation we went through, even coming agonizingly close to submitting my retirement paperwork when it looked like the assignment wouldn't come through (it took a General and four Colonels to make it happen). Our original plan was to move to Atlanta this summer, and look for my retirement job. But in the end, I decided to stay in for a while longer -- in one of our discussions, Lori told me whe wasn't ready for me to get out of the Army yet. She said she wanted to be married to a Lieutenant Colonel, to which I replied, "Ya got anyone else in mind?" It was not an easy decision, but it is one that my family and I are at total peace with.

When all is said and done, I will have been away from Lori and the kids for some 28 continuous months, minus all the leaves; 25 of those months will have been spent here in Kuwait. The benefits boil down to three things: (1) stability -- they stay where they are, and son #2 graduates from the same high school as his brother; (2) predictability -- returning to Fort Sill next year, I know with relative certainty where I'll be for the next three years; and (3) I am not with the last unit I was here with.

The old saying goes there are two best units in the Army: the one you just left, and the one you're going to. In my case, the one I just left is by far the worst I have ever experienced. Case in point: last week, I finally received my performance evaluation, and though the write-up was excellent, my pinheaded boss took one last chance to rake me over the coals -- six weeks after I left the unit.

My new job is night-and-day different from the last. I am a Battalion Executive Officer (or XO) , meaning I'm the Number 2 guy and I'm in charge of all the logistics and personnel adminstration for over 700 people. I have my own private office (as opposed to the cubicle Hell I had to endure before), a boss that gives me full rein, a staff that works for me, and my own room which is practically the Hilton compared to what I was in the previous 14 months. I can endure the heat and blowing sand (which was especially brutal last week) for another year, and if I thought for a second my marriage couldn't handle it, I wouldn't have volunteered. Lori and I have gotten pretty good at this long-distance relationship thing, and saying goodbye again last Saturday was tough -- especially to my precious little daughter. But as she reminded me last night on the phone, only 11 months and three weeks left until I come home for good!

(No more Saturday night spin-class teaching this time, though; I decided it would be better for me to focus my energies on the new job for now.)

Venturing into the unknown all those years ago was the best step in my life I ever took -- for me and for my family. Far more intrepid now, I'm more than ready to face the challenges of this next year, but this time I know what I'm getting into.

My three weeks at home were quite restful, and our vacation in Atlanta (while I outprocessed Fort McPherson) was fun. Pics will be posted at the link on the right.

Saturday Night Fever

2008-02-22T12:32:00.001-06:00

Many of you know that since I've returned to Kuwait, I have become a fitness instructor. Spin class (see http://www.spinning.com/) has been a great source of exercise for me three nights a week since April last year, and in November I was asked to lead the Saturday evening class.

For the uninitiated, spinning in and of itself sounds dull, maybe even a little effeminate. I was once in that camp, until I tried it -- then I got instantly hooked. It's an hour (or so) of intense cardio exercise, using the tension knob on the cycle machines to simulate sprints or hills, coupled with standing and sitting for various degrees of difficulty.

As with most instructor-led cardio classes, music is of utmost importance. Some use typical aerobics-caliber songs, while others pick what they like. Our main instructor here uses a lot of R&B, soul, and rap -- baby-makin' music, or as one fellow spinner puts it, "makin' love by the fire music." I prefer straight-up, fast-beat rock, and am always looking for new and obscure stuff. For my playlists, I pick stuff that I like and let the music kind of lead me.

For instance, one playlist I use has nothing but 80's remakes. Some of the songs are remixes (honest-to-goodness remakes are hard to come by, even on iTunes), but there is some pretty good stuff out there. I included "I Love Rock n' Roll" by Britney Spears, "It's My Life" by No Doubt, and "Holy Diver" by Killswitch Engage -- that one was given to me by my older son, so you can figure out how hard it is. This week's list is all genuine 80's songs, and I'm working on one playlist using nothing but Foo Fighters songs.

My personal training invovles running before and after spin class. I'm up to a total of 5.25 miles in less than 40 mintues. I usually run only on the treadmill, to save my knees, and I do 2 miles fast before spinning, then the rest after.

I've found that I get a huge rush out of leading the classes. It kind of reminds me of when I used to be a commander and I could lead the company on 4-mile runs on Fridays, setting the pace up front with my guidon-bearer right behind me. My first sergeant used to make me slow down for the weaker runners, but every once in a while I'd take off and see how I could challenge the stronger ones. Leading spin class, I set the pace -- but I don't have to slow down.

Another one of those days you never forget

2008-02-09T14:27:00.001-06:00

11th Armored Cavalry Regiment, Fulda, Germany -- almost exactly 15 years ago, when I was but a young pup in this man's Army, I sat outside the office of my Regimental Commander, Colonel William Wallace. I was about to meet with destiny; I was asking Col. Wallace for a letter of recommendation for the Army's Officer Candidate School.

I was nervous, and my Captain didn't help much. He was a helicopter pilot (UH-60's), and had been enlisted and a warrant officer before going to OCS himself. As we were waiting to see the Colonel, I asked him which was worse -- Basic Training, Warrant Officer Candidate School, or OCS? He said OCS was far worse, because boot camp and WOCS had rules, things the drill instructors couldn't do to you; OCS didn't have those kind of rules. He didn't elaborate, but it sure made me wonder why I wanted to become an officer.

The interview, what I remember of it, was short. Col. Wallace already knew me from the chapel service Lori and I attended, and I had once briefed him on the Electronic Warfare system I operated. What I remember most about that day was my euphoria as I floated across Downs Barracks with a signed recommendation letter in my hand.

I was elated because for the first time in my short career, someone recognized potential in me as a soldier. Up to that point in my life, it was my greatest professional accomplishment. I attended and completed OCS some four years later, and the rest is history.

Today, I ate breakfast with now General William Wallace (that's 4 stars). I've known for several days he was coming, made sure I knew his itinerary, and cleared my surprise visit with my boss. (They don't let just anybody show up to talk to Generals, you know.) He shook my hand before we sat down, then the Colonels all entertained him with diatribes about our world of Information Technology. I thought I saw some flashes of recognition in his eyes -- so I patiently waited to get a word in edgewise, and when he got up to go out, I finally introduced myself as someone who worked for him in Fulda.

He put his arm around my shoulder and told me he thought he recognized me, then asked a few genuine questions about what I do now. When I reminded him that he gave me the letter, he smiled and said, "I did? How'd that work out for ya?" (I was in uniform!) With his entourage in tow we strolled outside the chow hall and chatted about Fulda for a minute, then he was off to his next briefing. As I saluted, I told him it was good to see him again.

Last night, I related to Lori how during my one-year tour to Korea in 2001, my Brigade chaplain was the same man who was my Squadron chaplain all those years ago in Germany. One day at Camp Hovey, I was getting on a shuttle bus and there sat Chaplain Ahl and his wife, who had come to visit him. She immediately recognized me, and even remembered Lori and the boys -- even though we had had no contact for 9 years.

It's good to know that people remember.

Back in the Saddle

2008-02-08T00:44:00.000-06:00

Now that I'm back into a manageable routine in Kuwait, my blog will be here from now on...can't really stand MySpace anymore, and I can access this page at work. [grin]

I haven't posted anything in quite a while...I've been busy, OK?

First, I had a wonderful vacation at home with Lori and the kids. 20 days went by way too quickly, of course, but I did get to spend a lot of quality time with them, see a few friends, and accomplish most of my honey-do list.

After returning to Kuwait in early January, I was sent to Qatar for a few days, then Bahrain for a week. Both trips were fabulous, and now I can say I've been there, done that, got the T-shirts (no, really). I won't go into too many details, but I will say that while Qatar imposes a 3-drink limit, Bahrain does not. We stayed in a 5-star hotel in Bahrain, ate like kings, and I celebrated my birthday there.

Speaking of saddles, January also brought my debut as the Saturday night cycling class instructor at Camp Arifjan. More on that later, but I must take the time here to complain that our pool is now closed for renovations, so my triathlon training is somewhat curtailed for the next several weeks. I was so mad that on Sunday, the last day the pool was open, I went and swam 4600 yards. That'll show 'em!

Lori and the kids are fine at home. Christian is preparing to swim in the Oklahoma State championships next weekend, in the 100-fly, 100-back, and 4 x 100 free relay. He's ranked in the top 10 in the 100-fly, so we're excited for him! He recently won all three events at the Conference chamionships as well. Dallas is getting ready for high school graduation, and our little Abbi is playing basketball.

I posted some recent pics under the "some cool pics" section to the right, and will get more on there soon.

A Dilbertian conundrum

2007-09-27T12:34:00.000-05:00

Earlier this summer, we had oversight of the expansion of a network in the southern part of Iraq. In order to accomodate this expansion, we tasked another unit to send some soldiers with radios into the Kuwaiti desert, near the border, in order to provide radio coverage for the other site. After two months, the expansion was complete.

So we asked the parent unit (in Baghdad) of the Task Force at the site, "your expansion is complete, so we can call those soldiers back to their base, right?" The response was, "no, the new network doesn't cover as much as we thought. Leave them where they are for another 19 days so we can do some testing." All along, the soldiers were not providing the type of network coverage the Task Force thought they were, only very limited radio coverage in the form of a relay point in case of an emergency. In fact, after the first mission was valianltly accomplished, the soldiers never received any more calls on their radios, since the units leaving the site used the new network that had been so nicely (and expensively) expanded.

So, after some considerable finagling, we finally convinced the Task Force's parent unit (located in Baghdad) that the site no longer needed the limited radio coverage that the soldiers were providing, since no one had called them in over three weeks. The commander of the soldiers' parent unit complained vehemently to all the other colonels around here, but to no avail. Our colonels complained vehemently to the appropriate colonels in Baghdad, but to no avail. The Task Force unit that runs the site still wasn't convinced that they didn't need the soldiers. In fact, the Task Force was convinced that they were using the soldiers' radio services far more than they actually were.

Then two weeks ago our two-star general told his staff to get the soldiers out of the desert site they were occupying, since their services were no longer needed or used because their mission was already accomplished. But the Task Force in Iraq still insisted that they still needed the soldiers' radio coverage as a "backup" in case they needed it -- even though their original mission had long since been so valiantly accomplished, and their limited services had not been used for quite some time. Our one-star general even called his counterpart one-star general in Baghdad. A week went by, and the soldiers were still out there, faithfully manning their silent radios in the desert heat.

And lo and behold, a colonel in another staff section decided to write decision papers requesting that the general order other staff colonels to order the soldiers to stand down. Unbeknownst to either of those colonels or the general, the parent unit of the soldiers learned that generals from both headquarters had agreed that the Task Force did not indeed need the services the soldiers provided, and had thusly decreed that the soldiers' mission was over. So, without informing the Task Force or the general, a major from that parent unit ordered the soldiers to turn off their radios, and stand down from the mission they had so valiantly accomplished.

Word quietly spread of this unofficial ending of the mission; first, it was whispered among some majors, then a few lieutenants colonel, and then a couple of colonels. Another week went by, and the soldiers were still "officially" on watch, or so thought the Task Force and the generals in Baghdad and Kuwait and most of the colonels. Communications tests were planned, and more decision papers were written even by colonels who knew because no one would dare tell the generals that the Task Force did not indeed have the capability that they thought they had, even though they never had the capability they thought in the first place. More colonels called us and wrote us emails, probing us with questions about what services the soldiers provided and how much those services were used and what was their mission in the first place. Even more colonels planned to brief our one-star general on the urgent need to release the soldiers from the desert radio-guarding mission they had already, long ago, so valiantly accomplished.

Then finally, during an afternoon briefing today related to the situation at hand, our two-star general once again decreed to "Pull those soldiers!" Curiously, he never asked why they were still there when he clearly gave the same order two weeks ago.

After the meeting, I called that major to tell him the "official" word had come down. He laughed.

So, to recap: a Task Force in southern Iraq made a group of soldiers they never met sit 25 miles away in the Kuwaiti desert for six extra weeks guarding radios, not providing a service the Task Force thought they were getting, even though they were heroically providing a service no one was using, and the during the entire last week the radios weren't on at all but the Task Force didn't complain because they didn't know.

I swear to God, Scot Adams works here somewhere.

My evil plan to save the war in Iraq

2007-05-25T15:42:00.000-05:00

OK, so I've been thinking that our biggest problem in Iraq is not the terrorists, or the lack of proper armor, or even the supposed civil war that we're now in the middle of. The problem lies in how we name our bases there.

Think about it. Everything there has names like Liberty, Victory, Speicher, or something relatively innocuous. Most of them are named for places -- Balad, Taji, Talil. None of those names even remotely sound threatening, not even Anaconda. Kuwait's camps are all pretty tame: Arifjan, Virginia, and Buehring don't sound like bad places at all.

OK, I'll admit that Abu Ghraib just sounds bad, but for all the wrong reasons. If I were king for a day, I would immediately change all the base names in both war zones. I'd start with 20th-century generals like Pershing, Patton, MacArthur, and Eisenhower -- all fierce, decisive men of battle, men whose very names would strike fear in the hearts of anyone who dared attack us (those familiar with history, at least). None of those valiant warriors has yet been honored with forts at home anyway, so it's about time, espeially since all the good Civil War names are taken. We already have a Camp Walker (in Korea), named for the famous Korean War general who turned things around after MacArthur was fired -- and then led the war to a stalemate -- but that could work in Iraq too. I might even use Rommel, our staunchest Nazi foe.

I can almost hear Osama think twice about sending his suicide troops: "Don't even think about attacking Doolittle Airbase! Remember what he did to Japan?" Or maybe, "Camp Abrams? Forget it -- those tanks are the best in the world!" Then I'd name the most important bases after more recent generals -- what terrorist in his right mind would come anywhere close to Camp Schwarzkopf? Or FOB Franks?

I recently read of a base we have in Afghanistan called Camp Blessing. Camp Blessing?! What were they thinking when they named that one? "Come on in, we won't fire a shot! We'll even forget the rubber hoses in the interrogation rooms!" Maybe that one was meant to be deceptive.

President names might work as well. Lincoln comes to mind, as does either Roosevelt. Truman would certainly work -- after all, he was the only leader in history who used atomic bombs. Camp Kennedy has a nice ring to it, assuming you forget about the Bay of Pigs. Getting your face on a fifty-cent coin is nice, but a war-zone base named after you, now that's an aspiration. Washington would work well on several levels. If we ran out of good American presidential honorees -- I mean, let's be real, why even bother with guys like Wilson, Johnson, Arthur, or Garfield? -- we could always use Churchill. He sure was a tough old bastard. I'd suggest staying away from Nixon or Clinton, for obvious reasons, but maybe the terrorists would be so distracted from laughing that our troops could just round them all up and haul them away to Gitmo.

If that doesn't work, I'd start naming bases after more menacing historical figures like Stalin or Ho Chi Minh (hey, that one worked for the North Vietnamese, gimme a break). Perhaps Lenin or even Hitler would do the trick, or Ghengis Khan. Maybe names like Idi Amin or Pol Pot would make the terrorists give up. Yeah, that would work. A friend also recently suggested Jonestown. Don't go there, the Kool-Aid is a killer!

Another problem I see is that our generals don't have enough rank. The last time we won a real war -- and I mean one with a real enemy, not some Cub Scouts with rusting Soviet tanks -- we had five-star generals. By God, let's start promoting some of these four-stars around here! We're quite simply doing them a grave injustice by holding back that fifth star. Imagine how far General Petraeus could go if we just start calling him General of the Army Petraeus from now on. Or even Field Marshal Petraeus. There's a rank no one has anymore. We'd be watching Osama's hanging on YouTube before Thanksgiving, get that al-Sadr guy too, and have victory parades before Christmas.

Point is, folks, America needs to start realizing that we're gonna be here for at least 50 years. Unless, of course, we name a base after a French leader.

One of those days you never forget

2007-05-16T14:37:00.001-05:00

Friday, May 16, 1991, was one of those fateful days I'll never forget. I was living in Fulda, Germany, and had driven with a friend's wife to Frankfurt-am-Main airport to pick up my young wife and our son, who was then only 17 months old (he is now 17 years old). We returned to Fulda that afternoon without incident, and Mary Anne (my friend's wife) asked me to stop at the unit HQ to let her husband know we were back. I introduced Lori to my Platoon Sergeant (Jimmy "Groovy Man" Saunders), who later told me that he "didn't have the heart" to tell me then what he had just found out in the commander's office: we were on our way to Kuwait.

Oblivious, Lori and I drove to our new apartment on the other side of town, and started unpacking her things. Little Dallas ran to every room, and I bounced him on the bed a few times. (I always loved wrestling with my boys when they were little.) Then, at about 7:30 p.m., the doorbell buzzed. Robert and Mary Anne Jones, and our friend Rick Mitchell, came to break the news to me. We were to leave in two weeks, and start processing tomorrow -- shots, wills, and life insurance forms. I still didn't even have a phone in my Army-furnished apartment.

I was devastated. Over the previous eight months, I had spent maybe four weeks with my family. Following a year of language school in California, the Army sent me to training in Texas and Massachussets, and because of the Gulf War build-up, we weren't even allowed to go home for Christmas. Lori and Dallas stayed with me at the Army Lodging at Fort Devens for several days, and returned when their plane was diverted in Rochester. We stayed in a tiny, one-room apartment in Ayer for three weeks -- no furniture, a blow-up bed, no car. We still have pictures of little 1-year-old Dallas, up to his waist in snow. We loved it.

Then came my assignment to Germany, and a three-month wait to get housing set up, orders to get them over there, and passports. Living in the barracks, my buddies and I watched the entire Gulf War on TV over billiards and beer, never suspecting for a second that the Army would send 75 Russian linguists to the area. I began making the arrangements, and spending the first installment of my enlistment bonus on things I couldn't afford. Finally, the day came when my wife and I could start our lives together again -- only to be delayed yet again.

Lori turned 19 three days before I left. On her birthday, I took her sightseeing downtown -- which, due its typical old-Europe charm, would have been great if we hadn't locked the keys in the car. We caught the bus to our neighborhood, and I walked a few blocks to the landlord's house. It was a balmy Sunday afternoon, and he was having a leisurely brunch with his family. Once I finally got the message translated through his son, I had to wait almost an hour for him to finish eating. They did not have a spare key, but fashioned a plan. We took a neighbor's ladder over to the apartment -- stuck through the sunroof of the landlord's BMW -- and I climbed through an open balcony window to get my extra keys. Fortunately, I had not locked the window before we left!

The next few months were to be some of the toughest that our relationship would ever have to endure. Lori found out she was pregnant with Christian, and couldn't bear the smell of cooking. She lost weight. I was helpless in Kuwait, and couldn't afford many phone calls (thank God for today's cheap technology!). Lori couldn't legally drive in Germany, and didn't know anyone there, much less the language. Long story short, Lori's aunt and uncle (who was in the Air Force) graciously took her and Dallas in after moving to Holland. They stayed almost a month, and that probably saved our marriage -- plus, her Mom told her to tough it out.

My unit, the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment, spent only three frustrating months in the desert. It would have been more, but an accident in our motor pool destroyed more equipment in one day than the entire Iraqi army did during the war (another story in itself). Thank God for accidents.

My first trip to Iraq

2007-05-06T13:35:00.000-05:00

Interesting stuff this week. Last Friday, I found out that I was to attend a conference in Baghdad, at Victory Base.

On Monday night, another officer and I ride the midnight bus to the military airport here in Kuwait, where we wait all night for our 0630 flight to Baghdad. It was my first time on a C-130 cargo plane. There are no windows we can see out of, the seats are all canvas jump-seats, and over 50 of us are crammed in like sardines as we take off to the north. As if wearing my body armor wasn't uncomfortable enough, the huge oaf in front of me was spread out like he thought he was on his mother's couch. It was the most uncomfortable 90-minute ride I've ever had to endure, but somehow I grabbed a few winks while resting my head on the rucksack in my lap.

I awoke to strong g-forces pinning me down as the plane's wicked sprial dive flings us to the tarmac below. (Pilots have to land this way to avoid piossible rocket attacks.) We shuffle off the plane into the hot, Iraqi morning sun, and before long our gracious hosts whisk us away to a distant end of the mammoth base in the heart of Baghdad. Maybe it's the dizzying plane ride, or the palaces, or the man-made lakes -- or maybe it's just the lack of sleep -- but the place sort of feels like a bizarro-world Busch Gardens. Without the beer, of course.

Over the next few days, I meet many other soldiers I've known from past units. I slowly discover that this is not the Iraq you folks at home see on TV, portrayed by all the news outlets. Although everyone -- even civilians -- carries firearms and ammunition, almost no one wears body armor or helmets. Mind you, we are on a heavily fortified, American base defended by hundreds of the best soldiers in the world. Almost every structure is surrounded by huge concrete barriers, to protect from mortar blasts which are infrequent, but a real threat -- and a reminder that just a few hundred meters from our sandbagged and air-conditioned buildings, a war is still grinding on. There is a constant buzz of helicopters overhead, and we occasionally hear distant explosions or car bombs -- other grim reminders of the battles raging nearby. Near some places on the base, there are Iraqi apartments overlooking the wire-topped walls -- and in some spots, soldiers running for physical training even get shot at.

Walking back to our hooch one night, I heard small-arms fire in the distance. One of the sergeants with us remarked that they do not have firing ranges -- to which I replied that they do, but it's a two-way range. The targets shoot back.

I could easily stay and work in Baghdad, and wouldn't turn down an offer if I knew my bosses in Kuwait would ever allow it. They don't need me, and they know it -- but would never admit it. At least in Iraq, I could live with the blissful delusion that I'd be defending my country. In Kuwait, I'm just a guppy in a sea of REMF's, doomed to my purgatory of making meaningless PowerPoint slides. In my Dilbert-esque existence, my pointy-haired boss happens to be a micromanaging tyrant, and the constant mantra chanted in our heads is: "research, analyze, coordinate, staff." Yes, the four functions of a staff officer tend to haunt me even in the shower.

I'm in a true catch-22 -- it makes too much sense to let me even consider the jobs I've been offered in Kuwait, much less anything I could ever find in Iraq. Anything other than my current cell would actually make use of my technical, tactical, and leadership skills that I've cultivated over the last 18 years. So, taking the advice of some of my equally disgruntled coworkers, I resolve to publicly decry any interest whatsoever in any other job, and will take every opportunity to highlight the undesirable parts of said jobs (made up, of course) that I secretly want. I'm sure they'll be all too happy to send me in no time at all. (Here's a thought: if "The Secret" is all about the power of positive thinking, then how do you explain reverse psychology?)

Besides the 2-day conference, which would bore you to tears, I got to see some interesting sights like Al-Faw palace, one of Saddam's old hangouts. The opulence is stunning, and the pics I've posted don't do it justice. In the rotunda is a huge, gawdy chair that Yassir Arafat once gave to Saddam. Apparently, some of the toilet seats were even gold-plated. We also got to see the lake houses at Camp Slayer, some of which still show the scars of war. We even caught sight of some soldiers fishing.

I'm sure I'll be back again, but as we stood on the tarmac last night, I paused for a minute to watch the helicopters buzzing overhead, and in the distance some tracer rounds arced across a small corner of the sky, which was briefly lit by an artillery flare. Somewhere, not that far away, where there are blood feuds and car bombs, this dirty little war still grinds on.