The upper body workout of Satan

The Interceptor Body Armor is good stuff. I've got a couple of wicked chunks of shrapnel at home on a shelf I pulled out of mine last tour. I am a believer. There's always word of something newer and better out there, but this stuff is nothing to turn up one's nose at.

However...in the ongoing attempt to make even combat as safe as is physically possible, and, in fact, to let nobody ever die for a lack of equipment, the Army has added, by my count, six pieces of additional crap to the IBA since the last time I had one. And, since they are new to us, and since this is a training environment, we are staring out by wearing every single piece of the system.

Ugh.

When I last did this, we wore the vest, plates, collar and throat pieces (well, gunner wore the throats). There was some other arm stuff I wore when riding in the turret, but most of our guys opted for mobility and skipped that when they were dismounted. And pretty much nobody ever wore the much-maligned "pecker protector."

It's a fine line between protection and agility, and it gets sorted out as time goes on. But as for the first day back in this system, attaching all available bits and pieces had us all grumbling this morning. Well, wearing all available pieces had us grumbling this morning. Attaching all the pieces had us grumbling last night.



"How the Hell does this..."

"What in the fuck is the supposed to be for?"

"How many damn pieces are there here?"

[sigh]

A bitching Soldier, they say, is a happy Soldier.

Free Stuff!

Okay - that might not be entirely accurate. Crap the Army gives me is not, I suppose, technically "free." You've paid for it, and, with only a one-year exception, so have I.

But I got a big bag of cool stuff, and I didn't have to fork over any cash, so that's good enough for me. We call it RFI - Rapid Fielding Initiative.

The long and short of it is - all the cool stuff that's out there that hasn't had time to filter through the Army's procurement and distribution process is simply handed to us during mobilization.

We kicked the old ALICE pack and frame to the curb, and got this adorable pair.



Aren't they cute? On the right we have the Great Big MOLLE Rucksack. Beats the heck out of the old metaland-pipe frame on the ALICE packs we were using. It's also supposedly a big improvement on the briefly-attempted plastic ALICE frame that seems to have crashed and burned shortly after release. One the left we have the companion assault pack, which can be attached to Giant Ruck or carried separately.

For carrying stuff one might want faster access to, they really hooked us by providing this year's premiere ensemble - the MOLLE Rifleman's Kit.



Although I'm not sure entirely why we were issued eight zillion rifle magazine pouches, it's a nice setup. However, experience in an M1114 teaches valuable lessons, and so the interesting part is minimizing the "pieces of flair" to keep one's sides and back more or less clear. I have a much easier time envisioning a requirement to unass my truck at a high rate of speed without hanging up than I do envisioning a situation in which I need 360 rounds and can't get to a fellow soldier or my vehicle.

We also have a Giant Pile of Extreme Cold Weather clothing, but that picture didn't turn out very well, and who wants to look at a giant heap of long underoos?

My personal highlight was the part where we chicks each got four desert tan Patagonia sports bras. That's one item we know the supply sergeant won't want back when we come home!

This is a dramatic improvement in issued gear over what I received when I did this in 2005. If we didn't want to use woodland ALICE gear clipped awkwardly to our DCU IBA that time, we had to go out and buy our own stuff. That sucked, and I'm glad we're not doing it any more. They're giving us what we need, at the beginning of the process so we can train with it, and everything matches.

Of course, there are more supply issue evolutions ahead of us, so we'll see how much crap we finally end up with. But if it continues to progress as well as the RFI did, I am prepared to be happily impressed.

All fun

all the time.

I've executed another move, and am back at the Groundhog Capital of the Eastern Seaboard.

We've made the jump from pre-mobilization to actual mobilization. Which means that things are about as annoying and confusing as can be imagined. They will remain annoying as long as we're here, but the confusion should ease in a day or so.

I got another anthrax shot today, narrowly passed a hearing test (I was sitting next to some LTC with a very active digestive tract, which didn't help me trying to catch the tones), and listened to several excruciating briefings.

Your tax dollars at work, ladies and gentlemen. However, it's not all dreary from that perspective. In my next post, I'll tell you about RFI - Rapid Fielding Initiative - in which process we receive a giant bag of really cool stuff.

Thanks

for all the kind words. It sucks the big one that the furry critters in our lives have such short lifespans in comparison to ours. But dog people (and, yes, cat people too), know that going in.

The saving grace of this happening right now is that things are very busy, so I haven't had too much down time.

Again, thanks for your support in this crappy time.

Sad day

We lost Casey today.

After a period of decline and a couple of scary days, she finally reached the point where mercy was the only option.

So I drove home from the Reserve Center (crying), and up to the vet (crying). Fortunately, the Mister handled the drive back (crying).

I've not had to do that myself, and it is truly one of the godawful things about being a grownup.

I've always been a fan of the idea that if there is any kind of Heaven, it involves our dogs, and that they are probably waiting for us in some sunny field, chasing squirrels and rolling in the grass. I did have to modify that a little for Casey, since her heaven would, based on her criminal record, probably feature black children on bicycles, riding slowly enough to catch.



Good dog. Good dog.

All this much fun

and a paycheck, too!

After a most enjoyable respite that largely involved nudity and good food, it's back to the grind. It's a sleeping-in-my-own-bed grind for a few more days, though, so that's nice.

Now...somehow, between three days ago and this morning, my belt has disappeared. My spare belt is packed up, but I remember seeing my primary one just last night.

[sigh]

The Mister has got to be counting the seconds until I get out of here for the duration, and his life is again free of giant heaps of foliage green crap strewn around the house.

Home

for a couple of days.

Have I mentioned lately how much I adore air conditioning, beer and yes, even hysterical dogs?

Escaped!

Not from the greater San Antonio area (yet), but I did get away from lovely Camp Rustic by throwing myself into a 15-passenger van that was headed to Gandalf AFB and pretending I had some pressing business here.

Lord knows that as we wind down, I have no pressing business there.

I thought I'd share with y'all a couple of shots of our lovely quarters. They're really not too bad, as little hut-things go.



Occupancy is 12 - six per side on cots. That's a little tight, but not awful. We have two female huts, and so we've got a little more space than that to stretch out. Concrete floors, little heaters, fan system.



There's a big long line of 'em - 17 in our row. I thought about taking a picture of the interior, but decided we can all do without that shot.

A plumbing problem in their latrine building has forced the men to share ours (we managed to get our own building after much lobbying). Normally, when we have to share a latrine, we designate and hour in the morning and an hour in the evening as "female shower time." It normally works out so we have a good hour on one end of the day, and a less desirable one on the other end.

But now...we are a little giddy with power, because, as our time here is short, a powerful ally sided with us and the men have the designated times.

Overheard yesterday from a male: You mean if I'm busy between 2000 and 2130, I don't get a shower?

Female soldier with shit-eating grin: That's about how it works! You get another block of time in the morning, though!
It truly is the little things in life that keep one going.

(an aside - it would be truly difficult to maintain this schedule for long. Not because of the shower issues, but because of the washing machine access. There are two washers and two dryers in each latrine, and it's very difficult to get your laundry done in a latrine you can't be in most of the day. We'd have to give the men the greater share of the day if we were going to be using the arrangement for very long)

Adventures in land nav

Actually, it wasn't that exciting. My team lacked a lieutenant or a private, usually the source for great land nav tales. We did learn, however, that when someone needs to crawl though thick brush with a compass, that someone ends up being me - not either of the very large gentlemen on my team.

As land nav courses went, this one lacked the usual fun parts. You know, the point signs that have fallen over, concealed coils of old concertina wire, giant ditches. It did have UXO, though, which always adds a little something.

We've continued with our relentless online-class-taking. We've also added a new activity in which a soldier is given two copies of his or her orders and then, over the course of the next several days, is asked for six or seven. Since we have no copiers, we are trying to figure this one out.

More fun

Just as we were starting to feel ahead of the power curve, it was decreed that we needed to complete more...[can you guess it? I bet you can!]...online training.

[sigh]

I'm also getting a little traffic from a news story about the heat issue.

I've got to admit to being a little uncomfortable with drawing any attention, but this is no fun if we're not pointing out the silly stuff and laughing about it.

That aside, I think we're about done with these journeys to the Land of Internet, so a little silence from here for a while should not be a cause for a alarm. We're not far from the end of this phase of our journey, so there's a light (and good A/C) at the end of the tunnel.

But in exciting news - tomorrow is LAND NAV! The potential hilarity level is high.

Looking silly

Yesterday, when I discovered I had to spend some quality time on the internet, I borrowed my team leader's car so I could drive to the Land of Internet.

My team leader, somewhat oddly, drives a VW bug. One of the newer ones.

Upon hearing that I was heading to Civilization, one of our captains volunteered to ride along with me. So we loaded up in the VW and prepared to take off. It was then that I first looked down. The Bug is a stick-shift. Not a problem, thougt Abby, so is the Jeep.

But the R...well, it was on the left of the 1. Not way over to the right, after the high end like I'm used to.

But the letters on the knob are like a guide, right? You put the knob in the appropriate pictured spot, and there you are. Right?

Wrong. I tried a couple of times and couldn't get the thing into reverse. So I pulled slowly forward out of the parking space, and all was well. The captain and I reached the land of the Internet, did our respective things, then took off. Or tried to take off.

The car would still not go into reverse. Finally running out of patience, the captain gave in to his Inner Guy and tried to find reverse while I stood on the clutch. Nada.

There was a curb in front of us, which precluded the creeping forward approach. So we opened our doors, extended the outboard legs, and rolled it far enough back to be able to pull out.

A repeat performance at a fast food place where we stopped, and we made it back to Camp Rustic without further drama. I caught up to my team leader later in the evening at a company meeting.

Sir, I asked, does your car have reverse?

He looked at me as though he had just realized he was going to be trapped with a retarded team sergeant for a year.

Umm...yeah. He paused. You know you have to push it down to get into reverse, don't you?

No, sir, I replied. But that explains it.

He paused, since we were having this conversation quietly while the first sergeant expounded at length about something or other. Suddenly, the picture in his head made him look back at me.

Hey, [Abby], he whispered. How did you guys back up then?

I glanced at him, extended my left leg, and made a pushing motion.

My team leader dissolved in giggles. The first sergeant shot him the Look of Death, and I did my best to sit and look appropriately innocent of any part in the loss of military bearing. You learn something new every day - I had never heard of such a thing. Down to get into reverse. How 'bout that?

Another Day

And I am almost finished with the Online Security Form From Hell. I actually shouldn't complain - I have some friends who have the really high-speed security clearances, and I know their process for granting/refreshing/renewing those is truly the Eigth Ring of Hell.

I'm managing to accomplish this while hanging out at a place that sounds like Gandalf Air Force Base. I'm still not sure what thought process led our leaders to do pre-mobilzation training that largely consists of administrative requirements at a camp with zero internet access, but it does give us an excuse to drive over here, where there's coffee, A/C and a good PX.

We keep picking up more soldiers, since we've had some at Civil Affairs school and other locations getting qualified to do a wide variety of things. We just picked up a company supply dude who is a PFC straight out of school. The poor guy showed up without his military ID card, so that adds just one more thing to wrestle with. [sigh] He has no idea how tortured he's going to be once we bring him online.

For the amount of actual stuff we accomplish on a daily basis, we're abnormally busy. That's both a characteristic of the Army, though, and a particular characteristic of the mobilization process. With people wandering in and out, here and there, it can take an amazing amount of time to get everyone to fill out a one-page form correctly. Then, when we get word that it isn't the correct edition of said form, it can take another day and a half to redo it.

Last time I did this, we came to the conclusion that the entire process is set up so that once you've been good and thoroughly mobilized, you're so annoyed you're begging to get on a plane headed overseas.

Too much fun

The day started out silly, when I signed out a range so we could truck the entire company out to fire four - count 'em, four - rounds from our new-to-us M4 carbines. We acomplished the mission, though, which was to ensure, simply, that the rifles work.

(We could, and I swear this is the truth, get our hands only 120 rounds. Hence the 4-per thing)

The fun part ended, and now I am wrestling with that Mother Of All Nightmares - the online security clearance tool. Yep - Higher finally came back with a response to my request for some sort of written substantiation of this clearance they keep saying I have. Their response - what clearance?

[insert sound of head hitting desk here - repeat]

You know, the one that's a prerequisite for my job, which I've been doing for the last five years???

In typical Army fashion, though, since the whole situation is apparently quite confusing, I am now filling out the whole form again. Because, you know, that's what I do when I go the field - I take a list of everyplace I have lived and worked, along with points of contact at each.

So, I'm off to hate some more and wrestle with that ^%%^$*(& online application.

Every day a holiday,

every meal a feast. Or something like that.

We continue to sweat, and conduct a very small amount of actual training combined with a shocking amount of administrative goatfuckery. This would be more disturbing if it wasn't one of the constant parts of this process.

We have a muckety-muck type of guy on the ground here today, so we're all hiding or looking busy. I, for instance, am doing this entry in the background while completing some online risk management course.

Have I mentioned how much I hate online courses? I think I have.

I sat through a truly asinine class yesterday on a piece of software designed to assist us in cataloging infrastructure assessments. This might have been useful if the software was actually being fielded, but it's not, so it was more like sitting through an eight-hour timeshare sales pitch.

There's been some drama down here as a result of a formal complaint another unit lodged alleging horrible living conditions that subjected them to "grotesque heat." It is hot, but it's not grotesque. The unit in question, however, was moved from our current location to a hotel so that they may sleep in comfort. I won't name them, but I will say that I hope they're not around if I'm ever bleeding in the desert, since they probably wouldn't bring me a pressure dressing if it's above 85 degrees.

There's not much else to add from here. In addition to hiding, I have to go ensure my soldiers are packing their rucks with enough crap to give them a suitably heavy load for our practice ruckmarch this evening.

[sigh]

I can't believe they actually pay me to have this much fun.

Too much fun

[ugh]

Has anyone noticed how much fun South Central Texas is this time of year? Especially without a/c?

The bad news is, the days are really hot. The good news is, it cools off enough at night to sleep comfortably.

I've been only semi-busy, engaging in all the fun stuff - re-entering the exact same info into multiple databases and onto multiple DA forms, getting a gas mask fitting, and taking mandatory classes. I'm two days through an "IED Defeat Trainer" class. That's consisted largely of looking at slides featuring photos of dirt and being asked, "can you spot the IED?"

Well, partner, if we could spot them, they wouldn't be such a problem, would they?

In more entertaining news, I was trapped in a porta-jon for a brief period of time by one of the colony of skunks here. Said skunks seemed to find it amusing to hang out in front of the porta-jon and watch me try to figure out if I dared to walk out right next to it. I didn't dare, but then again, I didn't get sprayed, either.

More updates as time passes, now that I've found a fellow Soldier with one of those nifty Verizon internet cards.

We're off!

Or, I am.

Of the four phases of this trip I'm about to take, this first one is the least conducive to effective communication with the outside world. It's not that we're secretive - the Army does not believe in wasting your tax dollars on luxuries like cell towers, easy internet access or, in fact, air conditioning at these podunk training camps.

So please - bear with me. I'll throw up a post or two when I can, but I'd really like to have you along when the communication gets simpler and the process gets more entertaining.

Ugh

Thunder and lightning this morning. It's perfect sleeping weather.

[sigh]

But the alien baby and I are off for another wild and crazy day.

There's an alien baby

in my left, upper arm.

Some of you veterans of military vaccinations know what that means - Abby got an anthrax shot! (It's actually a tender lump that's visible to someone looking at your arm - it's creepy)

I had this entire series a hundred years ago on Okinawa, but, of course, I haven't had a booster since. So....

At least I remembered this well enough to get it on the left, because I sleep on my right side, and the "alien baby" makes that uncomfortable.

Life is Good

Tomorrow I start doing Army stuff, and I'll be doing it for more than a year. The actual mobilization isn't quite here, but it's time for a few days of home station prep, then a pre-mobilization trip, then the mobilization itself.

So this is really my last evening of enjoying the total bum's life. The Mister and I decided that we should celebrate that with high-quality chow. So we headed over to Central Market, traded a kidney for a cart full of goodies, and fired up the grill. It all begins, of course, with meat. Sweet, succulent, fabulous meat.



There might be something better than the ribeye, but I haven't met it yet. Of course, we're crazy dog people, so we buy the bone-in ribeyes. A little marinade, a little time...then onto the fire!



The Mister normally doesn't look this frightened of things, but the fire was hot. Very hot. Don't worry, we didn't leave the steaks on too long. But meat alone is not, some folks say, a balanced meal.



So we added some asparagus and shrimp, and called it well-rounded.



'Twas wonderful. Bloody, yet crispy. And now, I'm sure I have something to organize for tomorrow, but I think first I'll drag my meat-stuffed gut over to the couch for just a few minutes.

Note to self...

The next time I promise someone an object, I should probably locate it first.

I was trying to locate a desert tan Safariland thigh rig. It came home with me from Iraq, but I had never really warmed up to it, so it was going to live with someone else.

I could have sworn all my random tactical holsters were in the giant green footlocker in the garage. But...no.

Since the object was tactical, and not in the footlocker, and not in the rotation of gear I've been using for Army stuff recently, that left only one option. It had to be in the attic. Shit.

For those of you not in Texas this week, please allow me to point out that it's pretty toasty here. It's extra-super toasty in the attic.

The attic, by the way, has only one dim lightbulb. And since the Mister has been in the Service nearly 18 years, and I have been in several services for quite some time myself, can you imagine how many boxes and bags of military crap we have up there?

Uniforms, woodland. Uniforms, DCU. Pouches, ALICE. Pouches, MOLLE, tan. Kneepads, tactical, coyote brown. Boonie hat, DCU. Boonie hat, woodland. Boonie hat, chocolate chip. Boonie hat, ACU (hold on - I might need that - toss down the attic hatch). Duffle bag of miscellaneous raingear, duffle bag of jungle boots, duffle bag of duffle bags (???).... Plastic trash bag of gloves, plastic trash bag of belts, plastic trash bag with elbow pads, more belts and...hey! A tan Safariland thigh rig!

I crawled down, victorious and drenched in sweat.

It's like Hell's Own Military Surplus store up there. A smarter woman would take a day and organize all that crap, but I'm really not htinking that's going to happen anytime before our next move.

Choices

Xavier has an excellent post up about choosing your first 1911. It is truly fabulous, and if you don't have some 1911s, but think you might need one, you should go and read it immediately. Then don't forget to come back here.

I came to the 1911 platform...probably the way a lot of us do, although it's not a very glamorous tale.

I'd heard about the 1911, and why it was the best handgun ever made, and why the military had to be out of it's collective mind to have ditched it. But I'd never fired one (we were not a handgun family). After I got out of the Marine Corps, I made a friend who one day let me shoot his 1911.

It was a few rounds at an outdoor range. I squeezed them off generally in the direction of the target, handed the pistol back, thanked the man, and went home. And thought about it. Gosh, that's a big round, but that was a comfortable gun and it didn't have a bad trigger pull...

So I decided that I wanted a 1911. The Mister and I were not yet married (although we were Living In Sin Together), and we were po'. That would be poor, but we couldn't, at that point, afford the last two letters.

The Mister, being a pretty romantic guy in his own creepy, militant way, saved his nickels and pennies and, come Christmas, Santa brought me a 1911 - of a sort.



He bought me a Ballester Molina. This is not, strictly speaking, a 1911, but it sure feels like a 1911. And we could afford it, and I had it, and I loved it.

Loved it, loved it, loved it. But it would only feed FMJ, and so I, of course, eventually, needed another 1911.

Around that time, we became foster parents for an insufficiently loved Springfield Mil-Spec.



I have to admit, I disliked that pistol intensely. The grip safety felt sharp at the edges, the whole thing didn't quite seem...put together. And, of course, it was stainless steel. I find stainless tacky in the extreme. But! It convinced me that I really needed to find a good, well-finished 1911.

Which led to my Warrior.



I may well have fallen victim to Kimber's excellent advertising, but this gun makes me happy. It ran like a clock out of the box, it's phenomenally easy to shoot very well, all the bits and surfaces were pleasing from the get-go... Loved it.

But, of course, it's a railed 5-inch 1911, which is a little hard to tote, right? Which meant I needed another 1911.



And thus came the Pro-Carry. Which is also a sweet shooter, after a significant amount of effort and profanity were devoted to extractor issues.

But here's the point, for anyone who read Xavier's excellent post, and is still on the fence: You just have to buy the first one.

When you start asking question of the Learned (and I am not counting myself among them) about the 1911, and you start surfing the gunnut websites, you can get so much information that you don't think you should buy anything until you can afford a high-end piece by a master pistolsmith (not that I wouldn't swap a couple of toes for one). But it can keep you on the fence and off the range.

If you think you want a 1911, get thee to the local gunshop and buy one. Some weird mil-surp knockoff? Sure! A truly entry-level gun from one of the big manufacturers? Get down with your bad self.

Don't get sidetracked or disheartened by all the information and opinions out there on this most popular of firearms platforms. It's a fun pool to swim in (even down here at the shallow end), and you won't know unless you jump in.

I'm a despot

I did it last night, and I'm going to end up doing it again. That's right - I am Abby, Queen of Backyard Ethnic Cleansing.

The systematic elimination of an ethnic group or groups from a region or society, as by deportation, forced emigration, or genocide.

Can you see it?



Of course, it's their ancestral home. Or, at least, a habitat that's pretty much ideal, regardless of where they might originally hail from. There are bricks, directly under a drippy spigot. And a porch light that attracts bugs.

Alas, they cannot be tolerated in the Kingdom (Queendom?) of Bad Dogs, for they vex mightily the Very Small Dog, and make him foam at the mouth most voluminously.



[sigh]

I moved one last night (avoiding the toad pee), and it looks most likely that I'll be relocating another tonight. At some point, they'll probably file complaints about Forced Amphibian Relocation with some sort of Toad UN, and I'll find myself in front of some shabby international tribunal, explaining how it was all really for their own good.

Oversights and inclusions

I finally got around to updating the address for Confessions of a Gun-toting Seagull. Jim rid himself of MySpace a while back (which, I admit, frightened and confused me), and has now joined the rest of hoi polloi on Blogger.

Also, we've added SpeakerTweaker's place - Where Sometimes Things Go Bang. Tweaker is one of those guys who shows up with really useful and helpful comments, so he's a repository of good info. Or, at least someone who could tempt you to buy another gun.

And finally, last but certainly not least, I've added LabRat and Stingray over at Atomic Nerds. Scary smart folks, those, and paralyzingly funny when the mood strikes.

I figured this would be a great time to do blogroll additions, since I'm rebuilding my favorites list. I'm pretty cheery about having more of these great people on my official "click every day," because some of us need things to be simple.

If you're a bad person

you have to spend eternity doing online Army training. Thus far today, I've done Heat and Cold Injury Prevention (for the 7,894th time since 1996), Media Awareness (Jesus God), and Mine Awareness (Bosnia version).

[sigh]

Coming soon is Law of Land Warfare (another one that the DoD feels is worth hitting four to eight times a year), Suicide Awareness (ditto), and miscellaneous installation-specific computer user orientation courses.

However, I don't think there's anything on my to-do list as terrible as the Commander's Safety Course I took that involved memorizing the appropriate form to use when investigation a helicopter crash during training (as opposed to during real-world operations, since that may very well have been a different form).

What the....

Look what I just saw on TV.

An odd commercial, to say the least.



You get that? The Vampire Rights Amendment.

I don't get it, so I googled it. Seems the Vampire Rights Amendment is sponsored by the Vampire Rights League.

Ladies and gentlemen, I was still scratching my head, so I returned to my google search.

Turns out, this is a viral marketing ploy for an upcoming show. It's explained nicely here.

I'm not into vampires, and I think people who are tend to be kinda weird. However, that is some damn good marketing. A little web searching reveals sites and commericials for the opposition group, in fact. Some junior VP-for-advertising earned his or her bonus this year!

I swear

I'll stop being boring at some point, but for now, y'all are stuck with me going on and on about this new computer.

Today I figured out RSS feeds. Ok, maybe I didn't really figure them out, but the MSNBC feeds went away and I know how to put the ones I want in that spot. Pretty cool.

I've won the battle and sucked all my data over from the old hard drive. Downside, it seems physically impossible to make this goddam "Windows Mail" abomination recognize Outlook data files. However, I'm hoping to plunk a real version of Office on this machine this week, so perhaps real Outlook will come with it. I can't remember.

In cheery news, I finally remembered the password for my BADDOG38 email account, so I'm back to filtering a ton of spam and, if any of you choose to use the email link, I'm getting those messages as well.

Whoever dreamed up Vista deserves a size 7.5R combat boot straight between the lower cheeks, but aside from that, this switchover is going about as well as any technologically adaptive activity that I engage in does.

commo check

Can abby post using the email function on her phone? i am going to need some alternate posting options in the near future, but this one is painfully slow and seems to rule out capital letters and pictures.

The things you see

The Mister and I moseyed down to JRB today. Before leaving, we thought we'd take in some of the local base sights. So we stopped at the main "old military crap" display.



Looks pretty much like most such things. Couple of old planes, old helicopter in the background, etc etc. Heck, a few hundred yards away there's even some old SeaBee bulldozer. Pretty much the average display. Except...



Except one item that actually seemed to have attracted visitors. What on earth is the large green object that could attract visitors to one of these tiresome displays?



That'd be a thermonuclear bomb. I'd tell you about it, but I'll let the signage do that.



Pretty cool, huh? One of three. I assume that it's not one of three functional bombs. Although that would be a pretty cool thing to put on display, really.

There's also a nice plaque about the history of the JRB. I really like the ending.



Food for thought. Much as our current wars suck, what with being confusing and vague and all, it is fortunate indeed that we never trotted these critters out for a real-life use. If the order of the day was deterrence, then deterrence worked, and I for one am mighty thankful for it.

Great Ideas

I was in Fry's (the giant electronics place) with Girl Child on Tuesday. Fry's has everything, including non-electronic stuff. In fact, they had a large bin of personal-size pepper spray near the checkout.

Abby, said Girl Child, can we get pepper spray? That would be cool!

I thought about it for a moment, and my poor judgement kicked in. Sure, I replied. But if your Dad disapproves, it's a no-go, and I personally think that before you guys can walk around with pepper spray, you'd have to try it on yourselves.

She cheerfully assented, I bought a couple of little cans, and didn't give it another thought. I figured the idea of trying it out had probably turned them off.

I was wrong.

Last night, they remembered. The Mister agreed that one should experience pepper spray before being allowed to carry it to the convenience store and back. He further expressed that as part of our adult obligation to lead from the front, pepper spray should be a family activity.

You can see how this all went down, can't you?

Number Two son volunteered to get hit first, followed by Girl Child. Then I sprayed the Mister, and, against the sound advice of the three of them, allowed Number One Son to give me a thorough spritzing.

You know, that stuff sucks. I've had my share (and possibly your share) of CS over the years, but this pepper spray is a little different. Less snot and gagging (really, almost none), but it provides a really effective burning sensation.

The only bit of wisdom any of us exhibited in this whole exercise was to hold it next to the pool.



It was probably about 20 minutes before we were opening our eyes. Number One Son, the only one of us smart enough pass on the experience, spent that time giggling and pointing out that we were maybe not the smartest family he could be a part of.

All in all, it was quite the family learning experience. By morning, it was already taking shape as a future Family Legend. Of course, the two kids who'd participated in the spraying were declaring themselves Morally Superior to their brother and all their peers.

Little masochists. We may have future Marines on our hands, if they persist in relishing Things That Suck.

As an aside, I'd heard good things about pepper spray. But at this point, I would be inclined to recommend it, particularly for walking in dog-infested areas.

Teaser

Tomorrow...the family that pepper sprays each other...

Outtake from daily life

The Mister and I were at Kroger. We had two boxes of Hamburger Helper (Bacon Cheeseburger type), a bag of fresh green beans, and a crate of beer.

We approached the checkout. The Mister looked at me and said, "Wow. Are we white trash or what?"

Which reminded me..."Yes. We are. And we need cigarettes."

Yea!

After three attempts, I got the correct doohickey and have sucked my photos, documents, music, etc over to the new laptop.

This please me greatly.

In celebration, let's have some photos, shall we?



Here we have the Mister, riding around in circles recently. This does not look like fun to me, but apparently it's for him. Speaking of fun, check out this sign in a motel room we stayed in while fishing at Lake Fork.



I like that sign very much. And, for our last photo, we shall feature something else I like very much. Squirrels with lightsabers.



That last one is courtesy of those wacky kids over at ARFCOM, my favorite source for odd photos and excruciatingly detailed firearms information.

Ugh (PartII)

Well, I think the worst is over. The chills lasted a couple hours, and I woke up with enough energy to eat some toast, drink some water, and dig some ammo out of the back closet.

I'd better wake up feeling fabulous, 'cause I have plans to be shooting in the morning.

Alright, back to bed. Because the only think that fixes problems faster than hydration is sleep.

Ugh...

This was one of those days...I got up and took Mom to the airport, which is always kind of a bummer.

I came back, finished wrestling some Army paperwork, made the drive over to the unit, and, on the way home, was forced to use my ninja-like driving skills to avoid a three-car wreck on I-20 directly in front of me.

(This got more annoying when, immediately after I ascertained nobody was bleeding out and that I had no moral obligation to do anything other than get back in and continue driving home, all drivers involved started working toward a bitchy discussion of who was at fault)

(I will also note that it looked like everyone involved had been on a cellphone, with the possible exception of the big handsome pit bull who was panting cheerfully in one of the vehicles)

Got home, took a nap, woke up with a sharp, twisty abdominal pain. Hmmm...I didn't really eat very much today, so maybe I'll have a sandwich when this stops hurting so much.

Alas, instead of resolving itself with a nice sandwich, my stomach decided to be painful for a good hour, and finally resolved itself in the most dramatic bout of power-yakking I've done in years. In good news, it does seem to be much happier now.

Alright. Off for more quality time with my red Gatorade, and maybe a tuna sandwich here in a few.

Again, with the hate

It's amazing the number of passwords, logins, etc, that I had stored in my email inbox. On the dead laptop. Thus, it's amazing the number of things I can't quite access yet.

[snarl]

Additionally, I find it interesting that the PureEdge viewer which the Army is now using for all its forms is described as having "issues" with Vista.

[snarl]

And finally, this setup came with a 60-day trial of Microsoft Office, after which I assume it will disappear and leave me with that godawful Fisher Price Microsoft Work.

[double snarl]

The New Laptop

has arrived. Bringing with it strange default settings, cheerful helpful little messages and, of course, Windows Vista.

God, I hate change.

Chillin'

by the pool. It's shaping up to be a rough weekend with Mom in town. Next up on the agenda - hit the Amon Carter Museum and troll around for places with decent wine and snacks.

The Mister has taken off to ride his motorcycle rapidly around a track and, in a slightly sadistic fit of fatherliness, opted to take the kids with him. They toted off a large cooler and a tent for some shade, so I assume they'll survive.

We eagerly await the arrival of the new laptop tomorrow, so I can stop borrowing the Mister's desktop to blog. Although I do admit, I kinda enjoy the full-sized keyboard.

Here's hoping your weekend is as mellow as mine!

Sonuvabitch

I did not want a new laptop. I cannot afford a new laptop. However, there is a new laptop that will be heading my direction tonight.

[sigh]

In case anyone hasn't picked up on it, I'm getting ready to on another long Army trip. In most other circumstances, I'd consider a laptop something one wants, not things one needs. However, things being as they are, it's a need.

I am most appreciative of the info on how to suck over the info from my other hard drive. Stay tuned early next week for info on how that technological exercise goes. I have in the past been utterly overwhelmed by high-end calculators, so hilarity may ensue.

In much happier news, Mom is coming to visit tomorrow. So after I crack the whip and we get the kennel we call home cleaned up, I get a few days of hanging out with her, which is pretty awesome.

Aggggh!!!!

One of the kids was lurking by my laptop with me last night, as we talked PhotoShop and discussed the entertainment potential of cutting-and-pasting the heads of our various dogs onto major political and cultural figures.

You know, quality family time.

Problem was, beers were being consumed (by the adults, not the kids or dogs). And when the kid with whom I was sitting leaned over to get a better look at the sceen, a bottle of Landshark Lager was tipped onto my laptop keyboard, upper left side.

The situation appears dire. The laptop went dark, and one attempt to restart resulted into a brief flash of indicator lights, then total non-responsive deadness.

So - here's my question. Assuming the worst, and that my current attempts to remove all panels and let any moisture evaporate do not work out...if the laptop is dead...what measures can I take with my hard drive to try to save/extract information (photos, documents, etc)?

Heh

So the 'Dawg writes about taking a vicious kitten to the veterinarian, and ensuing blood and pain.

Now, I grew up with cats, and we were cheap, so we did home vaccinations. I got scratched. But I did not truly understand the evil of an angry cat until I was in Iraq.

We took a vet with us when we deployed. She was a major, some years in the Individual Ready Reserve, who ran a cat clinic in the South. A kind, short woman, who received cards, letters and photos from her "patients."

We shared a tent in Iraq. It was really fairly comfortable, since there were just three of us. The specialist, me, and the major veterinarian, who we referred to as, "The Ma'am."

One day, The Ma'am was showing us a postcard from a kitten, or some such madness, when the specialist took note of her arm.

Ma'am, are those...scars?

I glanced down. Our sweet, kind, southern vet had long white scars running from the backs of her hands up to her elbows, and a few disappeared beneath the tan sleeves of her uniform t-shirt.

Oh, she answered. Yeah. From back in the days when I held cats myself, before I started hiring assistants.

I grew up with cats, and I like cats. But cats are definitely, totally, not nice.

Abby's Big Adventure

Girl Child and I made it to Port Wood pretty much without incident (well, there was the part where I tried but failed to buy a blueberry muffin at a Starbucks that didn't have any coffee). Our first attempt at finding the correct photo location failed, but we got pointed in the right direction.

(Let's take a moment and hear it for the planning that resulted in us arriving at the first location at 0935 for a 1040 appointment - it turned out I needed the time cushion)

I pulled up to the corrected location, and climbed out to confirm we were in the right place before we downloaded my outfit.

Hey, Abby?

Huh? Did someone know me? I looked over, and there was a guy. A familiar guy.

As it turned out, a Blog Friend who I'd run into once before in the wilds of Louisiana. One of the Bad Dog crew, stationed at Port Wood, took note of my departure time and, having a down day in his outprocessing, thought he might swing by the photo place around the time it seemed I might arrive, just in case I needed some help.

[happy dance!] Yes, I did. Particularly when re-directed to another location for the photo. That, as it turned out, was a bit of a process, but we got 'er done.

Post-photo, we enjoyed a nice lunch, during which I learned he is in the process of acquiring an M1 carbine. I can only hope I was a bit of an influence. Perfect gun for desert coyotes at close range, that M1 carbine.

It's cool to meet people in real life from the internet. I'm sure there's a limit as to when it's cool to meet people from the internet, but I like to think the Bad Dog Blog attracts a distinctly groovy class of person.

Post-lunch, Girl Child and I very nearly t-boned an old lady who may or may not have been confused about from which lane she should make left turns. Or it could have been my mistake about which lane I should go straight from. But since it's my blog, we're calling it her error.

And, since now two of you have asked, I shall expose you to my awful Photoshop skills and share with y'all the product of my day's trek.



It's an OK Army photo, but it was a bad enough photo of me that I'm afraid the disembodied Casey head is an improvement.

We're off!

To Port Wood!

If you happen to see a grumpy-looking woman and a small child in a Jeep, who appear about as excited as you'd expect people to look who are driving 160 miles for a photograph, feel free to wave.

Oh, I get it now!

More wisdom from the man who will bring all the "combat troops" home from Iraq within sixteen months.

As you know, we here at BDC have been asking, as non-combat troops ourselves, exactly why we would do that. Turns out, it's because hanging out in Iraq is distracting.

Okay. I can see that. I mean, although I was a non-combat troop (that is, a troop to whom combat happens, but who is not...well...oh hell, let's not get into all that), I did find that being in Iraq distracted me from certain things. Like...I dunno...hanging out with my husband, drinking cold beer (or, for that matter, warm beer), eating holiday meals with my family, etc etc.

So. Yes. Iraq = distraction. Alas, that doesn't seem to be what Sen. Obama meant. Because the Senator is a very verbal man, he goes on tell us what he means.

"As should have been apparent to President Bush and Sen. [John] McCain, the central front in the war on terror is not Iraq, and it never was," Obama said in what his campaign called a major policy address on Iraq, Afghanistan and national security.

Obama said that part of his new strategy will be "taking the fight to al Qaeda in Afghanistan and Pakistan." [emphasis added]

See, that's an important point, clarification-wise. Senator Obama seems to believe that being in Iraq is distracting our combat troops from...invading Pakistan?

Honestly, there might be some vaildity to that point, but "taking the fight" across the largely imaginary Pakistan border, at least in any way that we'd talk about, is probably something that bears a little more discussion than the average throwaway line in one of the Senator's speeches.

Fortunately, the Senator continues to imply this fight-taking is the work of the combat troops who have been thus far more or less, he seems to think, fucking around in the desert in Iraq for no apparent reason. I for one am glad for that, even if it means I have to spend a tour in Iraq without the combat troops, because at least it doesn't imply my participation in the first rotation of Operation Waziristan Freedom, or, as President Obama might choose to call it, Operation Hindu Kush Hope.

In the news

we have some choices today.

We could talk about this chipper bit from Fox News: Stocks Set to Plunge - FOXBusiness: Futures tumble as concerns about bank sector, GM job cuts drag on the dollar, send overseas markets lower. But that sounds dull and awful, so let's not talk about it.

Instead, let's discuss Drunk Man Torn Apart By Bears After Falling Into Enclosure. That sounds far more interesting.

The 22-year-old man was drunk and trying to take close-up shots of the Siberian Brown bears at Mykolaev city zoo when he lost his footing, witnesses said, acording to Channel 5 television.

The three bears charged the man immediately, tearing him "limb from limb" as he tried to escape, according to the station, quoted by the Deutsche Presse-Agentur news agency.

That's really pretty much the whole story, right there. I think most of my readers are sharp enough to extract the learning points from this one without further comment. But it is nice to see that once in a while, somewhere out there, actions still have consequences.

[rage]

I don't know which brilliant individual decided that official photographs should be included in Army promotion packets. But that individual is currently on the list.

Because I am a decent Soldier and I think they should pay me more and let me be in charge of more stuff, I will be driving my happy self down to the place that sounds like Port Wood because - I kid you not - it is the nearest Army-blessed photographic facility.

[grumble]

The only thing that could make this evolution more fun is if it required great amount of uniform futzing. Wait - it does!

Because the Army is big on self-esteem, they have a ribbon for everything. Including NCO schools, which I have been attending like a big dog all year. So I dragged a kid with me to JRB, bought that ribbon, an annoying little number to put on it (because I have been to two NCO schools, and thus am entitled to more plummage than folks who have been to only one, but less than folks who have attended three or four). I also bought a new ribbon bar, and devoted a chunk of time to trying not to destory other ribbons in the process of moving them over.

Girl Child was "helping" (that is, laughing at me while I swore).

What's that one?, she asked, pointing.

It's the Army Service Ribbon, I responded. In the Army, they give you a ribbon to wear on your Army uniform as additional proof that you are in the Army.

Oh, she said. It looks kinda...um....well, if it was a flag...



[sigh]

I know, I responded. But I am probably not allowed to refuse to wear a ribbon because it looks like a gay pride flag.

We're dogsitting!

This is Tango.



Tango is, I am informed, part shepherd (I dont really see it), part pit (that I see) and, I'd guess, part raccoon. She's adorable, and just a little bit high-strung.

My stepkids,

have a great sense of humor, and a fairly cruel stepmom.

At 0610, I climbed out of bed, thinking, what a nice morning for a hike! I need some company!

Because they are children, and not very wise, all three got up and agreed to a happy trudge.

Six miles (1:48, with 50lbs of crap) later...I took them out to breakfast (getting them out of bed had required bribery), and they turned to some serious napping. They're just now starting to roam around again.

Heh.

I have to admit, I was impressed. Number One Son often accompanies me on jogs and trudges, and so I wasn't surprised that he hung in there (and considering that he's carrying only a 2-quart canteen, there's no reason he shouldn't have). Number Two Son and Girl Child, however...really wanted to stop after the first three miles, but kept going. Then they really wanted to turn around at the point that would have made for five miles, but they had the stopwatch and CamelBack, so they just kept tromping. Good on them.

I have got to get Number One Son to stop thinking it's moto to run the last couple of blocks, though. Maybe if I give him the pack and vest for that part...

Just because

I don't have anything to say doesn't mean I shouldn't blog, I guess. Because then the bar starts creeping up in my own mind, and then I'm not posting because I don't have anything important to say.

Ha! As though anyone comes here for important.

In recent adventures...

It came to my attention that an upcoming Army evolution will involve a timed trudge with gear. One of my comrades remarked that he was buying a new set of boots for this trudge (which is 6.2 miles). He will be buying the shiny high-speed-low-drag Oakley boots, which he has never had before, and which are just-recently-authorized for wear.



I came home and remarked to the Mister that buying a new pair of boots that one has never had before, shortly before and specifically for a hump (that's Marine for trudge - in the Army it seems one "ruckmarches" or "rucks") seemed like a recipe for blisters. And, I concluded, silly. Because c'mon, it's only 6.2 miles.

The Mister agreed, then made a shockingly insensitive observation.

It's not very far at all, he said. But, Abby, you haven't done that stuff since you left the Marine Corps. It might not be easy anymore, because now you're 30.

Hmmm. Could be true. So I busted out the trusty 20-lb weighted vest (close enough to body armor, I figured), and my awesome-but-not-sexy Belleville boots.



(just as a side note, for any deploying reserve or Guard types I might have, they will often issue these boots during your mobilization. Snatch them up if you get the chance, or request them if you can see them on the shelf at supply)

I took off in the evening with Number One Son and a three-mile course ('cause, you know, a three-mile course done twice is a six-mile course). We should, I told him, walk briskly. Really awesome performance would be 15-minute miles, the sucky minimum we would accept would be 20-minute miles.

So we trudged. And trudged and trudged, and sweated a little, and drank some water. As another side note - taking a teenage boy with you provides not only someone to carry the water, but provides extra incentive to not be a slow wimp.

We finished at 1:37, for 16:15 miles, which I felt was pretty respectable. The vest did kick my ass - I highly recommend it if you feel the need to suffer more. Walking with it wasn't rough at all, but it did limit any running to a very slow shuffle. I knew that would suck, but when we got close to the end I really wanted to see if we could hit 1:36, hence the hustle. Alas....

I was feeling pretty good about myself until the next morning. When I woke up and...couldn't move. I'm almost recovered now, and we'll be doing it again with a little more weight either tonight or tomorrow.

After that (of course), I finally got the standard we'd be trudging to in the upcoming event.

• 55lbs. or a third of your body weight (whichever is less) to include IBA, Weapon, LBV and Ruck
• 10 Kilometers = 6.2 miles
• 3 Hours or less
• Go / No-Go grade
• Mostly flat surface

I'm not overwhelmingly concerned, but I figure I'll dry run it a couple more times just to ensure I don't suck when we do it.

Civic obligation MET!

Well, that was a bit of a disappointment. Went down, checked in, got assigned to a district criminal court.

Had lunch, drank coffee, was ready to go in for the voir dire part, and...case settled (or something), no jury required. Thank you for your time, here's $6, have a great day.

[sigh]

I was number 52 of 60, so I probably wouldn't have made it on the jury anyway, but I was hoping for a little more of a learning experience in return for a day of my time.

Civic duty

Remember the jury duty notice I got before I went to Court Licks? Yeah. Well, I got it postponed, but because I really kinda at least want to go see what this is all about, I did not request an exemption.

And that postponement...well, it was good for about a month.

So off I go today, with a vague and crappy map of the downtown area. What fun.

Huh?

A quick click over to CNN led me to this headline - I am not kidding - Obama says he's 'been very consistent' on Iraq

I doublechecked and realized I was indeed on CNN and not on the Onion.

Consistently defeatist, wrongheaded and obtuse, perhaps.

"The belief that we have a national security interest in making sure Iraq is secure, I've been saying consistently,"

Huh. See, I pay pretty close attention, and that's not what I have taken away from the Senator's statements.

Obama reiterated his commitment to his withdraw plan again. “I will call my joint chiefs of staff and give them an assignment and that is to end the war,” he said.

Well, ok. 'Cause running on a promise to prioritize an immediate end to our activities in Iraq doesn't sound like the plan of a man who believes we have a national security interest in making sure Iraq is secure. But maybe I missed something, being just an old dumb sergeant and all.

[rolls eyes, heads to fridge for more beer]

Stupid huuurts! (Part II)

It's really not easy being Abby these days.

I was cutting...cucumbers or onions or something yesterday. I finished chopping, scooped up the cutting board and knife, and lost control of it, sending the knife to the floor.

Well, not directly to the floor.



As far a dropping a paring knife point-down onto a toe, it was about as painless as it could have been.

I should probably be wearing a helmet, at the rate I'm going.

cleaning at midnight

(not really, but if I was a slightly more domestic chick, I sure would be)

Dad is driving down to visit, and is currently racked out in his vehicle, in Oklahoma.

Not as far away as I would hope he'd be, considering we have some pretty decent work ahead of us making the house look decent tomorrow.

Ah, well. That's why I have stepchildren, and a bullwhip.

Stupid huuurts!

There I was, at the range. I burned through about 150 rounds of .45, then decided to put a few through the M9. Whereupon, I hurt myself.



Yes - it seems I chambered the fat part of my left index finger. My best guess (since it happened rather rapidly), is that somehow my slingshot slide-release technique that functions just fine with the 1911 doesn't jive so well when rapidly applied to the M9.

See - this works just fine and I have never hurt myself doing it.



It's the same way I grab the slide to clear a stoppage, so I figured it would be best to always grab the slide that way. For some reason, today, the first time I chambered a round in the M9, the above approach translated as the one pictured below.



No - I don't know how that happened. But I'm fairly certain I'll be extra aware of what I'm doing with that finger every time I handle an M9 from here on out.

And, just as an extra, because I found it on the camera, here's a picture of Sparky on the dining room table. Apparently, while I was at Court Licks, the chilluns went on a spree of photographing him on various prohibited surfaces.



Just something to keep in mind, for those of you who might find yourself at our dinner table.

I've been remiss

in my performance of happy dances.

Of course, along with all the other gun nuts out there, I did the Heller happy dance (that links to the entire decision, FYI). Seriously - you mean the Second Amendment guarantees an individual right? Next major Supreme Court surprise - the right to breathe in implies an individual right to breathe out.

Anyway. A win.

Now, I'm not going to put my freebies from Uncle Sugar on the same plane of importance as the Bill of Rights, but I'm also doing the happy dance about the recent GI Bill upgrade.

The Post 9/11 GI Bill will provide up to 100% of your tuition. In addition, the program provides a monthly housing stipend, and a stipend of up to $1,000 a year for books and supplies. If you attend less than full-time you will receive a portion of the payment based on the number of units of study.

...

100% - 36 or more total months
100% - 30 or more consecutive days with Disability related Discharge.
90% - 30 total months
80% - 24 total months
70% - 18 total months
60% - 12 total months
50% - six total months
40% - 90 or more consecutive days

For Active Component folks like the Mister, this is pretty simple. For Reversists like moi, however, it will require clarification. Some of these service amounts include time on active duty other than on "mobilization orders," some don't seem to. There's also the always-interesting question for what is probably the most mobile demographic in the US this side of migrant fruit pickers - how is the state determined?

Fortunately, the DoD always pays someone to figure this crap out and put it in a pamphlet written simply enough that even soldiers can understand it.

[pauses, does math] My last mob was 14 months and change, I did a six month tour at SILLYCOM, there's probably another six months of active duty for various schools and exercises...and, well, there's a good chunk of time left on my current enlistment.[rubs hands, does Mr. Burns impression] Eeeexcellent.

This is gonna be a sweet deal no matter how they break it down.

What can one say

about this sort of thing?

Postcards showing police dog-in-training Rebel, a German shepherd born in early December, are causing a furor among the region’s Muslims who believe dogs are "ritually unclean," the Daily Mail reports.

[sigh]

Sometimes, you really gotta wonder if the clash of civilizations crowd is on to something.

I mean, I try. I do. I really do.

But any group of people who can get their knickers in a twist over this...



The ritual oppression of all things female is bad. The general disdain for secular learning and genuine expansion of knowledge...also bad. But affecting great offense at a cute puppy on a public-safety flier?

This crap needs to be booted back to its miserable hovels in fly-infested third-world hellholes. Most ricky tick.

I did not know there was a market

for this sort of thing, but a stop at the Fort Worth Star Telegram website enlightened me. Did you know you can buy handmade FLDS (Fundamentalist Church of Latterday Saints) clothing? On the internet?

The group's site seems to focus largely on children's outfits, so you could outfit your short people to look like this:



A good look for tearful goodbyes as government agents take your children away, it seems.

Anyway, if that's your bag, the site is FLDS Dress, and it looks like you might be able to place special orders if you want something similar for the taller folks in your life.

The Man strikes again

As always, I picked up the "crud" my last couple of days playing Army, and got off the plane hacking and sneezing (Mom, Dad - thanks for the immune system that allows me to resist illness until right before I come home, virtually guaranteeing that every homecoming in my life will be a festival of phlegm).

We stopped at Walgreens for Advil Cold & Sinus, which, apparently because you can use it to make meth, is now a controlled substance. I picked up my little I-want-cold-meds tag and proceeded to the pharmacy, where a nice little pharmacist asked for my driver's license.

She took it, got me my 20 caplets, and proceeded to start typing something into her computer.

Pardon me, I asked, but, just out of curiosity, exactly what information are you capturing?

Oh, she replied, we get your name and address and driver's license number. You know, so they can see how much of this stuff you're buying and if they think you're using it to make meth. Even though I know you're not. She smiled.

I can buy 5,000 rounds of ammunition with no ID (unless I'm buying at one of those places that likes to verify age), but they are tracking my cold medicine purchases?

Creepy.

Home (again)

and, as usual, the fabulousness that is one's very own bathroom cannot be overstated.

Money Quote

From our recent camping trip... We were toward the back of the convoy of humvees heading back to the barracks when all was said and done. At one point, there was a stop sign at which we needed to turn right. There were about twenty trucks in our convoy.

You can tell the ones who haven't deployed, said our chief instructor, because they're stopping at the stop sign.

Almost there...

We survived the "field" portion of this class. It wasn't particularly arduous. In fact, the ticks were probably the worst part of it, and led to this sign.



Yes, that sign is on the shitter. I can't imagine a tick infestation there, but it can't be a good thing. Two words, ladies and gentlemen: butt ticks. There - now you'll have a nice image to ponder [shudders].

As for me, I didn't encounter a single one the entire time we were out there. Perhaps that's because I don't like ticks, and thus avoided walking through the tall grass.

They gave us a day off today for no apparent reason, and I went to Philadelphia to walk around and see the sights. We went to the National Consitution Center, which was cool. I recommend it. Independence Hall was full for the day, so we settled for a stroll around Washington Square and then returned to our lovely quarters.

48 hours from now I fully intend to be back at Bad Dog Central, enjoying that most wonderful of all luxuries...my own bathroom.

Camping!

We're off for a few nights in tents. We have three "phases" of Civil Affairs soldiers out here. We've got what we call the "10 level," which is folks who are coming over from another field and for whom this is their introduction to what we do. We have our midlevel group, and a small group of more senior NCOs.

This is one of those entertaining fields where training often involves interacting with the local community to get people up to speed on finding key personnel in a civilian community and talking to them. The 10 level students started that yesterday, and beginning tomorrow we'll be riding around with them, doing the "teach, coach, mentor" gig.

So I'll be off the radar until the middle of next week, riding around and offering my valuable insights to new CA soldiers. It should be very special.

And if any of you are in the Court Licks area, and happen to see a bunch of humvees parked behing a convenience store, have no fear. It's not an invasion, it's a coffee break.

More thoughts from school

It wasn’t until I noticed that my Mom was telling stories about my youthful misbehavior that I even thought of seeing if I could access the blog through the Army computer system here in the classroom. Lo and behold, I can! The system doesn’t seem to jive with Haloscan, but I can post without trudging through the groundhog ambush site to the club.

Anyway...since I don't want to pay attention in any more classes, I have plenty of time to put together long, rambling posts.

We’re getting close to the end of the classroom portion of this, which is A Good Thing. We’ve pretty firmly established at this point that Civil Affairs NCOs, more than any other group in the military, have zero tolerance for foreign civilians.

We wish refugees would get real jobs and move out of camps, we loathe handing out humanitarian assistance supplies, we firmly believe that willful stupidity is an insurmountable barrier to conducting population and resource control operations with any level of force below tanks.

I’ve previously said we have only one soldier in our group who hasn’t deployed. We have a couple others who deployed as something other than CA. But among those of us who have, there is not a single one who has not had an HA (humanitarian assistance) drop that:

A – turned into a no-holds-barred brawl

B – involved handing out some asinine and truly useless item that came from some level of “Higher”

The Afghanistan folks cornered the market on B. That operation gets more international support, and so they get a wider variety of stuff. Including children’s underwear with celebrity images emblazoned on them, courtesy of (wait for it, it won’t be a surprise), the people of Japan.

We agreed that the concept of targeted HA drops almost entirely escapes maneuver unit commanders, who seem to be big fans of just handing crap out because Iraqis (and Afghans) like crap. We’d prefer they consider our input on issues like which populations need stuff, which populations deserve stuff, and which populations might be bought for our side with stuff. Our mission is really, really, really not to put a smile on a child’s face. It really, really, really is to wean the people of these countries off their dependence on American handouts.

But of course, soldiers like children and, since the current policy on war trophies sucks, it seems that the one thing everyone wants to take home is a picture of them handing a Beanie Baby to an urchin. We have had no luck convincing any of them that Beanie Babies are not Humanitarian Assistance items, and, thus, CA should not be responsible for them.

[sigh] I thought it was just us, but I was wrong. At least I know I’m not alone.

One score

and ten years ago, a woman in Michigan was, after many (very many, if you ask her) hours of labor, presented with a shrieking infant. The woman and her husband had planned to name the infant Edwin if it was male, and Rachel if it was female.

The baby was a girl but it did not, according to the legend, look like a Rachel. It looked, the story goes, like an Abigail.

The woman was Mom, the husband Dad, and Abigail was, of course, yours truly.

Today is the big Three-Oh.

I find it a little depressing to be 30, but it certainly does beat the alternative. Rumors abound that this would be an appropriate point to grow up and act like a responsible adult, but they are unconfirmed rumors, so I won't be making that a priority.

In honor of this momentous day, I have for you a picture of a groundhog here at Court Licks.



It's like a hobbit birthday, in which my guests get presents!

EDIT: Hey! I can't see the full comments with the Army internet, but I am fairly sure my Mom is NOT allowed to tell stories!