Magic in the Baghdad Cafe

The Major Leaves Iraq

To all my friends and family – I’M BAAAAAAAAACK!

Sorry it took so long to write – I’ve been busy

I finally hit US soil on the 6th of February at 4 AM at Ft Campbell, KY for refueling and to drop off two choking chickens at their home (OK – choking chicken = screaming eagle – 101st airborne ho’ah logo – hey, they don’t complain – MY unit patch is known as the exploding a**h*** - not a new designation for it – met a Vietnam vet who recognized it and called it by its nickname….). I, of course, immediately called all my family – except Mike, who had his computer online and wasn’t taking phone calls (ed: Was not. I forgot to turn on the answering machine and at 5:15 am I don't move so fast. By the time I got to the phone you had hung up! Thanks a lot, sis!). It was fun waking everyone up. Landed at my home station at Ft Hood about 0730, and, after relinquishing our weapons, we were transported by bus and MP escort to the homecoming ceremony. For those of you not military – everyone gets a homecoming ceremony. The general meets you at the airport, you are marched into a gymnasium or hanger, and a few words are spoken by the garrison or other commanders. Your family is present and after the BRIEF (these guys know where our minds are, and they are NOT on listening to speeches!) you get dismissed – and EVERYONE runs to their families and loved ones en mass. (Even the two airborne soldiers we dropped off at ft Campbell – the rest of us lined up in formation for their ceremony.) I immediately saw Patty, but couldn't find Dad during the homecoming – he was hidden behind one of the flags. They told me later they couldn’t find me either – something about 100 people all dressed in camouflage…. They had balloons and flowers for me (real flowers!), and, as we hugged, I noticed a cameraman crouching on the floor to get the best angle to film our homecoming. Turns out they had interviewed Dad and Patty as they were waiting for us and we were going to be on the 6 o’clock news. Yes, we taped it. We were now free to leave with our families for the day. Tomorrow, I would resume my journey to Ft Bliss (a misnomer if ever there was one) to face the scariest thing I’ve had to face so far – the redeployment process, including that mother of all terrors – CIF, Central Issue Facility (insert ominous back ground music here). The next day, – after a long soak in my bath tub – with a case of beer in a cooler at my side, and a Fudruckers hamburger safely ingested, – I was shipped out to Ft Bliss (what a misnomer) to face the dreaded CIF.

For those of you who have never had to face this incomprehensible monument to civilian inefficiency and petty tyranny, it’s basically the place we return our issued army equipment. Little things like – oh, the duffle bag. The web gear. The Alice pack. Even our uniforms.

So, back to CIF in a minute. Let me tell you about the army’s general concept of redeploying their soldiers. First of all I was allowed to come over to Iraq with 3 duffle bags, a footlocker and a carry-on (my ruck sack). Of course the powers that be decided that coming back I could only take two duffels, a ruck and a carry-on. In spite of the fact that I came with more. Suddenly I was faced with the task of trying to decide what will come home, what will get mailed, and what will get abandoned. Granted a lot of what I took over was perishable or consumable items (toilet paper, gator-aid, wet-wipes) I still had a lot – things I ordered on-line to make my life a bit easier – the mink blanket I bought from the PX to sleep in – (ever try to sleep in a nylon mummy bag? Can’t roll over, skin becomes sticky with contact, and the laundry won’t wash it – ever – because the temperature in the dryers are too high and the bag will melt - so you end up living in your own sweaty bag for a year – ewwwwwww). Most of us solved this problem by buying these soft fuzzy blankets from the PX – cuddly. Of, course, no chocking chicken or smashed shamrock will ever ADMIT that.

Anyway, multiply this process of elimination by 400 soldiers. The Iraqis who remove our trash (and go through it for usable items) must have thought it was Christmas (OK, OK, I know, NOT a good, politically correct, culturally sensitive simile, but, hey, it fits – kinda.) So I had to compress.

After the majority of compression was done, it was announced that we COULD send one foot locker back on a milvan. Turns out instead of leaving ALL the milvans here “they” wanted some back in the US – ‘cause they are expensive and scarce. So, as you NEVER ship an EMPTY milvan, we found ways of filling the extra ones up with our footlockers. Which should arrive in the US in, ohhhh, say, about 3 months or so. Don’t put anything you NEED in there. OR any of your CIF issue stuff – but back to CIF later.

So I put the opportunity to good use. Hey, I had to BUY the footlocker in the first place – I didn’t want to abandon it. Though I DID abandon my wardrobe and my chest of drawers (not the MRE box drawers – those went to the big trash pile in the sky – if someone wanted a set, well, MRE boxes are pretty ubiquitous…)

ANYWAY. We turned the hospital over to the new CSH – 31st out of, get this, Ft Bliss (where I had to go, even though I’m from Ft Hood). And we had to turn over our sleep tents and move to the transient area of tent city.

Where I decided to get sick – just a cold – however it became accompanied by bronchispasms, which, basically caused me to have problems with the little things in life – like breathing. I finally had someone haul me back to the hospital I had just abandoned for treatment - On the day we were supposed to fly. They quickly took me off the manifest as they weren’t sure if I had “the pneumonia” that’s been going around. Nasty thing – can be fine in the morning and on a ventilator by evening. So they didn’t want me to be on a 17-hour flight getting worse. They went ahead and signed over my weapon to someone else, in case I was medevac’ed; which ended up causing problem when I finally returned to Ft Bliss (what a misnomer) and CIF - but more about CIF later.

Anyway I got cleared – still having problems breathing and bronchiospasms – asthma like attacks, but slightly more controlled. Picture this living in tent city. Iffy heat (heaters that got installed kinda worked – at times) Rainy. Damp. Dinning facility 1.5 miles away. Me, sick as a dog. Walking to dinner. Or lunch or breakfast – well, in reality, I managed one meal a day and took stuff to nibble on during the rest of the time. Fun.

Decided to send me to the other half of the 21st CSH located in Mosul, to fly out with that contingent – which was flying in three days. Not a lot of air traffic normally goes from Balad to Mosul, so when a flight came up I and one of our docs grabbed it. The doc was also flying to hook up with the Mosul contingent. This poor guy ended up watching over me for the few days it took till we got home. I am really grateful.

Anyway, a C130 was going to Mosul – we had to show up at the airfield at 0530 – ON SUPERBOWL SUNDAY!! I missed the superbowl! (Airtime: pre-game 0200, game 0300 to about 0800 – I also missed Janet Jackson – golly gee - another incredible example of human foresight and intelligence – imagine a very sarcastic note in my voice here….)

Turns out we were the only two passengers on the flight – a whole C130 and us and our little pile of baggage – normally C130s will not fly generally empty like that. Turns out it was meeting the Undersecretary of Defense, and his entourage, in Mosul.

This C130 did a combat takeoff – basically, get in position, rev up the engines as far as they can go, pop the clutch, and slingshot into the air. As soon as the wings clear the ground, put the plane on it’s side and start spiraling up for altitude over the airfield. Guaranteed to make you revisit every meal you ate in the last 48 hours. It had to be the MOST miserable 45 minutes in my life.

We did finally land and unload – then watched the Undersecretary of Defense load HIS baggage onto the plane. No baggage restrictions for him. THREE pallets of luggage! None of which was DOD green, or even dusty. Sigh

While waiting to leave Mosul, they had a formal award ceremony for the Mosul contingent of the 21st CSH. In the middle of the ceremony, sure enough, BOOM – a mortar attack!

“BUNKERS, BUNKERS, BUNKERS!”

Amazing how quickly a group of people can go from attention to crouching inside concrete bunkers. After the all clear, we all lined up again – in the same order I might add - and the commander formally and nonchalantly (OK a bit of an oxymoron), picked up where he left off. One last salute from our Iraqi opponents prior to leaving. Didn’t hit anything. As ever.

Customs come out to inspect our baggage – a painful process – and, unfortunately that "gift from my friend" didn’t make it though. Turns out it was considered pornographic. I went around telling people I missed it. The reply was usually – “TMI!” Hey, it got a laugh.

We then moved into the customs sterile area to await our flight. We and ALL our baggage were flying out on a C17. At about 2030 on 5 Feb we loaded the combat ready, dark C17, lifted off from Mosul (again a combat takeoff – no lights on the outside of the plane, red battle lights on the inside, pop the clutch and do a quick climb to altitude). About 20 minuets later an announcement came over the intercom from the pilot –

“We are leaving Iraqi airspace!”

wow

General cheers broke out on the plane.

The plane resumed its peacetime configuration - turned on its outside navigation lights and turned off the red combat lighting on the inside. We were out of the war zone.

This was a significant moment.

I didn’t expect to feel as emotionally stirred as I was. Finally, I could relax the muscles I didn’t even realize I was holding tense. Just the knowledge of no more mortars coming in. No more worry about IEDs or wounded soldiers or anything.

wow

More in a bit – I’ll finish my journey home – including the dreaded CIF (but more on that later…)

to be continued......

-Major Pain

(Editors note: The Major's only complaint about returning home is that "it's just too quiet".)

How are We Unsophisticated?

For a long time now, I've heard sources complain how "unsophisticated" we Americans are. Yet no one has actually described what is meant by "to be sophisticated". And so I ask the question, how are we Americans unsophisticated? (And no smart remarks about "If you have to ask....")

And not "why" we are. How. What do we lack? What would we look for in a European and identify as sophisticated? First of all, let us remove from the discussion "Passports" and "polyglottony" (defined as: knowing one more language than someone else and never letting them forget it). One may of course stress the cultural and sophisticated advantages of visiting or traveling in another country, or the fact that one simply can't appreciate Japanese Haiku when translated.

One question I would like to ask; does anyone believe that ALL of one's fellow citizens are sophisticated, or just a sub-set of them? Do you have any knowledge of what percent of your fellow citizens would be identified as "sophisticated"?

Is sophistication more than superficial? I would assume lounging in the cafe mocking the nearest tourist's shoes is not as sophisticated as a riveting argument over the propriety of Derrida's Archives in California. Is fashionable sophisticated? Who sets "fashionable" for the sophisticated? Is it similar to, or different from what Americans see as fashionable?

For that matter, who would you identify in America as sophisiticated? May I assume Michael Moore is not so designated? (Whew. Let's shorten sophisticated to "S" to spare my typing. I can always use a find a replace function later).

Does the perception of "S" change over time, or do there exist certain immutable tennets that remain "S"?

Does "S" presume "high culture" i.e. Classical Music, Art in Museums, Ballet, etc. Does it reject it? What "arts" are associated with "S". What types of music, dance, art is considered worthy of "S"?

Literature. Who and what is "S". Fiction? Non-fiction? A certain sense of, or take on the world? Poetry? Does an "S" discuss these works with the verve and knowledge of detail as some Americans discuss the football standings (or as some Europeans discuss the football standings)? In the cafes? In the bars? In discussion groups at home?

Philosophy, Religion and Politics. Please compare and contrast. Extra Credit for the Historical take on all this.

Work. Professions. Jobs. What is the take on what is or isn't?

Is any particular language or languages sophisticated? And what makes it/them so?

Are any particular sport or pastime more "S" than another?

Sorry to run on, but what I want is basic understanding of "S". "How is someone sophisticated?"

Then all us Americans can go make "S"s of ourselves. As if we don't already; sorry for the bad pun.

But I am interested in prompting a thoughtful discussion.

Me, I have my Ideas on sophistication. But to have all Americans called "unsophisticated" is baffling.

What to you think?

-mike

Ah, the Distances We Unsophisticated Americans Will Travel

No Passports. One language. So American's are boobs, thinks Director Michael Moore in a screed published in Germany's Die Ziet. As Michael Totten points out, Americans travel the entire North American Continent and Mexico with no passport. And North America is a pretty big place. I've often wondered if Europeans might have a misconception of just how big the US is. Europeans seem to flaunt the number of stamps in their passport to demonstrate worldly sophistication. Travel, of course, is expensive for both Europeans and Americans. And Americans do travel. Perhaps a comparison of distances is in order to give some scale to the debate.

My home is Chicago, sort of in the middle of this continent. I will look to Chicago's Sister City, Paris, France, as a European base point. All Chicago based distances stay in the US. All distances in miles.

Parisians probably travel to London quite often as it's only 257 miles from Paris to London. That gets me from Chicago to St. Louis (258 mi.) or to Detroit (238 mi.). Or to my parents home in Northern Wisconsin.

The English Channel, Dover to Calais, is 30 miles across. The little lake that laps gently on Chicago's edge, Lake Michigan, is 88 miles across (and that's the short distance; its long axis, at 307 miles, is greater than the distance from Paris to London). 

My Mom worked for a Swedish Machine Tool Corporation with offices in Chicago. They would rotate in directors from Sweden every year or so. On a Thursday before one long 3 day weekend, Mom and the Swede were discussing plans for the holiday. Mom was surprised to discover that the Director and his family  were going to drive to Denver to see the mountains. In 3 days. Mom sat him down and gently broke the news that one couldn't drive there and back in 3 days. Chicago to Denver: 911 miles. It would be like driving from Stockholm to Paris: 963 miles.

The Director's perception of distances was way off. A problem of Mile to Kilometer conversion? Remember, twice as many klicks to the mile! Maybe all maps should be printed to the same scale. How many languages, by the way, does one pass through from Paris to Stockholm? No wonder the Europeans need to know so many, "Sorry kids, no potty breaks till Germany; I can't say "toilet" in Finnish", is not conducive to happy family outings.

Do families in Europe take driving vacations? I'm sure they must. We do in the US. My family once drove from Chicago to LA. When we got to Las Vegas (1525 miles), the car overheated. If that happened to the Parisian family on their trip, I hope they would be able to find a good mechanic in Moscow (Paris to Moscow: 1550 miles). 30 years ago, my family drove to LA (1749 miles) with no passports and one language. I'll bet the Parisian family of the time couldn't even get permission to drive to Leningrad, only 1350 miles away. And how many languages?   

My sister lives in Atlanta. I've been there a number of times. It's a city I know pretty well. 585 miles from Chicago. That distance puts the Parisian family in Berlin, Germany (545 miles). I'll bet its warmer in Atlanta. And, as in Berlin, English is spoken with a cute accent.

Miami. Everyone should visit Miami FL. The center of Caribbean Commerce and a great vacation town! 1186 miles from Chicago. Lucky for Parisians, Helsinki, Finland is only 1188 miles from Paris. And the Finns speak a truly unique language! The French must be eager to dive in and learn. My diving will remain strictly in the warm Atlantic off Biscayne Bay. Is that why Europeans need all that vacation time? To learn all those languages?

Major Pain was stationed in Anchorage Alaska for a period. She became a citizen of our largest state. Only 2834 miles from Chicago. For a Parisian that would be...where? Half way to China? Somewhere in the Gobi Desert? The Major's in Texas now, only 798 miles away. 825 miles from Paris to Copenhagen, just a hop, skip and a jump.

You've probably heard our "bi-coastal elites" kid Chicagoans about being in "fly-over country"; you know, the part of the country that isn't in LA or New York City. LA to NYC: 2462 miles as the girls from "Sex in the City" fly. I don't know if the equally elite Parisian sophisticates look forward to winging from Paris to Baghdad, 2406 miles away. It is a chance for them to use the Arabic learned vacationing in Algiers, only 840 miles from Paris. All this sophisticated language learning. It sounds tiring. But 856 miles would put me in Boston and some excellent seafood in me. And though English in Boston is spoken with the "r"s in all the wrong places, the Harvard Commons debate would undoubtedly be lively and thought provoking.

When I get tired I wing my way to another city I know well, Honolulu HI. Only 4249 miles away. English is still spoken. One does hear Japanese passing by in clumps. As well as a loud variant of English from Australia. I suppose denizens of the City of Light who want to travel that far go to Mumbai, India (4635 miles away), where another language or 20 awaits them!

But if those poor Parisians start mixing their languages and need a break from all that sophistication, they are welcome to fly the 4147 miles to Chicago and bone up on English. Or Spanish. Or Polish. Or German. Or Swedish. Or...

My point?

Should lack of stamps in a passport mean one is boorish and untraveled? No.
Should learning a bunch of languages mean one is superior to everone else? No.

A continent with one language and no barriers to travel has advantages far beyond what Europeans must contend with on a daily basis. They know this, hence the EU. So if the Europeans try to sell their polyglot passport laden life as a feature instead of a bug, just humor them. We know what's what.

UPDATE:
Citizen Smash shares a story in the Indepundit
Comments by Sarah at trying to grok
John comments in his blog Spectra

-mike   

Postcard from the Major

I received a postcard from the Major (who's been luxuriating in her jacuzzi for 3 days straight with a tub of Kilian Red at the side). It was sent while she was still on duty in Iraq.

"...this card will be home after I get there.

Someone sent me some Scooby-doo bandaids, and I got an opportunity to put one on a Special Forces spook with a cut hand - he got a good laugh - and the Special Forces super-medic that came in with him demanded the rest of the box so he could use them in the field. I got a good laugh out of that; HU'AH HO'AH SF guys with cartoon dressings. He He!

See you soon!"

-Major Pain

-bear

What makes America exceptional?

Yesterday, Jeff Jarvis of BuzzMachine ... by Jeff Jarvis answered a challenge by a reader of his to "Name the exceptional things about America that make it great..." He replied:

"...So I'll step up and start the bidding. Here's my starting list:
1. Freedom of speech. We protect that single freedom, our greatest freedom, more dearly than any nation you can name.
2. Freedom of religion. We don't ban headscarves and yarmulkes, we fight to protect our citizens and immigrants' right to worship as they please.
3. An economy that powers the world with courage and capital and ingenuity and imagination."

Hit the link above to read the rest, and see what others added.

Here's my contribution:

American Strengths?
1) The most dynamic and diverse creative ferment on the planet. America has no culture? Thank God. People come here because ALL culture is here. It throbs and heaves and sparks and inspires. Others wish to protect "their culture" from America. Fine. Keep your artists at home and make your citizens stop buying ours. But America is giddy, glorious culture. Take, for example, our music, one of our greatest "strengths"; a smorgasbord from raves to ring cycles with courses of blues, zydeco, jazz, salsa, gospel, cajun, bluegrass, opera, country&western, calypso, banda, rock and latin all part of the tasty feast.

2) America is self-selected. People coming here were escaping something restricting, demeaning, or deadly. They came with hope and a desire to make a better life for themselves - granted, to some a tired saying, but still, most certainly true.

3) Self-reliance. America was too big. Survival mandated that each person be independent and capable. Or one died. We organized ourselves into communities to do that which we could not do individually. Police forces, universities, libraries, hospitals, labor unions, co-operatives, fire departments, chambers of commerce; all of our civic structure started AT THE COMMUNITY LEVEL. Nothing was given or imposed from above by an "elite". In doing so, we learned to respect each other, to think each of us capable, and each of us worthy of respect.

4) We Govern ourselves. We are not governed. See 3 above. From the bottom up, not the top down.

5) Equality of opportunity and our "Can Do" attitude. "What can I do today?". "Tomorrow is another day". Forward looking; keeping the best, tossing the rest.

6) Belief in ourselves. Our successes reinforce this. Our defeats, embarrassments and tragedies, only further our resolve to fix it, and not let it happen again. And this is the secret to our success. Our desire to improve.

Anything else? Comments welcome. And if you want to complain, go right ahead; we do that better than anyone else, too.

-bear

Major Pain is Home!

Letter to follow soon.
-bear

21st CSH on NOVA

The 21st CSH will be featured on an episode of the PBS program NOVA.
The NOVA website has posted the schedule for March 2004, & the documentary on the 21st CSH "Life and Death in the War Zone" airs on Tuesday, 2 March 2004 at 8:00 p.m. EST.

This was filmed between March and June of 2003 after the first unit deployed (so Major Pain will not be featured as she didn't arrive until August. But she says the 21st did just fine before she got there and insists that everyone watch the program).

Mark your calenders!

-bear

Super Bowl "Midfield Incident" update

So this is who the streaker was during the Super Bowl! From the UK Telegraph | News | US outraged by Jackson's Super Bowl peep show

To the further embarrassment of organisers, Mark Roberts, the 39-year-old Liverpudlian known as a prolific streaker, got on to the pitch after Jackson's show and stripped down to a G-string before being tackled by a player. He was due to be charged with criminal trespass.

As you know, our television networks take a "dim view" of such shenanigans, so we didn't get to see his naked dash on the field. I am heartened by the participation of our Anglo Alies in our Super Bowl. But next time, I would suggest that perhaps a UK company could sponsor said streaker.

He'd get on TV then, too, just like Janet.
-bear

Major Pain Travel Update

What a Send Off!
(Updated 2/4) We had an awards ceremony - everyone standing right squared right and at attention, with the Commander handing out awards - formaly, when BOOM BOOM - we got a two morter salute from the Iraqis! "BUNKERS, BUNKERS, BUNKERS!" We all ran for the bunkers and waited for the all clear, then lined up again - and continued where we left off as if nothing happened. Ahhhhh, Army life!!!

Yes, I'm fine - the mortars did not hit the CSH - but, once again, came close, Nor did one of the three hit the area I am living in. "They" did get lucky with 11 injured - one who didnt make it. Was a good wakeup call for the 31st CSH who took over from us. This is one of over 90 mortar attacks since I got here (we went 89 days in a row with an attack every day) Now we might get one attack per week.

love me

However I DO have a nasty COLD....

oh! oh! oh!

I'm now in mosul YES!

Came up in a C130 with just myself and one other passenger - no cargo, just our little bit of gear. Strange for a big plane like that - when we got to Mosul, turns out the plane came up to pick up the Undersect'y of Defense - we were lucky to get the ride!!

OK Better news on arrival dates: Friday or Sat, this week.

If the plane flys good and we katch the next one good - which means that I'll get at LEAST one nite at home (in my tub - oh, yes. talking to you too I guess....he he) then 1 week El Paso *UGH* then a couple of days at Ft. Hood then freedom for 3 weeks!!!

see ya!

(Update 2/5) I'm in Turkey, 04:00 in the AM.

-Maj. Pain

Baghdad, 1/31/04

CSH in, CSH out
OK, so we have been in the process of turning over the hospital to the 31st CSH all last week. Initially the personnel of the incoming CSH worked a few shifts with our personnel, then worked with a few of our personnel hanging around to give advice and help the new people work the system. During this time we continued to live in our own tents and cots while the incoming personnel lived in tent city. Well, on Saturday this all changed. In one mass movement we and the 31st exchanged living space. Suddenly we went from our "home" with heat, light, electrical outlets and drawers to a bare tent with bunk beds, no heat and no place to plug in my computer. It gets COLD here at night!!! And not being able to use my computer - oh, the agony of it all! I usually can tolerate the cold - but this was a damp cold and, as I had not been able to relocate my stuff myself to the new area (I was in an ALS class) my tent mates, who did move my stuff (which I heartily thank them for) gave me a top bunk. I haven't been in a bunk bed since I was mmmmmm - six. I'm old. The beds are high. The roof of the tent is a few inches from my nose. And it forms condensation. Which means you touch it, you get soaked. The bunks sway and creek at the slightest provocation. I swear, every time the person in the lower bunk rolls over, I get seasick. She rolls over. I wake up. I roll over, she wakes up. I'm tempted to yell "SHIFT!" so at least we wake up at the same time to move - maybe well get more sleep that way. I finally tied the bunk to a tent pole to decrease its movement (550 cord has so many uses). Here's another - use it to tie you bunk down. At least we are better off than another transient group near us - all their gear was palletized for transit, so they didn't even have sleeping bags at night! Burrrrrrrrr

The people who run this place came around with heaters yesterday - our tent was one of the first ones set up, courtesy of a few very pretty nurses calling (enticing) the Iraqi work group to "com' on over"! They took it in fun as it was intended - and we had HEAT!!! YES!!! Which lasted all of 2 days. The heaters froze up. Go figure.

*Sigh* I love Iraq (not) I love Iraq (not) I love Iraq (not).

The 31st was kinda surprised, disappointed, dismayed when they first saw the place. Of course it had just rained again and the whole place was a sloppy, nasty mess. They expected a place like they get at NTC, new and clean and shiny. Sorry guys. It took them a few days till they realized how much we had accomplished. And how much more they have to go. The exchange was smooth, and we tried to give them all of our lessons learned, but a lot they will have to experience themselves. The first thing they did was condemn all of the portapotties in the living area, on the basis they didn't get cleaned out. Well, they DID get empted everyday almost (sometimes the Iraqis didn't show up for whatever reason), BUT when you have 3 potties for over 90 women - it gets filled quickly. It was a smooth move to close them. Problem was it left NO place to pee in the sleeping area. Closest place was the 6 hospital potties, on the OTHER side of the hospital. Now I tell you, I had enough trouble making it to the potties on time in the middles of the night - I can't imagine going twice the distance. That lasted one day. Enough people pissing in the corners in the middle of the night convinced the powers that be that perhaps containing that piss was a better option - no matter how nasty the potties were. Of course the bright shinny new flushable toilets (which broke down 6 weeks after we got them) were still there - maybe the part will come in and they will get fixed. Maybe in a year. I'm holding my breath. Really. I am.

Stupid Human Tricks(Parental Advisory here)
Some people got kinda stupid and went out and had some alcohol. Unlike MASH, alcohol is one of the forbidden fruits in Iraq as is illegal drugs and porn (and intercourse - even between husband and wife if they are both deployed in the area) - it's always one of the first orders a theater commander gives to decrease the problems that drugs and alcohol (and sex) cause. The porn is more due to the religious beliefs of the area. Of course you end up with a lot of "muscle" magazines instead in which, while the women are "dressed", not much is left to the imagination. Our little PX makes sure they have a good supply of them. Now, a good friend DID take pity on me out here and sent me a plain brown envelope which contained a playgirl and a dildo (with extra batteries). I did do the right thing (eventually - hey, I'm human) and shred the playgirl, although it took me 3 days to wrassel it away from my tent mates. I still carry the shredded pieces of the best looking man in my pocket. I can't wait to go through customs and they find the dildo in my bag.

ANYWAY, these persons got dumb and decided to have a bit of a party. Unfortunately, one of the group proceeded to pass out and throw up on her bunk. YES, make it OBVIOUS you were drinking. She then fingered her co-conspirators - legal blood alcohol levels anyone? All were hauled to the hospital at 3 am and read their rights. Oops. This is a career ender.

*Sigh* Kids. Couldn't wait 2 more days.

Exodus(?)
A group of us are hanging around cleaning weapons, readying for turn-in when we get back. We should be leaving tomorrow. In a C17. Sling seats for 17 hours. I am looking forward to it. Really, I am. Dad better meet me at the airport with a beer (Kidding Dad - still can't drink till I get home, BUT have the bathtub full and the open case of beer next to it!!!)

That's all for now and all for Iraq (I hope!!!)

I turned on my cell phone and intend to call home as soon as I see a signal when we get into US air space. I'll try to let you know when I'm landing - which should be on 1/31 - maybe (ahhhhhh army planning - fluid to say the least, chaotic if you are honest - amazing that we have never been defeated. Might be due to the fact we never do the common sense, expected thing - keeps 'em guessing - us too, unfortunately?)

Take care all!

Love, Major Pain

Editor Update: That's not all! The Major was hit with a respiratory ailment just before her group was scheduled to leave (must be the excitement of coming home!), and has been delayed for a few days. She promises a new letter, too. See you soon, Major. Dad says the beer's chillin' in the 'fridge. - bear