George at the Palace
Our George at Saddam's Al Faw Palace, now Headquarters for the
Multi-National Force - Iraq.
posted by KAB at 2:52 PM
0 comments
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Our George at Saddam's Al Faw Palace, now Headquarters for the
Multi-National Force - Iraq.
Cable Puller
Keith sent this. It's a toy soldier pulling cable. Well, I am not sure
what he was originally supposed to be doing, but that's what Keith says
he's doing now.
posted by KAB at 2:43 PM
2 comments
The Office
Most everyone knows that my office is in one of Saddam’s old palaces. But don’t get the wrong idea; between war damage, post-war looting, and all of the “improvements” we’ve made, it’ll take millions just to put this place back together again. Plus, from the looks of things, the original construction wasn’t quite up to, shall we say, Western standards.
My cubby is one of the few real offices in the building. Most of the rooms are just temporary structures consisting of seven-foot tall frames of two-by-fours covered with rough plywood. These rooms are hardly ever square, due to the fact that they serve as partitions to larger existing rooms that are more often wedge-shaped than rectangular. The walls may be whitewashed and are usually covered with maps, blow-ups of aerial photographs, and the ever present white boards, without which network guys seem unable to communicate. Most often there are four or eight mismatched desks crammed in, each with three separate computers connected to the three principle networks, one each for the unclassified, secret, and top secret work. A fourth system is shared with our coalition partners, which is what we call the Brits and the Aussies. Ironically, in what may be a telling commentary on the true level of trust that exists between Americans and Iraqis, there is no shared Iraqi-American network.
You have to cut through one of these plywood work spaces to get to my office. The entryway is outlined in green marble, with a carved wooden door that has the shape of a dome on it (a familiar motif). Inside, the walls are nicotine-stained plaster with lots of chinks and nail holes where pictures used to hang. Mismatched conduit and the occasional network cable hang from the walls, as do several large status boards and a slightly outdated listing of commonly used US and Iraqi phone numbers. For some reason, military numbers seem to change much more often than their civilian counterparts, which may explain why military directories never seem to be current. The floor itself is covered in scratched gray tile that, much to the consternation of the commander, never, ever, looks clean. I am not sure what this room was actually used for before the war, but it has blue and white tile-walled shower and - get this - a wooden sauna off on one side. Neither of these little gems is working, so we store supplies and equipment in them. And sometimes .50 caliber ammo.
Judging by the décor in the rest of the palace, I think there was originally a small chandelier hanging from the 12-foot ceiling, but it’s been replaced with a bank of florescent lights. That’s a good thing since the sandbags in the windows pretty much prevent any sunlight from getting in, and most of the chandeliers that I have seen seem designed more to impress visitors than to illuminate - they are usually made of cheap, lacquered brass with plastic crystal beads and small, under-wattage light bulbs, but, hey, who can tell when they hang so high? Exactly the kind of thing I wouldn’t buy at Lamps-R-Us.
There are four long air circulation vents in the ceiling as well, which works well for the AC but not so well for the heat (believe it of not, I wish that I had brought my long johns, even for in the office). Besides the constant whir of the air handlers, these vents regularly provide us with deep, metallic, thumping sounds emanating from the somewhere in the bowels of the building, although no one so far has ventured a guess as to what they are. Occasionally we can also hear rats clattering through the ducts, and once I even saw a tail hanging down right through the vent slats. Ballsy rodent.
All of our furniture - two desks and a folding conference table - is PI, that is, post invasion. Everything not bolted down (and much that was) fell victim to the weeklong looting spree right after we took Baghdad - when the Americans moved in the place was empty. They even took the wire from the transformers and the filters from the heating system! I can just imagine one of Saddam’s fancy over-stuffed chaise lounges that used to be here (trimmed in real fake gold, no less), now crowded into some poor slob’s cramped living room, ten kids on it, all facing a flickering TV. When the electricity is on, that is.
I share the office itself with Stupid-Lady. She doesn’t usually say too much. She’s considers herself a minimalist, which I think to her means that she keeps her desk clean. This is as opposed to my own desk, which is usually buried beneath piles of large-scale maps, network diagrams, and scraps of notes from week-old meetings. I think minimal also applies to the quantity of work she does, which, by my estimate, consists of updating a PowerPoint slide on the weekly report for the boss on Victory. Ah well, if Darwin is to be believed, then I suppose we all do that to which we are best adapted. All I can say is… eight days and a wake up.
My cubby is one of the few real offices in the building. Most of the rooms are just temporary structures consisting of seven-foot tall frames of two-by-fours covered with rough plywood. These rooms are hardly ever square, due to the fact that they serve as partitions to larger existing rooms that are more often wedge-shaped than rectangular. The walls may be whitewashed and are usually covered with maps, blow-ups of aerial photographs, and the ever present white boards, without which network guys seem unable to communicate. Most often there are four or eight mismatched desks crammed in, each with three separate computers connected to the three principle networks, one each for the unclassified, secret, and top secret work. A fourth system is shared with our coalition partners, which is what we call the Brits and the Aussies. Ironically, in what may be a telling commentary on the true level of trust that exists between Americans and Iraqis, there is no shared Iraqi-American network.
You have to cut through one of these plywood work spaces to get to my office. The entryway is outlined in green marble, with a carved wooden door that has the shape of a dome on it (a familiar motif). Inside, the walls are nicotine-stained plaster with lots of chinks and nail holes where pictures used to hang. Mismatched conduit and the occasional network cable hang from the walls, as do several large status boards and a slightly outdated listing of commonly used US and Iraqi phone numbers. For some reason, military numbers seem to change much more often than their civilian counterparts, which may explain why military directories never seem to be current. The floor itself is covered in scratched gray tile that, much to the consternation of the commander, never, ever, looks clean. I am not sure what this room was actually used for before the war, but it has blue and white tile-walled shower and - get this - a wooden sauna off on one side. Neither of these little gems is working, so we store supplies and equipment in them. And sometimes .50 caliber ammo.
Judging by the décor in the rest of the palace, I think there was originally a small chandelier hanging from the 12-foot ceiling, but it’s been replaced with a bank of florescent lights. That’s a good thing since the sandbags in the windows pretty much prevent any sunlight from getting in, and most of the chandeliers that I have seen seem designed more to impress visitors than to illuminate - they are usually made of cheap, lacquered brass with plastic crystal beads and small, under-wattage light bulbs, but, hey, who can tell when they hang so high? Exactly the kind of thing I wouldn’t buy at Lamps-R-Us.
There are four long air circulation vents in the ceiling as well, which works well for the AC but not so well for the heat (believe it of not, I wish that I had brought my long johns, even for in the office). Besides the constant whir of the air handlers, these vents regularly provide us with deep, metallic, thumping sounds emanating from the somewhere in the bowels of the building, although no one so far has ventured a guess as to what they are. Occasionally we can also hear rats clattering through the ducts, and once I even saw a tail hanging down right through the vent slats. Ballsy rodent.
All of our furniture - two desks and a folding conference table - is PI, that is, post invasion. Everything not bolted down (and much that was) fell victim to the weeklong looting spree right after we took Baghdad - when the Americans moved in the place was empty. They even took the wire from the transformers and the filters from the heating system! I can just imagine one of Saddam’s fancy over-stuffed chaise lounges that used to be here (trimmed in real fake gold, no less), now crowded into some poor slob’s cramped living room, ten kids on it, all facing a flickering TV. When the electricity is on, that is.
I share the office itself with Stupid-Lady. She doesn’t usually say too much. She’s considers herself a minimalist, which I think to her means that she keeps her desk clean. This is as opposed to my own desk, which is usually buried beneath piles of large-scale maps, network diagrams, and scraps of notes from week-old meetings. I think minimal also applies to the quantity of work she does, which, by my estimate, consists of updating a PowerPoint slide on the weekly report for the boss on Victory. Ah well, if Darwin is to be believed, then I suppose we all do that to which we are best adapted. All I can say is… eight days and a wake up.
posted by KAB at 2:42 PM
0 comments
no title
Tower Dude, I need to talk to you. When can you come to St Louis?
posted by Jack at 12:32 AM
0 comments
no title
But after this it’ll all be gravy, right? Platoon. Man, those guys went through some shit. Whatever happens, gravy for the rest of my life. Right?? Right???
I want so much to believe that I’ve earned it, and to think that there might be enough justice somewhere in this world to make this year worth it. Enough gravy. But do you know what? I know it’s just Bull shit. There wasn’t any gravy for Capt Evans, or that 47-year old major, or that EOD guy. Or those four guys from Michigan.
And that’s just cold.
I want so much to believe that I’ve earned it, and to think that there might be enough justice somewhere in this world to make this year worth it. Enough gravy. But do you know what? I know it’s just Bull shit. There wasn’t any gravy for Capt Evans, or that 47-year old major, or that EOD guy. Or those four guys from Michigan.
And that’s just cold.
posted by Jack at 12:31 AM
0 comments
The old East Side
In my mind I am still drinking that very first beer in a little neighborhood bar on the east side of Detroit. You know the place on Celestine? Fordham Bar, I think it was. All of the Methrics were there, because this was way before the split between Johnny and Jimmy. We were watching Danny, I think, playing with the band. I remember there were a lot of girls there, older girls, and everyone seemed so happy. I always looked up to them so much. And now it’s been such a long time since I’ve been happy.
I worry if I’ll know how to be happy when I go home.
I worry if I’ll know how to be happy when I go home.
posted by Jack at 12:30 AM
4 comments
no title
Sometimes I just get so tired of it all. The calls to prayer, the call to fight. What difference does it make? Religion. None of it make any sense. Four guys from Michigan died this weekend. Four guys, three, different units, but none of them will see the beautiful Michigan autumn again. One was from Detroit. Three-one-tray. Maybe he went to Cass. Maybe he went to Denby. Maybe he walked down Seven Mile Road from Tony’s Place, like we did. Maybe he played Parks and Rec ball, and waited for the damn bus in the cold, and swore at his girlfriend when things got rough between them. Maybe he had a temper, like me. Maybe his folks don’t even know that it’s their son I am writing about. Maybe his brother is sleeping in his bed right now, the first time he ever had a room to himself.
I am so fucking sick of this place. Sick of the flares at night, and the sound of shots in the distance. Of the fifties. And of knowing. Knowing that someone’s dying. You see, my problem is that I can’t shut it off. I can’t stop thinking. Socrates had it so wrong, you know - some things are just fucking better left alone.
Clark ran in and shouted that three rockets had just hit ECP 13. I just sat there. Sometimes I just get down. Right now I really, really want a drink. And right now I am really, really glad that I don’t drink.
Just don’t forget the bagpipes, Keith, okay. You know what I‘m talking about. Good bye, guys. The next time I am in Michigan I’ll say a little prayer for your families - so what if it doesn’t make a difference? So fucking what?
I am so fucking sick of this place. Sick of the flares at night, and the sound of shots in the distance. Of the fifties. And of knowing. Knowing that someone’s dying. You see, my problem is that I can’t shut it off. I can’t stop thinking. Socrates had it so wrong, you know - some things are just fucking better left alone.
Clark ran in and shouted that three rockets had just hit ECP 13. I just sat there. Sometimes I just get down. Right now I really, really want a drink. And right now I am really, really glad that I don’t drink.
Just don’t forget the bagpipes, Keith, okay. You know what I‘m talking about. Good bye, guys. The next time I am in Michigan I’ll say a little prayer for your families - so what if it doesn’t make a difference? So fucking what?
posted by Jack at 12:28 AM
6 comments
December 30, 2006
This morning the former dictator and criminal against humanity Saddam Hussein was hung by the neck until dead. Not sure what they have been saying, but every loudspeaker in the city has been blaring nonstop since then. Now they have trucks with loudspeakers mounted on top running around. It promises to be an interesting night tonight.
posted by Jack at 12:25 AM
0 comments
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Here's my best friend over here, Chris S. He's holding a pool cue so this must have been taken at the club. Every Friday at 2200 we go to shoot pool.
If you look closely you can see an MIA bracelet on Chris' left hand. His father was a pilot shot down in Viet Nam in 1972.
posted by KAB at 11:51 PM
1 comments
Monday, December 25, 2006
9:05 PM, Christmas Night
The good news is that I don’t have to go back to Cropper tonight. The bad news is that our equipment out there still isn't up, but it's impossible to work in the pitch black dark, not to mention the mud. My last crew is on their way in, but it might take a while because a guy is missing from FOB Stryker (next over from Cropper) and they have check points out all over.
What a thing to happen on Christmas. I hope they find him. Six other US troops died this weekend as well - three MPs and three infantry, I think. And the police reports say they found 38 handcuffed bodies of civilians throughout the city, most of whom I'd wager committed no other crime than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I guess there are no holidays in Iraq. I'll be glad when my guys make it in.
What a thing to happen on Christmas. I hope they find him. Six other US troops died this weekend as well - three MPs and three infantry, I think. And the police reports say they found 38 handcuffed bodies of civilians throughout the city, most of whom I'd wager committed no other crime than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I guess there are no holidays in Iraq. I'll be glad when my guys make it in.
posted by Jack at 12:27 PM
2 comments
A Baghdad Christmas (yes, Virginia....)
I woke up this morning and sat looking at my little Christmas tree, thinking that maybe Santa didn't deliever presents to Iraq. Then I picked up the school picture of Jack that Lisanne sent, and I knew that I was wrong.
Merry Christmas, everyone!!!
Frosty on top of the shelter where several of our vans (comm trailers) are. The barbed wire you see is on the top of a series of 8 foot blast barriers which surround three sides of the site.
Merry Christmas, everyone!!!
Frosty on top of the shelter where several of our vans (comm trailers) are. The barbed wire you see is on the top of a series of 8 foot blast barriers which surround three sides of the site.
posted by Jack at 1:06 AM
1 comments
Working late on Christmas Eve
There was an equipment failure out at Cropper last night so it was quite a late Christmas Eve. Pretty intense over there. I don't think they have any real roads either, just mud between buildings and tents. I saw one blacked-out prisoner bus slide 20 feet through the mud before the frantic driver managed to get it under control. You'd be surprised at all of the US traffic on the roads after dark. Log convoys, mostly - huge flatbeds and tractor trailers covered in mud, grinding through the Christmas night. Needless to say, it's been an exhausting couple of days.
People said things would slow down over the holidays, but I haven't seen it. We heard some shooting in the distance, and there was talk about an incident earlier in the day, but no real action. Just another night in Iraq.
People said things would slow down over the holidays, but I haven't seen it. We heard some shooting in the distance, and there was talk about an incident earlier in the day, but no real action. Just another night in Iraq.
posted by Jack at 12:45 AM
0 comments
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Christmas Past...
So far as work, things seem to go in cycles - and I think this must be the busy part of the cycle. The rain continues on and off, just enough to keep the damn mud from drying up - my trousers are stained a greyish tan half way up the legs due to the dried-on dirt. Christ.
Kid Rock is over at the club. I think I'm too tired. I think I got about 5 hours of sleep in the past three days, ever since this FOB Cropper thing started up. I won't say we almost crashed the humvee, but we did switch drivers a couple times on the way in. I can barely type right now. But it's not a bad tired - more like an anticipatory tired, the way you feel when you know the sleep will be so good. And I guess it's sort of appropriate, the feeling of anticipation on Christmas Eve. I remember so many other Christmases... as kids we always got more toys than we knew what you do with, and the cats would pounce on all of the poor wrapping paper - protecting us from the wrapping paper monster. One year I got a set of soldiers - keith says that I took it way to seriously and that's why I ended up here in Iraq. We all have our theories.
For my first Christmas in the Corps we stole a Christmas tree from a lot late on Christmas Eve, and set it up in a motel room in San Diego (there may have been some beer involved). Then there was the illegal tree we cut from a National Preserve in Japan and smuggled onto the base at Iwakuni. And Christmas on Green Street, with the most Charley Brown tree you ever saw. Christmas with Lisanne was always wonderful - we didn't even realize how lonely we were until Anais came along (well, maybe Lisanne knew...). And now I have a whole family to share Christmas with!!! Christmases shared are the BEST Christmases!
I am going to try and go to sleep early tonight. I will dream of a white Christmas at home, and fall asleep with a smile. I wish I had some Christmas stories to read. Good night. And Merry Christmas.
Kid Rock is over at the club. I think I'm too tired. I think I got about 5 hours of sleep in the past three days, ever since this FOB Cropper thing started up. I won't say we almost crashed the humvee, but we did switch drivers a couple times on the way in. I can barely type right now. But it's not a bad tired - more like an anticipatory tired, the way you feel when you know the sleep will be so good. And I guess it's sort of appropriate, the feeling of anticipation on Christmas Eve. I remember so many other Christmases... as kids we always got more toys than we knew what you do with, and the cats would pounce on all of the poor wrapping paper - protecting us from the wrapping paper monster. One year I got a set of soldiers - keith says that I took it way to seriously and that's why I ended up here in Iraq. We all have our theories.
For my first Christmas in the Corps we stole a Christmas tree from a lot late on Christmas Eve, and set it up in a motel room in San Diego (there may have been some beer involved). Then there was the illegal tree we cut from a National Preserve in Japan and smuggled onto the base at Iwakuni. And Christmas on Green Street, with the most Charley Brown tree you ever saw. Christmas with Lisanne was always wonderful - we didn't even realize how lonely we were until Anais came along (well, maybe Lisanne knew...). And now I have a whole family to share Christmas with!!! Christmases shared are the BEST Christmases!
I am going to try and go to sleep early tonight. I will dream of a white Christmas at home, and fall asleep with a smile. I wish I had some Christmas stories to read. Good night. And Merry Christmas.
posted by Jack at 9:02 AM
4 comments
Friday, December 22, 2006
Bad Morning
The secure network went down at 0430 this morning. That means the knock at the door to my hooch came at about 0445 and informed of the problem. So I get up, pull on my uniform in a half asleep daze, and step outside into the darkness only to have the entire 70% chance of rain dump onto me. And it was cold.
So I run through the mess hall to pick up eggs to go, and head into work. It’s raining even harder now and the box gets soaked – I slip in the damn mud, catch myself, and drop the eggs.
So I run through the mess hall to pick up eggs to go, and head into work. It’s raining even harder now and the box gets soaked – I slip in the damn mud, catch myself, and drop the eggs.
posted by KAB at 8:54 AM
4 comments
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Word for the day
Dictionaries and Thesaurus are two of my favorite types of books. I am fascinated by words. If I am writing for a deadline, it’s actually a bad idea for me to consult either of these tomes, because I always get distracted by this or that interesting word. Here’s my latest distraction, for those of you who wondered:
sa-lep ( n.): the testicles of a fox.
Try using that one in a game of scrabble!! Maybe I will, the next time I am in Detroit.
sa-lep ( n.): the testicles of a fox.
Try using that one in a game of scrabble!! Maybe I will, the next time I am in Detroit.
posted by KAB at 10:46 AM
2 comments
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Some days....
Woke up this morning to the dying scream of the laptop's low battery alert. Another power outage. Went to the shower and it was cold. Hot water heater not working. Lathered up and the water stopped. Need electricity for the pumps. Got to work late, and had to shave out of a cup at my desk. Needed to drive to Victory for a meeting I wasn't prepared for - broke the key off on the ignition. Luckily, it started, but when we got there the meeting location had changed. Truck won't start. Walked around to all of the different conference rooms that I know on Victory before we gave up. Called Maintenance about the truck, but they said they couldn't get their before 1100. At 1115 they showed up, but the tow can't negotiate one of the corners to where out truck is parked. The three of us push our truck through the mud to where the tow is waiting. Filthy and wet. Call for a lift. My guys show up 45 minutes later. I was pissed.
But at least it's not raining any more.
But at least it's not raining any more.
posted by KAB at 1:53 PM
1 comments
Welcome to our Club
A 47 year old female Major was reported killed today. She was from Victory and Chris knew her. Now, of the four of us who hang out together, only John doesn't know someone who didn't make it back.
I am sure Chris will pray for her family. You know that I won’t pray to anyone for anything, but it does make me feel good to know that someone will.
I am sure Chris will pray for her family. You know that I won’t pray to anyone for anything, but it does make me feel good to know that someone will.
posted by KAB at 7:25 AM
0 comments
Monday, December 18, 2006
All quiet on the Eastern Wall
Another dreary day with nothing to report - just busy feeding the adminosphere their daily allotment of paperwork and PowerPoint. Can't win the war without reports!! Ugh.
Actually, today is the first day in over a month that I do not recall hearing any shots or explosions. Isn't it always that way? Just yesterday I was thinking how common the firefights have become, and today they make a liar out of me. I don't think Haji likes the rain.
Looks like I will be staying on base for the foreseeable future - at least through the holidays. I know that makes some of you feel better. That's it for today. I need to get some sleep.
always,
Mark
Actually, today is the first day in over a month that I do not recall hearing any shots or explosions. Isn't it always that way? Just yesterday I was thinking how common the firefights have become, and today they make a liar out of me. I don't think Haji likes the rain.
Looks like I will be staying on base for the foreseeable future - at least through the holidays. I know that makes some of you feel better. That's it for today. I need to get some sleep.
always,
Mark
posted by Jack at 12:28 PM
1 comments
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Silly String
I received one of those packages addressed to any soldier the other day. It had the usual tooth paste and shaving cream and a couple of canned snacks, but also a spray can of Silly String. You know, the kind kids get in trouble for taking to school?
At first I was amused that someone would think that someone would think we’d have a use for such a frivolous item. Then one of the 2-149th guys told me that when they are on patrol and have to go into a darkened room, they spray Silly String across the room to check for trip wires. As it falls to the ground it will drape itself over any wires that might be there; if the whole line of string falls to the ground, it’s safe.
I gave him the can.
At first I was amused that someone would think that someone would think we’d have a use for such a frivolous item. Then one of the 2-149th guys told me that when they are on patrol and have to go into a darkened room, they spray Silly String across the room to check for trip wires. As it falls to the ground it will drape itself over any wires that might be there; if the whole line of string falls to the ground, it’s safe.
I gave him the can.
posted by KAB at 7:49 PM
2 comments
Spin
From the Borowitz Report:
“President George W. Bush said today that he would not allow a civil war in Iraq to erupt on his watch, and said that in order to prevent that from happening the United States would aggressively search for new synonyms for the phrase "civil war.”
More like faith-based sociocide, from my perspective. Yeah, I made that word up.
“President George W. Bush said today that he would not allow a civil war in Iraq to erupt on his watch, and said that in order to prevent that from happening the United States would aggressively search for new synonyms for the phrase "civil war.”
More like faith-based sociocide, from my perspective. Yeah, I made that word up.
posted by Jack at 1:25 AM
1 comments
no title
The one thing I am afraid of here is myself.
Leave approaches. Will I be a disappointment? Always the same expecations... I have let people down so many times before. But I want things to be different this time - I know things will be different, otherwise none of this will have been worth it. Some good has to come out of all of this.
I struggle with the same question now as in the past. My entire life. Who is it I that strive so hard to impress? Who am I so afraid to let down? I wish I knew.
I am tired.
Leave approaches. Will I be a disappointment? Always the same expecations... I have let people down so many times before. But I want things to be different this time - I know things will be different, otherwise none of this will have been worth it. Some good has to come out of all of this.
I struggle with the same question now as in the past. My entire life. Who is it I that strive so hard to impress? Who am I so afraid to let down? I wish I knew.
I am tired.
posted by Jack at 1:19 AM
2 comments
Boy this sucks...
It's been raining here for three days now. I think we're getting our entire annual allotment of .9 inch this week. And it's not even a nice shower, just a sort of heavy drizzle that coalesces into actual rain drops every once in a while. Nothing soaks in, so the ground is slippery like a sheet of dirty ice, and mud is everywhere.
Plus, everywhere smells like dust. I am not kidding - it's a metrological fact that when the clouds are low to the ground all of the dust and dirt in the air that is usually spread throughout the atmosphere is compressed between the clouds and my nose. It's so weird.
Excuse me now, I have to go sweep up now that the mud has had a chance to dry.
Plus, everywhere smells like dust. I am not kidding - it's a metrological fact that when the clouds are low to the ground all of the dust and dirt in the air that is usually spread throughout the atmosphere is compressed between the clouds and my nose. It's so weird.
Excuse me now, I have to go sweep up now that the mud has had a chance to dry.
posted by Jack at 12:07 AM
1 comments
Friday, December 15, 2006
Merry Christmas!!!
This is the coolest Christmas card EVER!!!! Mom & Dad sent them out. Problably sent different ones to all of the brothers, but it's still cool!!!
I showed all the guys and they wish they'd thought of it!!
posted by Jack at 1:03 PM
2 comments
Bumpy ride over Shayke Mazhar
Our George never flies without his seatbelts.
posted by KAB at 8:14 AM
0 comments
Thursday, December 14, 2006
NEWS FLASH
Three rockets just hit ECP 13, which is the check point to get into
Victory/Slayer. Reports are that there is at least one dead. We have
one FSE (Field Service Engineer) out there, so if he doesn't show up by
the time I finish typing I am heading out there.
I just passed there 20 minutes ago.
Victory/Slayer. Reports are that there is at least one dead. We have
one FSE (Field Service Engineer) out there, so if he doesn't show up by
the time I finish typing I am heading out there.
I just passed there 20 minutes ago.
posted by KAB at 8:43 AM
2 comments
The long ride back
It was already 1730 and all of the Ironhorse flights just dropped from the schedule. Shit. There’s no way I want to stay out here another night, but sticking around hoping for Space-A on one of the remaining Catfish Air helos is looking less and less promising. Air flow is always sort of iffy over here, and it can really screw up your plans when you can’t catch a ride.
I drop my pack to think a sec. I am traveling alone, which is in my favor because I don’t have to worry about finding seats for anyone else. I have a can of tomato soup, so I won’t go hungry. And I have my rifle and 120 rounds, so I figure whatever happens I’ll be okay. So how to get back??? Well, I’m not so sure about that yet, but if I can just think…. think… I wish I knew the convoy schedule. What else is there? PSD? Not unless I know someone… How about the parking lot? There are always groups of vehicles forming up there. For sure one of them will be heading towards Liberty Main. Well, anyway, it’s worth a shot.
Ten minutes later I had found my ride – three battered humvees under the command of a grey-haired Sergeant First Class from the Baghdad Division. Like many of the trucks out here, they sported both green and tan livery, as if pieced together from the parts of several different vehicles. In the turrets were two fifties and an M249, a reassuring array of firepower. I suppose it’s sort of sad when you stop to think about it, how being surrounded by devices designed for no other purpose than to kill other human beings can be reassuring. I think too much. Strapped on top of the hoods were coils of razor-sharp concertina wire, while bright orange aerial recognition panels graced the trunks. In addition, one vehicle carried a stretcher, just in case.
The Sergeant offered me the front right seat of the middle humvee, typically reserved for the convoy commander. It’s always a little bit awkward, hitching a ride like this. On one hand, a major is not high enough ranking to be chauffeured around like a general, yet I almost always outrank everyone else. Although I already new the answer, I asked the Sergeant “Are you the convoy commander?” “Yessir.” “Then take the convoy commander’s position, Sergeant.” He smiled and I knew that we’d come to an understanding – this would be a good ride.
By the time we’d passed through the entry control point, dusk had fallen. It was completely dark, and I was a bit un-nerved. It’s very spooky to drive through a darkened city, and, although I knew Baghdad still had power problems, this was something I hadn’t expected. It was almost apocalyptic, like being surrounded by the remnants of some long lost civilization whose inhabitants had mysteriously departed, leaving behind only the flickering shadows of what had been. No one spoke as we continued down the darkened streets, turrets cranking left and right, headlights blazing. This must be how a cat burglar feels, I thought, just at the moment where he’s broken in and is listening to see if he’s alone.
As it turns out, we weren’t entirely alone. Adjusting to the darkness, I could see shadows moving in the alleys and behind curtains in the occasional candle-lit room. Ominously, I also noticed several figures flitting on the rooftops. “There’s someone up there.” “Yeah, I’m tracking…one on the left too. Let one and three know. Lets speed up a bit through here.” “Roger that, bossman - I don’t think I wanna be here any more than they want us here” whispered the driver. “Okay, how about you just drive and I’ll worry about whether anyone wants us here?” “Aw, bossman, don’t be like that….”Whooosh!! A red flare streaks into the sky on the right. “What’s that??! Shit, ‘you see that?” “Okay, okay, don’t get spooked - it’s too far off to be for us, just keep it steady…” “Guns, watch your night vision.” (it takes 15 to 20 minutes for your eyes to fully adjust to the dark, and, once adjusted, gunners are routinely reminded to avoid compromising their vision by looking at bright lights).
Then, in the not too far distance: BAM BAM BAM BAM!! “Guns, let three take it – keep to the left. Don’t open up until you see something. ‘You hear me? What’s goin’ on up there?” “I donno yet… I don’t think it’s for us.” BAM! Thunckathunkathunka!! Tracers streak through the sky several blocks to the right. As we pass the intersection I can see a check point two blocks down, Iraqi’s fighting their own little war. After a minute or two the driver asks “We’re supposed to call in all small arms fire. Should I call that in, Sergeant?” “If you call it in, we’re gonna have to go and check it out. Lets let it rest for now and see what happens.” We drive on.
There are hardly any cars out because of the curfew, and we make good time. We pass a deserted police station. “They blew that one up and we built it right back up. So they blew it up again,” says the grey-haired Sergeant. “I don’t know whose stupider, us or them.” “How long did it take to build the station up?” asks the driver. “I dunno, maybe three months?” “And how long did it take ‘em to blow it up?” What are you getting at, wiseass?” “Just that I think I can tell you whose stupider….” Aw, shut the hell up.”
Here and there we come across patches of electricity where some enterprising soul has installed a generator and scrounged enough gasoline to keep it running. One particularly well-lit but apparently empty villa reminded me for some reason of Nevil Shute’s On the Beach, where the wind-blown shutter is nonsensically tap tap taping against the key of a radio transmitter that someone forgot to turn off, long after the station had been abandoned. “Don’t forget the turn this time, number one” says the Sergeant quietly into the radio.
As soon as we make the turn onto Ar Rabi Street I know something is up. There are lights ahead, shining right at us… a check point. Check points are always tense, and even more so at night. “Bobby, do we have a CP out here tonight?” “I don’t know, Sergeant. They won’t answer on Guard and I can’t raise the Sheriff” All three humvees slow to a crawl. “Can you tell if they’re ours?” “I can’t see…” The Sergeant makes the call: “Guns forward.” Even I know that this is a dangerous move. Pointing weapons at a checkpoint might be considered a hostile act, and there are no warning shots out here. On the other hand, you don’t want to be caught in a situation and not have your weapons ready.
Reacting to the movement of the turrets, a small searchlight instantly floods light onto the humvees. We stop, and for a minute the city fades into silence. “Steady, guns.…” I hear the quiet tread of boots approaching. There are two of them, one to ask questions, and one to provide cover. Finally, they step into the light. I notice the AK and start to take the safety off my pistol just as the first figure speaks. And at the last possible moment my ears hear (in the most beautiful and most welcome Southern drawl imaginable) “You guys gave us a scare. Why din’t y’all call?” A wave of relief as the tension evaporates - it’s a joint check point, manned by US soldiers and blue-suited Iraqi troops from the Ministry of the Interior. “We did, but we couldn’t raise you or the Sheriff either.” “Well, the road should be clear at least as far as Irish [Route Irish]. Y’all have a good evening. Do ya need some water?” “No. Thanks. We’re heading in.”
With a wave, we pulled out and started to make our way out to the main highway. It wasn’t too far from where we were, but I was still a little spooked, and it was still mostly dark in the city. I am usually nervous around Iraqis with weapons, but I have to admit that night even I was relieved to finally spot the little Iraqi Army outpost guarding the on-ramp to the MSR. It turns out that the Deadliest Road in the World wasn’t so deadly that night, and the rest of the ride wasn’t even all that exciting. Peace.
I drop my pack to think a sec. I am traveling alone, which is in my favor because I don’t have to worry about finding seats for anyone else. I have a can of tomato soup, so I won’t go hungry. And I have my rifle and 120 rounds, so I figure whatever happens I’ll be okay. So how to get back??? Well, I’m not so sure about that yet, but if I can just think…. think… I wish I knew the convoy schedule. What else is there? PSD? Not unless I know someone… How about the parking lot? There are always groups of vehicles forming up there. For sure one of them will be heading towards Liberty Main. Well, anyway, it’s worth a shot.
Ten minutes later I had found my ride – three battered humvees under the command of a grey-haired Sergeant First Class from the Baghdad Division. Like many of the trucks out here, they sported both green and tan livery, as if pieced together from the parts of several different vehicles. In the turrets were two fifties and an M249, a reassuring array of firepower. I suppose it’s sort of sad when you stop to think about it, how being surrounded by devices designed for no other purpose than to kill other human beings can be reassuring. I think too much. Strapped on top of the hoods were coils of razor-sharp concertina wire, while bright orange aerial recognition panels graced the trunks. In addition, one vehicle carried a stretcher, just in case.
The Sergeant offered me the front right seat of the middle humvee, typically reserved for the convoy commander. It’s always a little bit awkward, hitching a ride like this. On one hand, a major is not high enough ranking to be chauffeured around like a general, yet I almost always outrank everyone else. Although I already new the answer, I asked the Sergeant “Are you the convoy commander?” “Yessir.” “Then take the convoy commander’s position, Sergeant.” He smiled and I knew that we’d come to an understanding – this would be a good ride.
By the time we’d passed through the entry control point, dusk had fallen. It was completely dark, and I was a bit un-nerved. It’s very spooky to drive through a darkened city, and, although I knew Baghdad still had power problems, this was something I hadn’t expected. It was almost apocalyptic, like being surrounded by the remnants of some long lost civilization whose inhabitants had mysteriously departed, leaving behind only the flickering shadows of what had been. No one spoke as we continued down the darkened streets, turrets cranking left and right, headlights blazing. This must be how a cat burglar feels, I thought, just at the moment where he’s broken in and is listening to see if he’s alone.
As it turns out, we weren’t entirely alone. Adjusting to the darkness, I could see shadows moving in the alleys and behind curtains in the occasional candle-lit room. Ominously, I also noticed several figures flitting on the rooftops. “There’s someone up there.” “Yeah, I’m tracking…one on the left too. Let one and three know. Lets speed up a bit through here.” “Roger that, bossman - I don’t think I wanna be here any more than they want us here” whispered the driver. “Okay, how about you just drive and I’ll worry about whether anyone wants us here?” “Aw, bossman, don’t be like that….”Whooosh!! A red flare streaks into the sky on the right. “What’s that??! Shit, ‘you see that?” “Okay, okay, don’t get spooked - it’s too far off to be for us, just keep it steady…” “Guns, watch your night vision.” (it takes 15 to 20 minutes for your eyes to fully adjust to the dark, and, once adjusted, gunners are routinely reminded to avoid compromising their vision by looking at bright lights).
Then, in the not too far distance: BAM BAM BAM BAM!! “Guns, let three take it – keep to the left. Don’t open up until you see something. ‘You hear me? What’s goin’ on up there?” “I donno yet… I don’t think it’s for us.” BAM! Thunckathunkathunka!! Tracers streak through the sky several blocks to the right. As we pass the intersection I can see a check point two blocks down, Iraqi’s fighting their own little war. After a minute or two the driver asks “We’re supposed to call in all small arms fire. Should I call that in, Sergeant?” “If you call it in, we’re gonna have to go and check it out. Lets let it rest for now and see what happens.” We drive on.
There are hardly any cars out because of the curfew, and we make good time. We pass a deserted police station. “They blew that one up and we built it right back up. So they blew it up again,” says the grey-haired Sergeant. “I don’t know whose stupider, us or them.” “How long did it take to build the station up?” asks the driver. “I dunno, maybe three months?” “And how long did it take ‘em to blow it up?” What are you getting at, wiseass?” “Just that I think I can tell you whose stupider….” Aw, shut the hell up.”
Here and there we come across patches of electricity where some enterprising soul has installed a generator and scrounged enough gasoline to keep it running. One particularly well-lit but apparently empty villa reminded me for some reason of Nevil Shute’s On the Beach, where the wind-blown shutter is nonsensically tap tap taping against the key of a radio transmitter that someone forgot to turn off, long after the station had been abandoned. “Don’t forget the turn this time, number one” says the Sergeant quietly into the radio.
As soon as we make the turn onto Ar Rabi Street I know something is up. There are lights ahead, shining right at us… a check point. Check points are always tense, and even more so at night. “Bobby, do we have a CP out here tonight?” “I don’t know, Sergeant. They won’t answer on Guard and I can’t raise the Sheriff” All three humvees slow to a crawl. “Can you tell if they’re ours?” “I can’t see…” The Sergeant makes the call: “Guns forward.” Even I know that this is a dangerous move. Pointing weapons at a checkpoint might be considered a hostile act, and there are no warning shots out here. On the other hand, you don’t want to be caught in a situation and not have your weapons ready.
Reacting to the movement of the turrets, a small searchlight instantly floods light onto the humvees. We stop, and for a minute the city fades into silence. “Steady, guns.…” I hear the quiet tread of boots approaching. There are two of them, one to ask questions, and one to provide cover. Finally, they step into the light. I notice the AK and start to take the safety off my pistol just as the first figure speaks. And at the last possible moment my ears hear (in the most beautiful and most welcome Southern drawl imaginable) “You guys gave us a scare. Why din’t y’all call?” A wave of relief as the tension evaporates - it’s a joint check point, manned by US soldiers and blue-suited Iraqi troops from the Ministry of the Interior. “We did, but we couldn’t raise you or the Sheriff either.” “Well, the road should be clear at least as far as Irish [Route Irish]. Y’all have a good evening. Do ya need some water?” “No. Thanks. We’re heading in.”
With a wave, we pulled out and started to make our way out to the main highway. It wasn’t too far from where we were, but I was still a little spooked, and it was still mostly dark in the city. I am usually nervous around Iraqis with weapons, but I have to admit that night even I was relieved to finally spot the little Iraqi Army outpost guarding the on-ramp to the MSR. It turns out that the Deadliest Road in the World wasn’t so deadly that night, and the rest of the ride wasn’t even all that exciting. Peace.
posted by KAB at 7:58 AM
1 comments
Pogs
At Camps Slayer and Victory, these cardboard "pogs" are used instead of small change. You have to be careful when you pay for something on base or you end up with a pocket full of pogs.
posted by KAB at 7:54 AM
0 comments
Mark's New Mail Address
Effective immediatly, Marks new mail address is:
Major Mark M. Binkowski
MNF-I C2 Support
Unit 42002
APO AE 09342-2002
Major Mark M. Binkowski
MNF-I C2 Support
Unit 42002
APO AE 09342-2002
posted by KAB at 7:36 AM
1 comments
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
More Christmas!!!
ANOTHER CHRISTMAS TREE!!! Another tree arrived today – this one sent by Keith, although I wouldn’t have known it if his name wasn’t on the receipt. It has white light, very classy. This one will go on my desk at work to cheer every one. I think I’ll set it out on the table when Chef and I bring in the meats on Christmas Eve. People are departing for Christmas leave and it’s starting to look a lot like Christmas. THANK YOU!
posted by KAB at 7:30 AM
1 comments
My buddy Jose
I went to visit Jose today. Jose was in my flight at Officer’s Training School, back at Maxwell in ’95. Soft-spoken, prior enlisted, pretty sharp guy. He might be a year older than me. He’s getting out of here early - ‘leaving for Germany tomorrow. We spent about an hour and a half together. In his own words, as much as I can remember them, here’s the story he told me:
“You know, the Army doesn’t really have weather guys, so the Air force does their weather for them. I bet half of my career, I have been stationed with the Army. So I was with the XX Brigade Combat Team up near Mosul, and I was the Field Paying Agent. That means I was in charge of the petty cash – like when we needed to buy something on the economy. Lumber, sandbags, anything. Even food, sometimes. They wouldn’t take credit cards, buy they took American money. Anyway, I had to go and pick up a satchel of money at our parent FOB.
“There were five vehicles in the convoy, two gun trucks, two humvees, and a five ton. We were in the middle, with one gun truck in front and one bringing up the rear. You know, it’s the guys up top on the guns that decide every firefight. If they’re good, it’s all over real quick. But if they’re not so good it can drag on and on…
“We had the usual rock drill [rehearsal] before hand, but it didn’t seem to make much difference in the end. So we rolled, just like we always did. A little tense, but mostly boring. In my truck we had the driver, I was sitting behind him, and another guy in the front passenger seat. I didn’t know him. And then three clicks come over the radio, one… two… three, and WHOOSH! I didn’t know what happened… I felt pressure, but blacked out almost immediately. I remember not being able to hear, and seeing only black. It seemed to last forever, and then I thought I was dead. You know how your mind works so fast in a situation like that, so that time seems to slow down? It was like I was floating… floating in time. So I asked, if I’m dead, where’s Jesus?
“And in response someone shouted way far away “stop the truck!!!” But I still didn’t get it, I still wasn’t real sure what had happened. “Stop the truck!! Stop the truck!! And I opened my eyes because the shouting was so loud now and I was covered in blood. We were still moving but the driver was slumped back against the chair with his head back, not holding the wheel. His helmet was broken and hanging down. So I wiggled between the seats and saw that his left eye was just hanging out… hanging like by strings, or something. It was squished, mush. It was just mush and he didn’t have a cheek at all and blood was filling the hole in his face and coming out of his mouth and this huge hole in his face in little pulses. And we were still going and we’d run over something in the road and he’d gurgle and all this blood would spill out of his mouth and out of his hole.
“It seemed like forever… it was all in slow motion. His foot was still on the pedal but I couldn’t see where we were going because there was so much blood on everything. It was on the inside of the window and all over the chair and the cushion was soaked …it was very slippery. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to do something, so I reached down and pulled on his pants leg to get his foot off of the gas, and the racing noise of the engine died down and it got quiet. I put my hand on his face, under the eye, to try and stop the bleeding, but it didn’t do much good. And then the medic and a couple others finally caught up and pulled open the door and the medic yelled at me “Here! Put this on him” and I held the whole bandage against his face with my hand because I couldn’t figure out how to tie it. I yelled at the medic but he was busy with the others and the passenger was just curled up - I wasn’t sure if he was hurt or not.
“Finally, they got us out, and into another truck. Our humvee had taken an IED full on. The whole door was caved in, the tires were gone, and the bullet proof glass was busted. It was one of the up-armored humvees, otherwise I think we all would have been killed. The driver was conscious, but having trouble breathing. They put him in the front gun truck and me in the one in back, and I blacked out again. They say the five ton broke down on the way in and had to be towed, but I don’t remember that. They air evac’ed the driver to Baghdad and I think he was okay in the end. My face was all black. I didn’t even know I’d been hit. I had five wounds on the left side, and one on my neck, here. Just yesterday a piece of shrapnel or concrete or something worked its way out, but that’s okay ‘cause the doctor said it would happen. Oh, did I tell you about my glasses? I had on polycarb ballistic eyewear and they saved them to show me afterwards – there are pieces of metal and glass embedded in the plastic. ‘Probably saved my eyes, but I am not sure if I’ll ever get all of my hearing back though. Maggie’s going to meet me tomorrow when I get in, but not the kids. Not yet…”
We talked some more. He remembered Anais and asked about her. But in the end, what can you say to a story like that? Gee, sorry it happened to you? After a while I had to leave. We shook hands and he wished me luck. “Why?” I asked? “It seems to me you’re the one who could use a little luck.” “But you’re the one staying” he replied.
“You know, the Army doesn’t really have weather guys, so the Air force does their weather for them. I bet half of my career, I have been stationed with the Army. So I was with the XX Brigade Combat Team up near Mosul, and I was the Field Paying Agent. That means I was in charge of the petty cash – like when we needed to buy something on the economy. Lumber, sandbags, anything. Even food, sometimes. They wouldn’t take credit cards, buy they took American money. Anyway, I had to go and pick up a satchel of money at our parent FOB.
“There were five vehicles in the convoy, two gun trucks, two humvees, and a five ton. We were in the middle, with one gun truck in front and one bringing up the rear. You know, it’s the guys up top on the guns that decide every firefight. If they’re good, it’s all over real quick. But if they’re not so good it can drag on and on…
“We had the usual rock drill [rehearsal] before hand, but it didn’t seem to make much difference in the end. So we rolled, just like we always did. A little tense, but mostly boring. In my truck we had the driver, I was sitting behind him, and another guy in the front passenger seat. I didn’t know him. And then three clicks come over the radio, one… two… three, and WHOOSH! I didn’t know what happened… I felt pressure, but blacked out almost immediately. I remember not being able to hear, and seeing only black. It seemed to last forever, and then I thought I was dead. You know how your mind works so fast in a situation like that, so that time seems to slow down? It was like I was floating… floating in time. So I asked, if I’m dead, where’s Jesus?
“And in response someone shouted way far away “stop the truck!!!” But I still didn’t get it, I still wasn’t real sure what had happened. “Stop the truck!! Stop the truck!! And I opened my eyes because the shouting was so loud now and I was covered in blood. We were still moving but the driver was slumped back against the chair with his head back, not holding the wheel. His helmet was broken and hanging down. So I wiggled between the seats and saw that his left eye was just hanging out… hanging like by strings, or something. It was squished, mush. It was just mush and he didn’t have a cheek at all and blood was filling the hole in his face and coming out of his mouth and this huge hole in his face in little pulses. And we were still going and we’d run over something in the road and he’d gurgle and all this blood would spill out of his mouth and out of his hole.
“It seemed like forever… it was all in slow motion. His foot was still on the pedal but I couldn’t see where we were going because there was so much blood on everything. It was on the inside of the window and all over the chair and the cushion was soaked …it was very slippery. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to do something, so I reached down and pulled on his pants leg to get his foot off of the gas, and the racing noise of the engine died down and it got quiet. I put my hand on his face, under the eye, to try and stop the bleeding, but it didn’t do much good. And then the medic and a couple others finally caught up and pulled open the door and the medic yelled at me “Here! Put this on him” and I held the whole bandage against his face with my hand because I couldn’t figure out how to tie it. I yelled at the medic but he was busy with the others and the passenger was just curled up - I wasn’t sure if he was hurt or not.
“Finally, they got us out, and into another truck. Our humvee had taken an IED full on. The whole door was caved in, the tires were gone, and the bullet proof glass was busted. It was one of the up-armored humvees, otherwise I think we all would have been killed. The driver was conscious, but having trouble breathing. They put him in the front gun truck and me in the one in back, and I blacked out again. They say the five ton broke down on the way in and had to be towed, but I don’t remember that. They air evac’ed the driver to Baghdad and I think he was okay in the end. My face was all black. I didn’t even know I’d been hit. I had five wounds on the left side, and one on my neck, here. Just yesterday a piece of shrapnel or concrete or something worked its way out, but that’s okay ‘cause the doctor said it would happen. Oh, did I tell you about my glasses? I had on polycarb ballistic eyewear and they saved them to show me afterwards – there are pieces of metal and glass embedded in the plastic. ‘Probably saved my eyes, but I am not sure if I’ll ever get all of my hearing back though. Maggie’s going to meet me tomorrow when I get in, but not the kids. Not yet…”
We talked some more. He remembered Anais and asked about her. But in the end, what can you say to a story like that? Gee, sorry it happened to you? After a while I had to leave. We shook hands and he wished me luck. “Why?” I asked? “It seems to me you’re the one who could use a little luck.” “But you’re the one staying” he replied.
posted by KAB at 7:25 AM
4 comments
Monday, December 11, 2006
Ramblings
I think my writing has become pedantic. Observation, memory, guilt, sorry. Over and over.
I just read Mary Paddock’s blog on writing and it has got me thinking. Sometimes I don’t like writing. I used to think that I was a pretty good writer, I had aspirations, even, although I never really put the effort into it. I had always intended to give it a try though. But if a man is what he does, that is, what he produces, then I have to say that this blog has been an eye opener. And I am disappointed.
If a builder builds a crappy house, then he’s a crappy builder, right? But what if the builder builds crappy houses not because he’s a crappy builder, but because he has ten families waiting to move into their new houses? And it’s raining? What then? Is there a special dispensation for building crappy houses quickly, as opposed to building quality houses slowly, if it puts a roof over ten family’s heads before winter?
I suppose the issue is one of efficiency, which I have come to define as the trade off between time and perfection. Writing does not come easy to me. It takes time, a lot of time even, if I am to satisfy myself that what I write is the best I can do. But this is the real world, and between 12 and 14 hour work days, chow, and PT, there really isn’t that much left for writing. I get frustrated, don’t write well when I am tired, and I don’t tend to do so well when I feel I’m under pressure either.
Oh, I can craft a sentence, and when I take my time I know my writing is certainly passable; consistent, well organized, occasionally even entertaining… but more often than not, I don’t have time. Heck, I haven’t even found the time to go and pick up my laundry this past week. But that’s a purely practical matter – I am not invested in my laundry they way I am my writing. And so I feel bad when I read something and I know that I could have done better. I have even sent Kraig revisions of pieces already published, and asked him to swap them out (sometimes several times!- he is very understanding).
So where am I going with this? The funny thing is, I am not sure. I am not sure if I am making some type of excuse, or apologizing to someone, or maybe just indulging in a personal pity-fest, rationalizing why my writing is not better. It’s something I was always proud of, and I suppose I am embarrassed with some of the entries. I tell myself that I’ll go back after I get home and clean this whole thing up. Maybe print it out and save it for when Jack gets older and asks “What did you do in the war, Daddy?” But I have been saying the same thing about half of the essays I did as an undergrad at U.of M. for over a decade now. How time flies. (by the way, Lisanne and Kelly, I still appreciate you typing those essays for me).
Okay, there’s the thing, the big summation where I make some brilliant generalization. Don’t expect excellence here. I write fast, sometimes just to get something out to let everyone know that I’m okay, sometimes because I’m tired, and sometimes because I have no choice. I know the writing itself is rough, and but maybe the topics themselves are interesting enough to carry the piece. Sometimes. I’m not advertising the Great American Novel here. But in the end, it is what it is. Sorry.
(See? I told you it was getting pedantic)
I just read Mary Paddock’s blog on writing and it has got me thinking. Sometimes I don’t like writing. I used to think that I was a pretty good writer, I had aspirations, even, although I never really put the effort into it. I had always intended to give it a try though. But if a man is what he does, that is, what he produces, then I have to say that this blog has been an eye opener. And I am disappointed.
If a builder builds a crappy house, then he’s a crappy builder, right? But what if the builder builds crappy houses not because he’s a crappy builder, but because he has ten families waiting to move into their new houses? And it’s raining? What then? Is there a special dispensation for building crappy houses quickly, as opposed to building quality houses slowly, if it puts a roof over ten family’s heads before winter?
I suppose the issue is one of efficiency, which I have come to define as the trade off between time and perfection. Writing does not come easy to me. It takes time, a lot of time even, if I am to satisfy myself that what I write is the best I can do. But this is the real world, and between 12 and 14 hour work days, chow, and PT, there really isn’t that much left for writing. I get frustrated, don’t write well when I am tired, and I don’t tend to do so well when I feel I’m under pressure either.
Oh, I can craft a sentence, and when I take my time I know my writing is certainly passable; consistent, well organized, occasionally even entertaining… but more often than not, I don’t have time. Heck, I haven’t even found the time to go and pick up my laundry this past week. But that’s a purely practical matter – I am not invested in my laundry they way I am my writing. And so I feel bad when I read something and I know that I could have done better. I have even sent Kraig revisions of pieces already published, and asked him to swap them out (sometimes several times!- he is very understanding).
So where am I going with this? The funny thing is, I am not sure. I am not sure if I am making some type of excuse, or apologizing to someone, or maybe just indulging in a personal pity-fest, rationalizing why my writing is not better. It’s something I was always proud of, and I suppose I am embarrassed with some of the entries. I tell myself that I’ll go back after I get home and clean this whole thing up. Maybe print it out and save it for when Jack gets older and asks “What did you do in the war, Daddy?” But I have been saying the same thing about half of the essays I did as an undergrad at U.of M. for over a decade now. How time flies. (by the way, Lisanne and Kelly, I still appreciate you typing those essays for me).
Okay, there’s the thing, the big summation where I make some brilliant generalization. Don’t expect excellence here. I write fast, sometimes just to get something out to let everyone know that I’m okay, sometimes because I’m tired, and sometimes because I have no choice. I know the writing itself is rough, and but maybe the topics themselves are interesting enough to carry the piece. Sometimes. I’m not advertising the Great American Novel here. But in the end, it is what it is. Sorry.
(See? I told you it was getting pedantic)
posted by KAB at 9:07 AM
5 comments
December 10th!!!
That means one month until I go on leave!!!!! Actually, the start of my leave will actually depend upon air flow outta this place, but I requested the 10 January so to me it's one month.
I can't wait!!!
I can't wait!!!
posted by Jack at 1:00 AM
1 comments
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Frustration!!!
Warning: Venting going on ahead.
Most of my crappy days are caused by my boss. She can’t help it - she's just stupid. I have often wondered how she could ever graduate from college, let alone rise to a position of responsibility. Really. She has no sense of the conceptual, cannot think in the future tense, and does not grasp the relationship between the big picture and what any of us do on a day-to-day basis. She also has the extremely annoying habit of expecting you to figure out what she wants without telling you – she has literally said to me that I should know what she wants – I’m gonna risk a sexist comment here, but that’s so damn female. If you want something from me, TELL ME. You don't know how hard it has been not to write about her, and to tell the truth, the only reason I have not done so previously is because I didn’t think anyone would want to read it. In the end, the need for catharsis wins out over concerns for the reader’s interest. Oh well.
Most of my crappy days are caused by my boss. She can’t help it - she's just stupid. I have often wondered how she could ever graduate from college, let alone rise to a position of responsibility. Really. She has no sense of the conceptual, cannot think in the future tense, and does not grasp the relationship between the big picture and what any of us do on a day-to-day basis. She also has the extremely annoying habit of expecting you to figure out what she wants without telling you – she has literally said to me that I should know what she wants – I’m gonna risk a sexist comment here, but that’s so damn female. If you want something from me, TELL ME. You don't know how hard it has been not to write about her, and to tell the truth, the only reason I have not done so previously is because I didn’t think anyone would want to read it. In the end, the need for catharsis wins out over concerns for the reader’s interest. Oh well.
posted by KAB at 7:35 AM
7 comments
Are you there, Brent?
My roommate has been gone for about four days. His side of the room looks neater than normal, like he knew that he was leaving, but I wonder why he didn’t say anything? Usually we leave each other notes, just so the other won’t worry. Last time he was in Kirkuk for five days, doing who knows what. He’s a secret squirrelly type of guy (that’s what we call the guys whose job is to sit and listen in on the bad guys), so he can’t talk about a lot of what he actually does.
I suppose he’ll be back soon.
I suppose he’ll be back soon.
posted by KAB at 7:33 AM
4 comments
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Update
This has been a bad day for the Victory Base Complex, of which Slayer is a part. The Hill got hit pretty hard, but I don't think I know anyone on the casualty list as a new unit just recently took over. So far the total since lunch is 18 WIA, 1 KIA, two vehicles and two generators destroyed. I would rather they shot up more trucks and generators, and less people.
I am still safe.
I am still safe.
posted by Jack at 10:34 AM
2 comments
Camp Victory
In case you see it on the news: Victory got hit by at least three large rockets earlier today. They hit in the mess hall parking lot during lunch and there were casualties. Not a huge amount, but several, plus some others treated at the scene. The damn gunships showed up overhead about 10 minutes later.
I had business at Victory for most of the day. I was on the other side of the mess hall heading back toward Al Faw Palace when they hit. I am fine.
I had business at Victory for most of the day. I was on the other side of the mess hall heading back toward Al Faw Palace when they hit. I am fine.
posted by Jack at 7:37 AM
0 comments
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Reading
I have been an avid reader since elementary school. In fact, I think the word ”avid” does my passion an injustice: I love reading. It’s my escape. Little House on the Prairie by Laura Engels was my first book. I remember rushing through my assignments in Mrs. Ketry’s fourth-grade class just so I could have enough time to read a page or two between lessons. Several times I even got in trouble for reading in class, say, when I was supposed to be doing long division. But I really don’t think Mrs. Ketry minded so much – it wasn’t like I was passing notes or shooting spitballs (although there was that too).
I read a lot here. I was never too into TV or movies, although bootleg copies of almost anything you can imagine are available over on Razorback. So my relaxation is reading. My escape. By reading, I can at once expand my horizons, and curl up inside of myself. Every evening after I get to the hooch I peruse the Stars and Stripes and then settle down with a good book. Oh, I may sweep the floor, or write a bit on the computer or even stretch and do some push ups, but reading is my constant. Right now I am reading Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers K., Alexander Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, and a new novel, The Good German (cannot recall the author, but he also wrote Los Alamos).
What I read pretty much depends upon my mood, but I do tend to avoid books about Iraq and the Middle East. I started Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom, but just couldn’t get into it. That’s almost funny, since this region was my area of concentration for my masters degree (International Relations) - I suppose being here tends to dull the interest a bit. My current favorites all seem to take me away from here.
I wish I was away from here.
I read a lot here. I was never too into TV or movies, although bootleg copies of almost anything you can imagine are available over on Razorback. So my relaxation is reading. My escape. By reading, I can at once expand my horizons, and curl up inside of myself. Every evening after I get to the hooch I peruse the Stars and Stripes and then settle down with a good book. Oh, I may sweep the floor, or write a bit on the computer or even stretch and do some push ups, but reading is my constant. Right now I am reading Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers K., Alexander Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, and a new novel, The Good German (cannot recall the author, but he also wrote Los Alamos).
What I read pretty much depends upon my mood, but I do tend to avoid books about Iraq and the Middle East. I started Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom, but just couldn’t get into it. That’s almost funny, since this region was my area of concentration for my masters degree (International Relations) - I suppose being here tends to dull the interest a bit. My current favorites all seem to take me away from here.
I wish I was away from here.
posted by KAB at 12:22 PM
1 comments
IP hand signals
IP stands for Iraqi Police, a type of National Police Force they have
here. They drive around mostly in pick up trucks, terrorizing everyone
within range. Their typical reaction to coming under fire is called
"spray and pray," where they fire widely and pray to hit something.
Here are some standard IP hand signals.
Aim for the ass.
Shut up a second
You first.
Jesus Christ! they're shooting at us.
Shit, I think he was on our side.
My bad.
here. They drive around mostly in pick up trucks, terrorizing everyone
within range. Their typical reaction to coming under fire is called
"spray and pray," where they fire widely and pray to hit something.
Here are some standard IP hand signals.
Aim for the ass.
Shut up a second
You first.
Jesus Christ! they're shooting at us.
Shit, I think he was on our side.
My bad.
posted by KAB at 12:02 PM
3 comments
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Jim Lehrer responds
Responding to Mark's letter thanking him [Thank you, Jim Lehrer- see post below], Jim Lehrer writes:
Dear Kraig Binkowski:
Thank you so much for sharing your brother's e-mail with me. It was a crowning affirmation moment for me and my NewsHour colleagues that we will never forget.
Please pass on our best to him. Wish him well and tell him how much his reactions to our Honor Roll meant to us. And, most of all, thank him for his service.
My best always to you, too.
Jim Lehrer
Dear Kraig Binkowski:
Thank you so much for sharing your brother's e-mail with me. It was a crowning affirmation moment for me and my NewsHour colleagues that we will never forget.
Please pass on our best to him. Wish him well and tell him how much his reactions to our Honor Roll meant to us. And, most of all, thank him for his service.
My best always to you, too.
Jim Lehrer
posted by KAB at 8:12 AM
1 comments
Christmas in a box (or two)
Yesterday I received two boxes in the mail. One was a very LARGE one from Shelleigh and Sharon in Arizona, and the other was a very heavy box from Steve Krim.
The first box contained a small Christmas tree, lights, ornaments, pine cones, candy canes, a Christmas mug, and a candle, which we are unfortunately not allowed to have in the hooches. I put up the tree in my room the very next night, and it looks great sitting on my night stand with my books - I turn it on every night. And this all from two women that I have never met, and who know me only from reading Kraig’s blog. It was a VERY generous gesture and I thank you for it. Perhaps we will meet one day so I can thank you in person.
Steve sent a box of meats and cheeses. They were all cured or smoked or jerkied (if that’s a word) so they didn’t need to be refrigerated. It must have cost a small fortune to put all of this together, and another to send it!!! We ate the elk jerky and the venison sausage the first night, but I took the rest to the hooch to save for Christmas. Chef said he’s going to get some more cheeses and a nice platter and I’ll buy some crackers and we’re going to bring it to the Palace on Christmas Eve.
I also received some much-needed socks from Mom and Dad, and new clothes for George and his as-yet unnamed companion (we were calling her Hussie Plushie, but decided that wasn’t quite appropriate). So keep an eye out for more pictures of the bears!!! THANK YOU EVERYONE!!!
The first box contained a small Christmas tree, lights, ornaments, pine cones, candy canes, a Christmas mug, and a candle, which we are unfortunately not allowed to have in the hooches. I put up the tree in my room the very next night, and it looks great sitting on my night stand with my books - I turn it on every night. And this all from two women that I have never met, and who know me only from reading Kraig’s blog. It was a VERY generous gesture and I thank you for it. Perhaps we will meet one day so I can thank you in person.
Steve sent a box of meats and cheeses. They were all cured or smoked or jerkied (if that’s a word) so they didn’t need to be refrigerated. It must have cost a small fortune to put all of this together, and another to send it!!! We ate the elk jerky and the venison sausage the first night, but I took the rest to the hooch to save for Christmas. Chef said he’s going to get some more cheeses and a nice platter and I’ll buy some crackers and we’re going to bring it to the Palace on Christmas Eve.
I also received some much-needed socks from Mom and Dad, and new clothes for George and his as-yet unnamed companion (we were calling her Hussie Plushie, but decided that wasn’t quite appropriate). So keep an eye out for more pictures of the bears!!! THANK YOU EVERYONE!!!
posted by KAB at 7:57 AM
2 comments
My quandary (in response to people worrying too much about me)
Writers, like tabloid reporters and the neighborhood gossip, have an agenda. Think about it: writing is the creation of that which is read. Writing for writing’s own sake is a fallacy. If it’s not read, it doesn’t exist, at least not in an ontological sense. But to be read, it must capture the interest of the reader. Herein lies the basic contradiction of this blog: war is boring – my life is boring. So what to write? write about the things we think others want to hear. The war, my life, my feelings and reactions certainly. I am lucky (in that respect) to be here, seeing and experiencing things that are in many ways so outside of the mainstream as to be interesting to others. A route reconnaissance, pulling cable in the middle of the night, someone being hurt… true stories, but not typical stories. I spend most of the day, every day, in an office, writing technical solutions or trying to figure out how to best allocate storage space on a server. I could post that, I suppose, but I think that even my family, who probably have a greater interest in what I do than anyone else, would rapidly lose interest.
And so I write about Baghdad, and the 10th CSH, and a long ride down Route Irish. These things are the exception. Sure, it can be dangerous over here. People are killed every single day, especially Iraqi people. And I feel guilty about that, but it doesn’t change the fact that the danger, for most Americans and even for most Iraqis, is something we see from a distance rather than experience first hand. I have fired a weapon in anger only twice in almost eight months, and that is probably more than most soldiers do their entire time over here. I am sure that statement wouldn’t apply to the infantry, or even the police, but they are the exception. The tip of the spear forms only a small portion of the entire spear, you know what I mean?
My life is different, sure, but not that dangerous. At least not in a relative sort of way. It pains me to think that what I write might cause anyone to worry about me, or to worry more. I am a Fobbit, remember? A regular Bob-on-the-FOB. Don’t worry about me.
Maybe I just won’t write for a while.
And so I write about Baghdad, and the 10th CSH, and a long ride down Route Irish. These things are the exception. Sure, it can be dangerous over here. People are killed every single day, especially Iraqi people. And I feel guilty about that, but it doesn’t change the fact that the danger, for most Americans and even for most Iraqis, is something we see from a distance rather than experience first hand. I have fired a weapon in anger only twice in almost eight months, and that is probably more than most soldiers do their entire time over here. I am sure that statement wouldn’t apply to the infantry, or even the police, but they are the exception. The tip of the spear forms only a small portion of the entire spear, you know what I mean?
My life is different, sure, but not that dangerous. At least not in a relative sort of way. It pains me to think that what I write might cause anyone to worry about me, or to worry more. I am a Fobbit, remember? A regular Bob-on-the-FOB. Don’t worry about me.
Maybe I just won’t write for a while.
posted by KAB at 7:53 AM
2 comments
First email...
All of the worrying I do, and this is the first email in 6 days that I get from Lisanne. Okay, well maybe it was only two days, but jeez. And she had me going for a minute too...
"Well, we finally got back our power about 7:30 last night and the phone/cable back about 45 minutes ago. Everything is fine. We have a kick-ass generator now. Nothing lost in the basement - all is well. Yes, we were very cold and huddled in the living room. Jack and I played chess (he's very good) and read books and just hung out. You asked if we had a bunch of candles lit all over the place for light. I know how you feel about candles, so instead of candles, I had open bowls of gasoline, which we lit and used for light. The fumes had us hallucinating - but you know - I just didn't want to risk using candles."
Talanted, good looking, and a sense of humor too!
Well, at least everything is okay.
"Well, we finally got back our power about 7:30 last night and the phone/cable back about 45 minutes ago. Everything is fine. We have a kick-ass generator now. Nothing lost in the basement - all is well. Yes, we were very cold and huddled in the living room. Jack and I played chess (he's very good) and read books and just hung out. You asked if we had a bunch of candles lit all over the place for light. I know how you feel about candles, so instead of candles, I had open bowls of gasoline, which we lit and used for light. The fumes had us hallucinating - but you know - I just didn't want to risk using candles."
Talanted, good looking, and a sense of humor too!
Well, at least everything is okay.
posted by Jack at 6:05 AM
2 comments
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Worried
St Louis got hit by an ice storm two days ago. That was okay, but I got a little worried when I couldn't get through on the phone. Then I got even more worried when I couldn't get through the second day. Then my brother relayed a message from Mom that the power was out, the basement was flooded, and there was some damage. But not to worry!!! Right.
Well, after 448 attempted phone calls (each only slightly more frantic than the one previous) I was finally able to get through to Jen, our next door neighbor, who is apparently the only one in the neighborhood with an operable telephone. I imagine she's quite popular. Anyway, it turns out the flood wasn't soooo bad, the fireplace keeps the house nice and cosy while the furnace is out, and we own a new $800.00 generator. (NOTE TO SELF: I'm glad I chopped all that wood before I left)
It turns out the that whole neighborhood pitched in. Poor Bobby was running around to 4 different houses with his little portable pump trying to keep their basements dry!! Eventually I guess the menfolk got together and decided that this was a losing battle (or maybe just too much work), and they all went out and made some generator dealer really happy - I hear he made quite a few sales this weekend.
Anyway, everyone is safe and seems to be in good spirits. Anais was even able to make the Belleville East High School Winter Ball last night with her not-boyfirend, Alex, and I hear she looked great. And a big thank you to everyone who pitched in!!! Take care.
PS To everyone who was NOT affected by the storm: feel free to send me twice the number of emails you would normally send in order to make up for the lack of correspondence coming out of Illinois. No tellin' how long they'll be down...
Well, after 448 attempted phone calls (each only slightly more frantic than the one previous) I was finally able to get through to Jen, our next door neighbor, who is apparently the only one in the neighborhood with an operable telephone. I imagine she's quite popular. Anyway, it turns out the flood wasn't soooo bad, the fireplace keeps the house nice and cosy while the furnace is out, and we own a new $800.00 generator. (NOTE TO SELF: I'm glad I chopped all that wood before I left)
It turns out the that whole neighborhood pitched in. Poor Bobby was running around to 4 different houses with his little portable pump trying to keep their basements dry!! Eventually I guess the menfolk got together and decided that this was a losing battle (or maybe just too much work), and they all went out and made some generator dealer really happy - I hear he made quite a few sales this weekend.
Anyway, everyone is safe and seems to be in good spirits. Anais was even able to make the Belleville East High School Winter Ball last night with her not-boyfirend, Alex, and I hear she looked great. And a big thank you to everyone who pitched in!!! Take care.
PS To everyone who was NOT affected by the storm: feel free to send me twice the number of emails you would normally send in order to make up for the lack of correspondence coming out of Illinois. No tellin' how long they'll be down...
posted by Jack at 10:26 AM
1 comments
Mortar fire at FOB Loyalty
I had a crew pulling cable on FOB Loyalty this week when they got hit.
I was en route at the time and didn't arrive until after the attack.
This is the result. Note the big green coils burning? That's my
cable!!!!
I was en route at the time and didn't arrive until after the attack.
This is the result. Note the big green coils burning? That's my
cable!!!!
posted by KAB at 7:01 AM
9 comments
Family Pictures
Mark at a checkpoint near Adnon (Iraqi personnel carrier to the rear)
Gunnery Sergeant John Lavoie - Lisanne's brother. John is a Marine in Iraq and works in Crash Fire Rescue.
posted by KAB at 6:42 AM
1 comments
Friday, December 01, 2006
I really, really wish that I had written this…
But I didn’t. I stole it from Shell’s blog who borrowed if from Gail Hapke. I just changed it a bit (sorry Gail), but then, some say all great works are derivative. And even though I stole it, I suppose it’s better than letting hallmark pick the phrases for you. Lisanne, I do a lot of thinking about things between putting down the book and actually falling asleep, and this pretty much sums it up. I can’t wait until we’re together again.
Caught off guard and captivated,
Captivated to the core,
Never could I have presumed
That one so charming,
One so beautiful,
Would spend her life with me.
You chased my heart for years,
while I, perhaps afraid, not knowing better,
put up obstacles before you
And chased you away (I’m sorry)
I wasn’t ready. This
Could not be happening to me,
And yet . . .
One day I discovered that I had somehow acquired
something unexpected, something wonderful.
And now, with twenty-three years gone by,
The wonder is still there,
The beauty and the love,
Now more than ever.
Caught off guard and captivated,
Captivated to the core,
Never could I have presumed
That one so charming,
One so beautiful,
Would spend her life with me.
You chased my heart for years,
while I, perhaps afraid, not knowing better,
put up obstacles before you
And chased you away (I’m sorry)
I wasn’t ready. This
Could not be happening to me,
And yet . . .
One day I discovered that I had somehow acquired
something unexpected, something wonderful.
And now, with twenty-three years gone by,
The wonder is still there,
The beauty and the love,
Now more than ever.
posted by KAB at 8:38 AM
7 comments
Thank you, Jim Lehrer
When I am here on Slayer (that is, most of the time), I always try to eat breakfast. The messhall has a good selection of eggs (to order, no less) or pancakes, and since I ask for the same thing every morning the cook just waves to let me know he's got it. So I go to get my coffee & maybe throw a piece of stale bread in the mega-toaster they have and in a couple of minutes my eggs are ready.
They have a couple of TVs in the messhall, placed on shelves in the corner the way you might expect to see it in a bar or some type of waiting room. I enjoy breakfast, and I especially enjoy just sitting there for a bit after I have finished eating, sipping my java and watching the news. Sort of a relaxing interlude before the real start of my day.
The only channel we get is AFN, and usually The News Hour with Jim Lehrer is on. If you haven't watched it lately, at the very end of each broadcast they show pictures and display the names of the men and women who have died in Iraq over the past 24 hours. No talking, no music, just the pictures, silently fading from one to another. And as soon as they start, the mess hall grows quiet.
Today there were twenty pictures, and I watched every one. Black guys and white guys and Hispanic guys, from places like Bakersfield, California, and Saginaw, Michigan. Regular guys from regular places, just like all of us watching. But not. I looked at their faces and wondered what they were thinking, and how they died, hoping that it wasn't too painful. And, like I do every morning, I remembered all the people and places and things that I had to live for.
And so, thank you, Mr. Lehrer, for reminding me of this every morning. Thank you giving me the chance to transform these deaths into something valuable, if only in my own mind. Thank you for allowing us to honor our own in this small way. And thank you most of all, for reminding the rest of the nation. I think they would have appreciated it.
Peace.
They have a couple of TVs in the messhall, placed on shelves in the corner the way you might expect to see it in a bar or some type of waiting room. I enjoy breakfast, and I especially enjoy just sitting there for a bit after I have finished eating, sipping my java and watching the news. Sort of a relaxing interlude before the real start of my day.
The only channel we get is AFN, and usually The News Hour with Jim Lehrer is on. If you haven't watched it lately, at the very end of each broadcast they show pictures and display the names of the men and women who have died in Iraq over the past 24 hours. No talking, no music, just the pictures, silently fading from one to another. And as soon as they start, the mess hall grows quiet.
Today there were twenty pictures, and I watched every one. Black guys and white guys and Hispanic guys, from places like Bakersfield, California, and Saginaw, Michigan. Regular guys from regular places, just like all of us watching. But not. I looked at their faces and wondered what they were thinking, and how they died, hoping that it wasn't too painful. And, like I do every morning, I remembered all the people and places and things that I had to live for.
And so, thank you, Mr. Lehrer, for reminding me of this every morning. Thank you giving me the chance to transform these deaths into something valuable, if only in my own mind. Thank you for allowing us to honor our own in this small way. And thank you most of all, for reminding the rest of the nation. I think they would have appreciated it.
Peace.
posted by Jack at 12:32 AM
1 comments
Links
- Go to Natalie's site
- Baghdad Weather
- What time is it in Iraq
- Away With Words
- Friend in Gray
- Waiting For Mark Blog
- Snowball Express
- Baghdad Burning Blog
- Healing Iraq Blog
- Legal Quandary Blog
- Aljazeera news in English
- BBC News - Iraq
- Hazel Park Schools
- Yale Center for British Art
Previous Posts
- End of the blog
- Credits
- The final tally:
- Awards
- Last run
- The Barber’s Tale
- The other war
- The Run (or, a medley of unconnected thoughts tha...
- unmanned aerial vehicles
- Incident at ECP 13
Archives
- May 2006
- June 2006
- July 2006
- August 2006
- September 2006
- October 2006
- November 2006
- December 2006
- January 2007
- February 2007
- March 2007
- April 2007
- May 2007
