More Stress, Less Work, and another 3 months in Afghanistan

 

   New base, new circumstances, less Internet. Now I share the only computer with my entire platoon, and it is slow. So I have been less enthusiastic then normal about responding to comments and waiting for pages to load. (about 3mins per) Also, the chance that I will type this entire post and then watch it disappear into the oblivion of Internet space when the site doesn’t load in time was less then appealing. But the other day I was reading the last few posts and they are terrible in my opinion. Not at all what it used to be. When I started this site I was writing for myself and the overall integrity of my posts was way better then when I started writing for an audience. My apologies to those who do read the site regularly for the long delay in posts and and gap in overall quality. I expect both to change. I have alot to post about in the near future…

   But for now I thought that I would repost my first entry that I wrote on the way to Afghanistan, before I had any idea what was about to happen here. If we were redeploying when the rumors said we were, I would be getting ready to go home this week so I have been spending alot of time thinking about home, and coming back. Having said that I find alot of humor in the perspective that I held almost a year ago about this deployment…

 

     So we are in the air…expecting turbulence. By turbulence I mean a year of my life spent in the desert with people I don’t expect to have much to offer. The strange thing is, I have such a low level of stress about the situation. No butterflies, no lost sleep or staying up all last night in anticipation for today’s departure. I think it is because at this point I have absolutely no idea what to expect except hot air and sand for a long time. It is hard to worry about something when you don’t know what part to be anxious about. Obviously a year is a long time, but how impossible is it to try and quantify a year of your life in terms that you can relate to.

    I watch all those families saying there goodbyes and crying and I wonder why I feel like I am going on vacation. How long will it take for me to get a hold on what this situation is really going to be like. Because while I take off and bank left it doesn’t feel like a year yet, as I reach cruising altitude and fly into the sunset at 648 miles an hour, it doesn’t feel like a year in the sand, it feels more like just a trip to Ireland…but then what. I already feel guilty for the inevitable fact that I am not going to make full advantage of this opportunity for self improvement offered by a year away from everything else. I won’t do enough push-ups, write enough, learn enough on the guitar, definitely won’t save enough money. That is unless I can find the balls to start right now, as a different person…committed to change. Without momentum from the time that I touch the foreign soil there is a strong chance of completely wasting a year and coming back with only a few cool stories, a nifty patch, and a few thousand dollars.

    As I walked out to the plane all of those things and more ran through my head. As I shook hands with all of the brass that took there time to come tell me how proud they obviously are of me, my unit, and the army all I could think about was a corny promise I had made to myself to bend at the waist and get on all fours and kiss the fine American soil goodbye for a year. And just as I thought, although my lips were only on the dusty runway for an instant, the moment lasted much longer and will probably always be with me. So I climbed the stairs still trying to sniff out some sort of feeling in the situation rather then just watching if roll by me like a silent movie. The events taking place today are without taste, it is like they are already just memories, and I am just watching them happen.

   As I fly above the dark clouds into the beautiful sky amidst the setting sun, my mind is searching for some sort of symbolism in everything so that I might have something to attach myself to. Goals are the theme for this flight, everything is about the endless possibilities to get something back from this year that as of right now, has been taken from me. Taken my beautiful girlfriend, my adorable puppy, my family. But replaced all those things with a disguised opportunity to make this the best and most productive year of my life. Every passing moment is another opportunity to turn it all around.

 

 

Big Guns, Bigger Guns, and Christmas Cheer in Afghanistan

 

    Took me awhile to update, but so far the Internet is still going strong. I am still trying to catch up on some of the things that I never got a chance to post when the Internet was still down. I scratched some of the less interesting things but I thought I would include our self-induced firefights.

    It all started after soon after I woke up hearing repeating shots coming from the helopad area. I was hearing them all morning and wanted to find out why. I could tell it wasn’t the usual M4 sound so I was curious as to who, or what was shooting. I never miss a chance to shoot whenever I can get the time, clearance, or rounds to do so. Turns out that (nameless) was zeroing his .45. And being the great shot that he is, didn’t need very many rounds to do it, leaving some for me. I have only ever gotten the chance to shoot a handgun before once, and it wasn’t very impressive. (nameless) was a much better teacher then my buddy Meadows was at the gun store in the back of the local pawnshop. I love learning stuff like this that is practical, but only from people who know what they are teaching and how to pass it on.

 

  

   After about 10 minutes of instruction before I ever fired a round, something that would normally bored me to the point of disinterest, I was ready to put holes in stuff. With all the stuff that (nameless) showed me the entire thing seemed much more practical. When I was a Jim’s Pawn Shop, I would aim for the guy in the poster and be happy if I hit him. Now I would be aiming at his nose, and hitting his face instead. Aim small, miss small.(Line from Patriot that I get finally understand)

 

 

    This was my target holder, I tried to set it up as close as possible to something that you would see at a carnival, I think I did a pretty good job. Now I just had to hit them. These are big targets at usual .45 range but if you look at the last picture of the last post you can see how far away we were shooting from. This range is like in the movies when the guy is running away and you shoot him in the leg, except for the running part…and the leg part.

 

 

    Turns out that I am a pretty decent shot post-training. Now I just have to get a gun, get a badge, and have a bad guy try and run away. After the fun we had with the .45, we decided that this week would officially be weapons familiarization week. With things around here kinda slow for Thanksgiving, we set aside two days to shoot almost every weapon that the SF team here has. Something that would justify the entire trip to Afghanistan in my eyes. To shoot weapons other then our M4s and handguns we have to leave the base and go over to the heavy range…armed to the teeth. This involves not only big guns….but four wheelers!

 

 

    We rolled out of the gate with our 4 man, heavily armed four wheeler convoy. I have never felt more like a badass in m entire life. We drove around the heavy weapon range checking for threats before we setup. All of the sudden we were ambushed by a group of three or four paper targets bent on our destruction with no concern for their own safety.

 

 

    You could see in there eyes that this was a serious situation. These paper targets meant business and it was a well planned and executed ambush. We backed off about 400 yards and fought back with everything we had.

INCLUDING….

 

 

  The resident badass of the sniper inventory. The .50 cal sniper rifle. If someone were to jump behind a brick wall in a firefight, this baby with blow a softball sized hole in the wall, them, and the two walls behind them. With this, you can miss someone by over a foot and still kill them with the force it creates while it roars by. The bullets below help demonstrate my point. The ones on the right are the big boys, the .50 cals bullets make them look like slingshot pellets.

 

 

    One thing that you do not want to do when you fire the .50…is forget to put your left earplug in. That was the mistake that I made. When you fire it, you feel an immediate pain in your shoulder and slide back about six inches. All the dust around you kicks up and the little weeds on the ground sway forward like trees in a nuclear blast. When you forget a earplug it feels like someone just jabbed you in the ear with a pencil. The link below is to the video of me shooting it. Notice the scrambled look on my face when I stand up. I am not sure that I knew where I was. I thought someone shot me in the ear for awhile.
http://box.net/public/MyersAndrew22/files/1771850.html

This one is me shooting a silenced fully automatic M4. For anyone that has seen movies where guys rip off rounds at someone with a full automatic weapon and they all hit there mark. Let this video be proof that that is not how it works. I am an expert with the M4…at least I qualified expert on the range. But watch the front of the weapon on automatic. After the first round, the other ones go wherever they want. Definitely NOT at the target. This is part of the US advantage in a firefight because the enemy almost always fires back with a fully automatic burst. Wasting ammo and missing targets.
http://box.net/public/MyersAndrew22/files/1771851.html

 

 This was the leader of the paper target ambush. Intelligence says he was the one that planned it. He got what he deserved. Notice the different sized holes. None of them were the .50 cal. The big ones were the bullets in the other can next to the .50 rounds, and the little ones were M4 rounds. Not bad from 400 yards… he never had a chance.

That is what he gets for ambushing us with a pistol.

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    I can’t belive that Christmas is less then a week away. Bummer. I had planned on taking a picture to use as a Christmas card but since Kinkos online has a screwed up website that produces web errors instead of pictures when you try and design your card, I scratched that idea. None of the pictures turned out the way I wanted anyhow, I was hoping for snow, enough to make a 10 foot snowman in fact, but instead we got none so far. Anyway, since most of my family checks my Xanga, sorry about not getting you a card, here they are though…feel free to print them out and make a card. Just pick out your favorite one.

 

Merry Christmas to everyone there from everyone here.

Thanksgiving Dinner, Turkey bowl Football, and an Early Christmas in Afghanistan

   

Online again…

    Apparently the Internet is a much more shaky entity then I had realized. But without the Internet we found new ways to fill the day, many of them probably much more productive then what we would have done online. Still haven’t put much of a dent on the small library of books that I had sent here. I returned online to find almost 300 emails, most of which were junk, apparently while I was gone my account made then official switch to a mostly junk mail account. I turn 23 in a few weeks, maybe a switch to MyersAndrew23@hotmail.com is in order.

  

 Starting at thanksgiving…

If you build it, they will come.

 

   “Football on the rocks” was retired by the command after a number of significant injuries, and thus began planning for “football on the field”. The field in question is pictured above, a lumpy plot of dirt and pricker bushes. We weren’t planning on trading rocks for pricker bushes, and that is where our small army of local workers came into play…”If they build it…we will come”

 

 

   I think I have said before and will say again, never underestimate the will of bored men to entertain themselves. Not only do we get a football field, but the workers get paid about like thieves for scratching at the dirt for a few days. Then, just in time for the thanksgiving, the “Turkey Bowl” field was finally cleared off and the sandbags marking ten yards were painted and everything was in order for Thanksgiving. We had a battle royal with 3 teams and a weird form of round robin tournament to decide the winner. I have tons of stories but I do not have the energy to type them out right now, and I have tons of hilarious pictures from the day but almost all of them were not cleared to be shown on the site. So all I have is this.

 

(trust me it was fun)

 

   After the games we all stumbled on sore legs back to the chow hall for Thanksgiving dinner. We had two huge hams and two tiny turkeys the size of chickens, amongst other random fixings. I missed the rush at the poor undersized turkeys and was perfectly happy with some ham and a nap for thanksgiving. This Thanksgiving I was thankful to be here with the SF where noone tried to pretend that all was great and have a real Thanksgiving party like they did at some of the bigger bases. We all just went about our day and then took turns calling home to talk to family and enjoy Thanksgiving via the voices in the background on the phone. I hope I will be as lucky for Christmas next month. I do not know if I could stomach a gift exchange in Khandahar, comprised entirely of things bought from the PX or some SGT Major with a Santa costume on scaring all the locals.

   

    Shortly after thanksgiving we had another flight make the trip out here with mail, and suddenly it felt more like Christmas.

    Pretty much everyone got their Christmas rush on the same day, the ground was littered with stockings,  little plastic Christmas trees, candy, and everything else that comes with Christmas morning except for shredded wrapping paper and toys. Of course Kitty still got toys, along with enough treats to live off of. It seemed like every who got a package had gotten something for Kitty in it.

 

 

    That is all the energy I have for this post, I have a bunch of stuff to catch up on so look for more posts in the near future, sorry for the lack of enthusiasm in this post, it has been awhile since I typed anything and I am still intimidated by the idea of responding to all the comments I got while the Internet was down. Thanks to everyone who kept checking in while I was away and leaving comments. If it weren’t for you I probably would have put a close on my Xanga when I got back on. Hopefully I give you something better to read soon.  -Emerstan

 

 

(next time)

Bloody Football, and Sad Days in Afghanistan

 

      Another Internet interruption. Apparently the problem is finally solved…time will tell.

 

    And then there was football, and it was good. Looking back I am still not sure what started it. What was at first a simple game of catch, turned quickly in a battle more fierce then any played inside stadium walls this weekend. What took place barely even resembled American football at all. For those who do not know there are three ways to play football for us weekend warriors…touch…tackle… and wrap-up. After a few ridiculous suggestions for tackle, we decided on wrap-up knowing full well that it would turn in to tackle, in some way.

    The first step was to come up with what we would call the field, touchdowns, out of bounds ect. We settled on four of these, made with aiming poles, ammo boxes, and sandbags. These would mark the boundaries for our mayhem.

 

    Now you may have noticed the background, or more specifically the lack of grass in the background. This would be Afghanistan football, a much more harsh and dangerous version played on rocks, where no footing would be sure, and no fall would be soft.

 

    We picked teams and jumped out to an early lead, and stayed in front. The problem with playing on rocks is that my brain has been programmed for almost 15 years now to play football a certain way. (on grass) When I see a ball that I can catch… I do, without considering the fact that it will seriously affect my ability to land on my feet. A few times I even full out dove for a ball. When you have adrenaline and a brisk sense of competition in your system this seems funny, but afterwards it is much less funny and much more painful. At the end of the game I had 19 catches, 7 TDs, and 2 interceptions capped off with a diving catch on the last drive for the win. (that’s right I counted) I remember saying this is going to hurt tomorrow, but I don’t think that I actually believed it. This was almost 5 days ago, and I am still limping around on a sore hip and bruised elbow. Also both knees and my hands look about like this.

   All regrets aside I would play again today if someone started a game, which I am sure someone will soon (me), there is already plans in the works for a tackle game soon if we get enough snow on the ground to make broken bones a risk and not just part of the game.  ( No word on any future dodgeball games )

 

   ******************************************

 

     I have bad  and very sad news about kitty….

    He is half the man he used to be, or even less. After an embarrassing visit from a vet where he pissed himself and screamed like a girl dog, he woke up today without his nuts…very sad. I feel bad for the guy. Keep him in your prayers.

 

 

 

   In lighter news, I got a new picture of my baby a couple days ago, she is so big already.

 

    I will start posting again, this should be the last delay for awhile, (yeah right) I have something going on tomorrow that should be interesting so look for that. Thanks to everyone that commented in the last week.

 

 

No Title in Afghanistan

  

    Just to clarify, the chunk of story on the last post wasn’t fiction, that is my story. It is the start of, or practice for, my book. But everything (so far) is real. I had a bunch of comments on the “idea” just wanted to be sure everyone understood that it was my story. 

  Damnit, I am sick. I knew as the words left my mouth…”I am glad, I haven’t been sick since we have been over here.”…I was screwed.  I could feel the evil mistress of Karma descending on me. I spent the day doing the only thing that I found myself capable of…. Beating the hell out of the computer players and some coworkers at Risk II…

(look closely at the # of troops)

 

   For lack of energy to create some delicious post, I thought about it and came to the conclusion that I would just post a bunch of random pictures from my “My Pictures” folder. I have acquired a strange cross-section of pictures. Enjoy. PS If you see a picture that I stole from your site…err…that you think I got from your site. You are wrong, I got that picture just a few days after you put it up and have been waiting to use it.

 

These ^ are part of the new plan for my vehicle when I get home. I am back on the Jeep.

 

 

 

(that one is for Kitty)

 

(I just like the way the guy is standing…is that a ciggarete in his mouth?)

 

 

 

 

 

(some days you are the dog, some days you are the monkey)

 

And now my favorite. I have a sick love for these signs of people getting hurt. Like the guy tipping the vending machine on himself of the girl diving into a hotub. I love em’, if you have any of these and send them to me will be on of my new heroes.

 

   Oh and one more thing, because of a weird set of circumstances I had to take a defensive driving course online today, it was terrible. But one thing did make me laugh, definitely the highlight of the course, maybe even my day. This reminds me of what I would normally be doing on a Saturday night rather then taking a defensive driving course online.

 

 

 

Hot Coffee, Expensive Toys, and Purple Hearts in Afghanistan

                                                                                        

   Well the last week has been full of excitement and surprises. Most of which I can not talk about. Needless to say that the excitement has left me short of the time necessary to post or comment back to anyone. When all was said and done one of my best friends was on an emergency flight to Germany with a purple heart dangling from his breast, and two others still wander the camp with the same ornament. But there are more Taliban not wandering at all, win some lose some. This is the first morning I was able to stack together a few consecutive hours of sleep since my last post, and motivated by 20oz coffee and a cigarette I thought I would pound something out…

    Something about a coffee and cigarette in the morning that wakes me from whatever stupor I am in, and for as long as the cigarette burns and the coffee is hot, I am in a different place. Alone the cigarette is just nasty, and the coffee is just too hot, but while they are together they offer a sanctuary from whatever reality is in front of me and remind of a better time.

    I would wake up after the first few wakeup calls in my hotel room, usually just before the sun came up. Still half asleep I would wander down to the breakfast area in Abercrombie sweat pants and hoody, sharing casual glances with the more high end patrons who were there on business or some family adventure. I could feel them staring at me trying to figure out how it came to be that we shared the same hotel as I scurried back onto the elevator with whatever bounty I discovered in the kitchen. I would catch the first part of Sportscenter while eating my breakfast in the living room area, then shower, quickly dress myself in front of the mirror, grabbing the paper and my portfolio on my way out the door. Usually I would share the elevator with a few of the same people that were confused by my presence in the kitchen, who were now more confused after noticing my leather portfolio, two hundred dollar shoes, and neatly arranged Nautica tie. They were visually perplexed, forced to accept the fact that I wasn’t there on some out of season family vacation with my parents, but had somehow afforded the lodging by the same means as they had. Outside I would sink into my car with my coffee, crank my house music, and light a cigarette just as I merged onto the highway. And that is where it happened, for a few high speed minutes I was the only person alive in Chicago. The world makes sense to me from the left side of the highway. The fact that I was was headed to work vanished as I weaved through the slower traffic. Keeping my eyes on the road I could sense other drivers peering in at me as I sped past, wishing for one day that it was their life in the fast lane, their turn to fly carefully by on the left side with a coffee cup to their lips, a cigarette in their hands and house music flowing from their car.

     The hotels were always different, and the path to the office was also always different up until the last few miles. Always new exits, new buildings, new signs, and new billboards. Along the unfamiliar path it felt like today anything could happen, and compared to the rest of the people on the road, I had no idea what it was. Even though we were all headed to work, unlike the masses I really didn’t have to go if I found the right Go-Kart track off of some exit, or caught eyes with the right girl at a stoplight, or was finally tempted by some exit headed west. I was a commission only salesman, and even if I went to the office, I wouldn’t be there long. Like yesterday, today while the rest of the world would be staring out of their office windows in between phone calls like dogs left in the house all day, I would be here. Searching for money, or adventure, or women, or whatever crossed the path of myself, and my new car. This was my office…the road. It was my life, I was a creature of my own design, the product of my own will, and I was convinced that the rest of the world were all suckers. It all seemed as optimistic and empowering as things can seem that early in the morning, and it stayed that way for as long as the slower cars faded into my rear view mirror, my cigarette still burned slowly, and the coffee stayed hot.

 

    More and more during the last few days I have become excited by the idea of writing a novel. What I thought it took to do this has been drastically changed in the last few days after reading a few. Even the Great Gatsby, an awesome book is not nearly as intimidating to write as say the script to Saw, or other well written movies. I was not the homework type in school and literally the first thing that I ever wrote longer then a love letter, was on Xanga. I have virtually no writing experience and I have a long way to go both grammatically and in every other way but it is definitely an interesting proposition. NYCJOYCE would be the spark for this fire after the comment on his site to watch for me as the next Norman Mailer. Now even I am not so dense to consider his comment as anything more then extremely kind, and ridiculous all things being equal. But there isn’t another comparison I would rather have at the moment. If I ever write anything worthwhile, I will be sure to send you some royalties NYCJOYCE because it was your comment that sparked something that made me want to live up to that lofty comparison. And there are few people I would rather receive a comment like that from, because you strike as the type of person with about a half an ounce or less of bullshit in your entire body. So thanks again.

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    After almost a month of no Internet purchases I have proven to myself that I am in fact, not an addict. I thought that I would celebrate this revelation by ordering some high end electronics over the Internet. I justify it because the money I am saving is for my car (or truck) and I have a plan: This little contraption has a 40GB hard drive, it is a 7 devices in one, voice recorder, video recorder, video player, picture player, MP3 player, and a few others. I am going to make a little mount on the dash that I can drop this little bad boy in it and have it act like a screen for the dash. Second, 40gb of music makes it about like an IPOD, and via Bluetooth or wireless audio plugs, I am gonna make it so that you can hold it in your hand and play it through the stereo in the car. Ohh boy, how exciting huh? Plus I can keep all my better pictures on there and have them with me. In fact when I started this part of the post I was gonna just say that I was thinking about getting it, I saw it yesterday and I was waiting to see if I still wanted it, apparently I do. After typing this I am gonna order it as soon as I get done with the post.

 

 

 

Back Online in Afghanistan

                                                               

   The return….

  After noticing that I spelled “access” wrong in that last 8 word post, I have decided to leave it that way, imperfection is beautiful, yet somehow that doesn’t apply to spelling. Even still, it stays.

   And then the Internet was down, and it was good. There was time, and Emerstan read, alot. I have a problem with reading in general that makes it difficult. I have a very vivid and sometimes lucid imagination. When I read I often forget where I am and feel very much like waking up disoriented after sleeping when I put the book down. I am reading the Rum Diary by the late great Hunter S Thompson. (Origin of the Gonzo symbol that frequents my site), the book is about his experiences in Puerto Rico, in the late 50s as a young and on-point journalist with the world as he saw it by the balls. While I read about rum, and beaches, and the breeze that comes in off of the water early in the morning, before it gets so hot that you resent it’s effort… it makes my heart, or maybe my soul ache. An actual physical feeling that wears at me, and makes me feel very tiny and impotent out here. Not because I am in Afghanistan, at least not entirely, but because I used to be able to relate. I was in the same position, and so badly want to be there again. The essence of adventure. I am sure that many people would consider my current position an adventure, and they would be right. This is an amazing time and will produce many amazing memories. But the essence of adventure in my eyes is options and decisions, freedom set in action like the first prop in Rat Trap.

    Every so often I go on a creative kick, that lasts several days or weeks and the idea is to squeeze as many pure thoughts out of that process as possible. Like a surfer that floats 100 yards off of the shore and waits half the day for the right wave to ride in on, soaking up every second of it as he does. And then reliving the experience in his head while he paddles back out to catch another one. On the last wave I almost started a screenplay, I was 2 or 3 days away from starting to storyboard after riding the wave for over a month, waiting for and reading books, designing my story, spending every second on track with new thoughts and ideas, I was so close to turning it into something permanent when we were launched onto this last mission, the mission of course playing the part of the inevitable shore for this little painting. If you are looking for the moral of the last two paragraphs you’ll have to tune in again later, I don’t have one now. But it is always nice when your world spins, and things look different. And you never know if when you stop, and your eyes settle, if they will be different.

 

    I intended on making this site something that is alot less mainstream in the future. I have put alot of time into making it very literal and not dissimilar to a picture book to make it marketable. No more using 12 pictures as a crutch to tell a story, I am more interested at the moment in making is something for me, and for my memories and for any family (xanga or otherwise) that reads what I have to say. I constantly have beautiful “feelings” or “emotions” that I think about when I read or think about something that I would like to read. Not like the feeling of sadness or something typical, but the distinct emotions that spawn movies, and songs. That universal Zaaam that you know other people will relate to. Like the way your heart feels when you listen to Time of Your Life by Greenday. I want so badly to find a way to capsulate the thoughts that I want to share and put them in some form that others will have access to. So I can put that feeling you get when you watch the party sequence in  Dazed and Confused into someone else’s mind. I am not sure how, or when, but somewhere along the line I will find a way. I would love to write a song, but I know nothing about music, a novel seems like a great idea, but I have no idea where to start. (how to books on the way), and movies seem to be in the future, but I like the idea of having control of the whole process, and in movies noone ever has more then 25%. I really am searching for a way to use this site in part as a medium for that, I just can’t find the segway to get to it. I thought about just ranting about different topics, like a creative writing class or something like it, and I think that will be the ticket. But just a heads up to everyone that that is what is going on. Finding some way to spread the fire and passion around and share with everyone hopefully starting little wildfires everywhere. And now for the local news….

 

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      I can’t go into the details of the lack of Internet, other then just to hint at the fact that maybe the army didn’t pay it’s multi-million dollar phone bill. But for now we have it back. On the day that the Internet went off, all of my stuff from the other base got here via helicopter. Previously all I had was two uniforms, my laptop, my sleeping bag, and my equipment. Now that I had the basics back it was time to build a fort for myself. For those of you that remember the posts about my last living space, equipped with office and everything else, this should make you laugh. But considering the space and materials that I had, it is pretty homey I guess.

    It reminds me of the forts that my brother and I used to build for the weekend, except for the fact that I live here. But I have everything I need, I kinda like it better then the other place. I wish the wireless Internet was still up, but alas it is not.

    I finally got all my books in one place, I didn’t realize how many I really have. It is kinda intimidating considering that I came over here without a single one. Still quite the collection so far. Other then a few classics, most of the books are textbooks and how to books, which disappoints would-be borrowers.

 

    And the day before the Internet came back on, the long awaited mail showed up. When it rains it pours, but when the sun comes out the clouds disappear as quick as they came. Good new comes in flurries and then disappears here in the mountains.

    I finally got the packages from the Xangaans. I am sure that you are almost as excited to see your packages here on the site as I am. Jenga…Love it. Never would have thought to ask for that. Perfect. Right as the last supply of food and socks ran out, the resupply hit. Puzzles and Gushers and bubble makers. Awesome.

 

   Sorry for delay to all the faithful readers, almost 30 comments on a non-post, that was part of the decision to stop trying to appeal to the masses. Until next time….

 

 

 

 

Update Delay:

Lack of Internet Acces.

Sorry for the wait, I’ll comment everyone when I am back online.

-Emerstan

 

 

 

Homemade Lounges, Military Pets, and High Stakes Poker in Afghanistan

 

The target:  Canine A.K.A. “Kitty”

The mission: Intimidate and confuse the target, and amuse myself.

 

   I don’t think it is necessary to paint a dramatic story to explain how funny this was to anyone that was there to watch. (and there was many of us) It was a great showdown between beast and machine. In order to appreciate it fully, you have to understand the psychology of the target.

    “Kitty” is about 8 months old, still a little puppy. But noone has told him so, he grew into his paws faster then his body was ready for, and is now an awkward, mean little bastard. I have adopted him as my little buddy, he stays up and works the nightshift with me, waking up occasionally to start a war with my foot, or with me. He only knows one way to interact with something, to bite it. He knows nothing else. Well almost nothing else, I taught him how to shake, but he doesn’t do it like a trick, he uses it like sign languange to tell you to feed him something. He lives entirely off of food that he finds around the base. Including handouts (he is overfed).

        

     ”Kitty” is the most spoiled creature in Afghanistan. He is the “baby” for many full grown men that treat him with the same attitude. He attacks anything that interests him, when it is Americans he is playing. But when it is locals, sometimes he is not. He has put several people in the AID station and broken skin on several occasions. He is like a big bully, but noone minds because he keeps the locals on their toes.We bought him from locals, that cut his tail off, and his ears off so that he could “hear better”(??) Which is fun because he has no sense of direction with sound. I like to throw my voice and do a dog bark, and watch him spin around in circles and eventually take of in some direction after the other “dog”. He is a little ego maniac, I am the only person that he will come for when I call, if he knows you want to play with him he will walk away. Some days he will want food from other people, other days he will walk away from bacon. He is a snotty little brat sometimes, and we love him. But on this day, it was between him and the tank.

      At first he attacked the tank like he would anything else, (truckbumpers, locals, trash, shoes, towels, anything that moves) but he was more then a little surprised when he ran a couple steps away, turned around to charge back in, and turret spun around and hit him in the side with a pellet. One of the funniest things I have ever seen, at first he spun around thinking it came from behind him, and then slowly figured out that it was the tank. It was about that time he realized that the fight was fair, or the tank even had the advantage. (and also why everyone was watching) He would run in circles and bark at it, but the closer he got, the easier it was to hit him. He learned that right away. But he has gotten the best of every other thing on base and he wasn’t about to give up easily. When the tank started charging him back and following him he decided that he was outmatched finally. Poor little guy learned his first life lesson, he is not the meanest thing around. Now he is friends with the tank, he doesn’t run, and it is one of the few things that he will not try to attack. Wherever the tank goes, “kitty” follows. All he has known his whole life is war, so it is not surprising that he would know when to fight and when to make an alliance. He would be good at Risk.

 

    Playing with Kitty makes me miss my puppy…

   

   They actually look alot alike, They both have the white spot on their chest, are the exact same age, and have almost the same build. Of course my dog has ears and a tail but there are also other differences. Kitty is like the Afghanistan version of Emmy. Emmy is clean and pretty, she smells nice (and is female). She licks instead of bites, she plays instead of fights. Kitty is just like Afhanistan, the darkworld Emmi. Not pretty, gray, he smells like dust and is always dirty. He is mean and and just like everything else here, he is male. But he is still my little buddy.

             

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   This is the kind of project that really needs before and after pictures, but somehow I deleted the before ones. (Damn). What started as one man’s dream, was quickly turned into some sort of safe haven for an entire family of men. Like a mirage on the sand, it sits it the middle of a distinctly Afghanistan base, and is distinctly American. It draws men in like flies, while we sit around and drink waters together in silence in front of the fire.  I present:

 

The Evil Monkey Lounge

   Where this fabulous little mental lagoon sits, was once the site of nothing. Just a 9 inch drop outside the door onto rocks. Never underestimate the will of bored men to entertain themselves. When you look around the pictures of our new moral center. Notice all the detail and craftsmanship put into the design and construction. Keep in mind that this was done with no tape measure, handsaws, and hammers.

   Things to notice, the box labeled “wood box”, dart board and dart holder, Internet access behind the bar in case we ever get Internet football games to work, built in speakers, sandbag bar, brick fireplace, nonfunctional but cool roof, handmade benches, handstenciled designs for the walls, brick wall inclosure, mini fridge behind the bar, and the list of details gets longer everyday.

 

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     Poker…I love it. If I am near the computer I am playing online, if I am awake I am at the computer, unless I am in the chow hall, playing live poker in a tournament. I stopped using the program I was using, after watching it for several days I learned enough about the %s that I know what the computer would do, and what I should do. Online poker for play money got to be too easy (see below), so I have started playing in small money tournaments instead.

(Notice my chips (711,508), compared to the rest of table. And see if you can spot the Xanga shout out)

    So far I have made a few bucks at the online tournaments but I have only played in two, I hope to make more next week. But in the live tournaments, I have been cleaning house. We normally play with 6 to 8 guys, and either 10$ or 20$ buyins. The winner usually gets anywhere from 50$ to 100$ per game. And second gets half that. Somehow I started accumulating cash from the day we first got here, (nothing illegal) and now gambling has been paying off. Between football and poker I am up about 500$. The only problem is noone here has a way to get more cash, so I have about 1000$ cash, and 700$ worth of IOUs on paper. (no interest, big mistake). The strange thing about cash here, is that it isn’t worth anything unless you are gambling with it. I can spend my Rice Crispy Treats as currency easier then I can American money. But that is even better, because I am saving my paychecks for the car, and all this will be my play money when I get home.

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   Sorry to the faithful readers for the delay since my last post. I got kinda burnt on Xanga after 5 posts last week and felt like I was spending my entire life responding to comments. If popularity has a price, that is to high. I initially started this a as journal for myself, and I got carried away with the comments/hits. I will try to comment back to everyone but I can make no promises. If I know you, then I will comment you back. If you say something that proves you actually read the post or had something interesting to comment about, then I will comment you back. But otherwise, thank you so much for reading, and I will try to get back to everyone.

 

 

River Crossings, Bad Pictures, and 4 Wheeler Patrols in Afghanistan

(Warning: Picture post)

    Phase two of the manual gunnery exercise was to go out to where the round was supposed to land, and confirm the actual location with GPS. There is something really cool  about shooting something a few miles away, and then just driving out there to “check it out”. And even cooler when you realize that the vehicle of choice to get out there, is a 4-wheeler. I love 4 wheelers more then I do Eprops, tacos, and the Cubs combined. And that is really saying alot. After waiting around for the briefing and an official SP time, finally the 4 wheelers were gassed up, our stuff was packed, and it was time for the SP brief and roll-out

 

 

    Notice how clean I was when this picture was taken, because this will come into play later. At the time I was exited to go and ride a 4 wheeler, but I was pretty sure that this was going to be a typical army, 4 mph cruise through the town and up the mountain. I could not have been more wrong. This was one of the best 4 wheeler runs I have ever been on. We roared away from the base and through a twisting, turning, up and down and over and across trail that you could charge people to ride in America. We went over bridges, jumps, rocks, hills, through towns, and up mountain sides, you name it. It was was of the best times I have ever had in the army. There was only six 4 wheelers, and 11 people, so of course a few people didn’t get to make quite the same run.

 

 

    The patrol route was broken into three parts, well 3 parts as far as a four wheeling enthusiast is concerned. The first part was a flat, high speed run along the bottom of a small “mountain” here behind the base. No big rocks major terrain to slow our speed, it was all full throttle and fish tails for about a mile and a half. Every 1000 meters or so we would run across a small river to cross, luckily up here at 7000 feet+ the rivers don’t get to big.

 

 

   The next phase was a twisting, winding road that ran right through the middle of “town”, not really a town, more like the afghan version of the suburbs. There was people everywhere, and I was a little to busy enjoying the run, and scanning for threats to take any serious pictures. Most of the ones that I got are complete crap because I took them with one hand whole roaring by on a 4 wheeler. But I got a few that were worth the space on my computer. The town was awesome, theme parks should sell rides like the one I went on today. There were kids everywhere, who knows what they were doing before we showed up? There were little houses, and tents, and other people that seemed to move with their herd of sheep and just seemed to camp wherever they were for the night. The entire sight was so interesting it was hard to pay attention to more important things. Like staying on the road during a S turn with a cloud of dust in your face.

        I had only a few awkward situations of mistrust. Which I what I have taken to calling it when something happens like the kid with the gas can on the last patrol. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I would do if someone jumped out at me with an AK or something, there would be no way I could get my weapon up in time to help the situation, and trying to gas it and drive through would be a bad option so I eventually decided that if that happened, I would gun the 4 wheeler right towards him, and hope it was scary enough to effect his shot and then try and run him down with it. That way if he did get me, at least he wouldn’t get the next guy. After a while of replaying this scenario in my head I started thinking about it around every corner, and every bush. I started almost hoping that someone would jump out so I could react in my well prepared fashion.

       Now I am sure that sounds unbelievably crude to alot of people, and I would love to explain the psychology of the situation in detail, but instead I will just say this. At home when I ride 4 wheelers, I do not think about running people over (very often). And it is not the army…”brainwashing” me into being a killer. There is something that happens when you are faced with the very real thought of someone wanting to kill you for a long time, that justifies the thought of “killing them back” to your brain, and makes it very acceptable. Call it a defense mechanism or whatever, but try to understand.

      But I will say this much editorially, I don’t know about Iraq, or other parts of the world. And I am not implying that everyone here loves us because that is not the case. But anything you might have heard about how people throw stuff at us and jeer us because we are so unliked is complete bullshit. The adults here act about neutral, it would appear that they are more refrained in reacting to us. But the kids and a few of the adults literally stood on the side of the road and cheered us and waved at us almost the entire time. The kids would come running from the fields laughing and waving there arms and screaming. I am sure at least part of this is because they were bored, and part of it was because we sometime pass out powerbars and water, but a good piece of it was because they are excited to see us. I think that they feel safer knowing that we are buzzing around looking for bad guys. Also the section we went through today has notoriously bad relations with the Taliban so I am sure that has something to do with it also. But it made me feel cool, whatever the reason was.

 

  (Check out the kid on the bottom right, he is so cool. I wanted to kidnap him)

 

    The next part of the run was out through a bunch of farms, past a bunch of different animals, and up to the base of the mountain that we shot at. And then a long, hard, uphill climb to the impact point. This was a fun part of the run also even though the speed was slower because you had to really pick your path up the hill to be efficient. There was huge rocks and other terrain features to navigate around and you had to keep your eyes peeled for IEDs in the mix. Once we got to the top we found the impact point of our rounds, plotted the grip on the GPS, and figured out that we were right on last night.

 

 

   After that we all cruised around on the hill picking up pieces of shrapnel to show off, and taking pictures ect. Also we had to let the 4 wheelers cool down for awhile before we started home. A half hour run uphill will beat the crap out of anything with a motor.

 

(View of some of the valley. There was a better view, but it showed the base)

 

   After a while on top of the mountain, it was time for the best part of the day, the run back downhill. Most of the way back to the base was generally downhill also. I would need two hands for this kind of driving, especially because the bad guys would have known our route back home now, so the idea was to get through there as fast as possible. That would mean less pictures…but more fun.

 

(the downhill run)

 

      The route home was about the same as it was there, except for much faster, and dustier because the truck was in front this time. I was flinging water bottles to kids whenever the convoy slowed down enough so that I could one of my hands. I had the perfect opportunity to splash into a puddle and drench these kids with water, and I am proud of myself for passing it up. Those opportunities only come around once in a while. We took a little bit different route home towards the end, it was very slow but very cool. Most of it was along this creek.

 

 

   Soon enough we were back inside the wire with a another shining success in the realm of manual gunnery to be proud of. I on the other hand, didn’t care about that all, I was still pumped up from the 4 wheeler run….and I needed a shower.

 

THINGS I LEARNED TODAY:

1. Afghan kids can not catch…at all.
2. Sometimes when you reach for a bottle of water, they think you are reaching for a gun, and start to run away.
3. You can only go so fast on 4 wheeler before little rocks, become big rocks.
4. You can only inhale so much dust, before it will be all you taste for 8 hours afterwards.
5. You CAN fishtail a 6 wheeler if you are going fast enough.
6. It could be considered arrogant, to hand out water on Ramadan when people are supposed to be fasting.(oops)