Online Gambling, Manual Gunnery, and Vanity in Afghanistan

     When I joined the army, I was under the impression that my job was one of the hardest in the Army. We calculate the flight of an artillery round in the air over a distance of up to 12 miles. We factor in distance, altitude, spin of the round, weather, air pressure, even the spin of the earth. We figure in everything that could matter, and some things that don’t like the score of any ongoing Cubs games, and the price of tea in China. (??). Some of the rounds we shoot fly in the air for over a minute before landing. I had always enjoyed math and physics, and I liked a challenge so I took the job. I thought that I would be a highly trained “uber-professional” with a  masters in fire direction. I caught on very quickly in basic and had a pretty good understanding of what was going on, but they only taught me the basics. Turns out that what I learned in basic training was useless, when I got to Ft Bragg I learned that now we use this…

     This thing takes manual computation, and turns it into about the same thing as doing simple algebra on your TI-80 calculator in math class. Most of the people in my MOS don’t even know how to do manual gunnery anymore because you can basically shoot a mission with just the target grid with one of these things. Obviously there is a lot more to it in order to be as accurate as WE are, but any high school kid could shoot with one of these and still be able to at least get data that would scare somebody. Remember in math class when you would ask the teacher….”if we have calculators now, why do we even have to learn this stuff?” Well in my class, the teacher could never really give a good answer, other then proposing the situation that the world came crashing down and all the calculators were destroyed. Well I am posting late today, because I have spent the night, and the morning figuring out the answer to that question. This is what happens when good computers go bad….

     For those of you that know something about artillery, and may be thinking manual gunnery is not as hard as I am making it sound, you would be right, but wrong because if you look above you do not see any of the manual gunnery equipment. We didn’t bring it…because we had computers. (I think this was the point the teacher was never able to make) The process of doing manual computation without manual gunnery equipment is lovingly referred to as “black magic” A process filled with equations, manuals, rulers, range scales, hand drawn maps, and lots of chicken scratch math. It is similar to this math problem. Solve for X……   {x = ??}. I hope that illustrates the point well.

     Without the man that owns the sexy legs in the background, it would have been impossible. But the difference between knowing how to do it and doing it is a very large one. Even with 17 years of artillery experience, and alot of that time before computers were used, figuring out the “black magic” brought a smile even to his face.

   I thought after posting about such a mission failure on the last post, this time I would show a giant shining success. I think I aged about another year in the last 6 hours of hysteria that took place, but it felt good to finally have then numbers on the paper match with the numbers they were supposed to. So for all the readers that are still in school, tell your math teacher this story, they will thank you for it. Plus, then they will have something to tell kids in the future as an example of why you should also learn how to do it…”the hard way”

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    I started gambling on online poker early on in the deployment. I will not go into all the things I have learned in the process. Lets just say that I have learned alot and that I am alot better now then I was then. But for some reason the better I get the harder it gets to make money online. So I had a plan to write a computer program that makes all the decisions for you, computes all the odds on the spot, and plays without emotion. Factoring in pot odds, pot commitment, hand ranking, and everything else before making a decision. Then I would program it to interact with the online poker window, read the cards and make the right decision. That way I could just turn it on, and leave it there running (and making money), while I do something more entertaining then sitting online waiting for the next hand after I just folded.

     Before spending the next three months designing a program for this purpose (one I thought was unique) I thought that I would check online to see if there was already a program like it. I found about 7 or 8 programs with generally the same purpose that I had in mind. They were all selling for about 30.00 to 80.00 with about the same principle as mind, except for that they wouldn’t play for you. It does however have a voice that says…”check”….”fold”….ect. Still a drawback, but at least I didn’t have to spend three months writing it. I tried a bunch of them on demo and found this one to be the best. It has more detail then I ever would have put into mine, including profiles on other players that remembers how they bet, and bluff ect. This is what my computer screen has looked like for the last 2 nights.

     Notice all the pot odds and info on the right. Also notice that when this was taken, I had the high strait on the bottom and had just check raised the other players for a huge pot…(good computer), and I had just folded three of a kind on the top…(bad computer) The only thing wrong with the program is that it is really conservative about betting pre-flop. Really it is the right thing to do, and is why it is making 2x what I was making. But I hate to see it fold Q – 9  like it did on the top game, and then see two 9′s on the flop. It makes me want to shoot myself. But the computer never loses a big hand because it made it’s Q, but someone else has a better kicker, very conservative.

      So far the computer is doing about a 318% return nightly….not to bad. The only problem is I have to stay at the little tables and fleece amateurs that are not playing good, statistical poker. I can’t move up to the big money where people play just like the computer anyway. If the computer keeps this up for a few more nights then I will buy the program, drop it down in the real money tournament games, and share my winnings with all my subscribers and people who leave 2 comments. So wish me all the luck and good karma that you can, it will make us all rich. (Is it bad karma to lie about sharing winnings to trick people into giving you good karma? I hope not)

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The goal, 1000 hits in 1 week….sounded impossible a long time ago. But then I figured out the keys to popularity on xanga…something I will explain in a coming article….

Understanding the Sociology of the Xanga Community (in Afghanistan)

Soon a thousand hits was an every week thing, so I had the crazy idea to make a run at 2000 hits, in one week. That is like the attendance at a shitty concert, or county fair. At this point in my life I would take having the same appeal as a shitty concert, or county fair. Luckily it was a busy week, and I had alot to write about….and the result was:

  2,457….!! Just shy of 2500. Crazy thanks to everyone that stopped by, and left 2 comments to help keep me featured almost all week. I appreciate and read every one, and will try to respond to them all also. I am having a banner made to look like a real ad for my site, I am not sure what I am going to do with it other then put it up top to look like a real xanga ad. When I get it made, if I put the HTML on here would any of you guys actually put it in a post, like an ad? I realize how vain this makes me sound, but in truth it is only a fraction of how vain I really am. Thanks for reading!

 Note: I should be good for a great post tomorrow, so stop back by

******Update tommorow..same bat channel

Faster Cars, Secret Tanks, and General Lunacy in Afghanistan

    A top secret mission to observe, monitor and possibly destroy the enemy. I laid there in the rocks, sweat pouring off my brow, my stomach wretched with nerves, as I considered the risks. I was outnumbered, and outgunned. The stakes were as high as they get inside of the walls of this base, and at this altitude. We needed intel, and on this morning, I would be the man to gather it, and destroy any potential spies if necessary.

   My equipment was top notch, brand new! A lightweight battle system capable of striking terror in the hearts of terrorists. And courage in the brave men, that fight the good fight. An amazing fighting system that tramples huge rocks, has incredible range, and can deliver an airsoft pellet on target at 60 yards.

   THE MISSION: Establish an observation position on the “workers” here on post, observe their actions, and analyze any threats. Report to higher about anything suspicious. Find a location to set up an ambush point, and standby for the order to attack if necessary.

   SPECIAL OBJECTIVE: Maintain high ground, and make sure the enemy is unaware of your presence.

  I moved into position as stealthy as possible. Ready for anything I could feel the lump in my throat swell as I approached the objective. I tried to keep as low a profile as possible in the direct sunlight, secrecy was paramount.

    I crept out into sight, gaining the firing advantage in case of attack. I spun the turret preparing them for a barrage of bright yellow, high velocity airsoft pellets in case they tried to charged my position. After gaining the tactical advantage, I moved myself into the observation position. At this point, I had a distinct advantage because the “bad guys” were busy working on the building, and going about there life. They had no idea I was hiding in the rocks around the corner, planning a top secret assault with  my remote control tank.

   As the workers went about their business, I analyzed the situation for threats, and other then oncoming traffic on the road, I found none. I hastily moved to the second objective: Establish observation point.

    From this partially hidden position, I could monitor the enemy with ease. They had no idea I was watching them. It was like they didn’t care. I didn’t see any suspicious activity, but I was insulted by there lack of concern for my presence…so I fired a warning shot. They appeared confused, but the “round” sailed over their head and “ticked” off the building. I am not sure that they knew what happened. But I like to think I had their attention. That was when I was spotted, the heat came from the roof. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but he was clearing laughing while he pointed. Insulted by his lack of respect for the tank, I fired another shot, a little lower. This one was on the mark, now I had their attention. They knew that they had been made, and had been being watched. But my position was revealed, the risk was to high. I fired 5 or 6 more times for some suppression, and while they ducked for cover, I romped over the rocks and back to “base”. This mission was clearly over. But now they know I am on to them.

   In the end the mission was a complete failure, turns out that not only were all the enemy actually just workers, the tank had no way of actually observing them. Also it appears that the entire mission was a boredom induced hallucination, that the tank was fake, the bullets were plastic, and the mission wasn’t real. I can’t explain my disappointment when I discovered that not only did I waste an hour of my morning, but it appeared to onlookers that I had completely lost my mind. Which is still the subject of hot debate.

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   Alright after a barrage of comments about the fuel efficiency of Jeeps, I can see that gas prices have become much more of an issue then they were when I left home. So I started looking around on the Internet for alternatives. I found a new car, the jeep is gone. Car meet Xanga…Xanga, car.

2003 Saab 93 Sedan

  The car is beautiful, ironically not a ton better on gas then the jeep, but much more beautiful. 6 speed manual transmission, four cylinders (210 hp), lovin it. But what sold me was the interior of the Saabs. I like things in Saabs and VWs and Euro cars, because they are really simple, and flat, and clean. Then there is the leather, this is why I am settling on a 2003, it is the only model year that I can find with cream interior and leather. I am in love with the interior on this car. Now I just have to go on a hunt for one just like it when I come home.

   I am trying for 2000 hits this week, which is why I am putting up more posts then usual. I am going to try and keep it up, I am thinking about a few “editorial” posts that I have wanted to do for a while. Thanks to everyone for leaving comments and helping to keep me featured. Remember when commenting, the only thing better then a comment, is two comments…just hit the button twice if you have to…haha. I am such a whore for the featured content, it has me by the balls.

(new profile pic?)

(For Xanga users who read, but do not comment, please leave something, if you don’t have anything to say, just leave a comment saying …. “arck” …. that would be cool I guess)

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EDIT:

  In the interest of maintaining a certain level of drama on this site I thought I would include this last exchange. I discovered this post  while dilengently trying to respond to every one of my polite and otherwise worthwhile commenters. I never noticed it before so it caught my attention…

Interesting how you label people who disagree with you as “stupid” or “assholes”. Posted 9/30/2005 at 11:23 AM by SeaJaySmiles – delete – block user

I responded immediately attempting to be polite and clear up any miscommunications.

 

Hey I was just going through my old comments and I saw one from you saying it was interesting how I label people I disagree with as stupid or assholes? I was just curious when I EVER did that. It isn’t in any posts, or comments even. I hope that you would take the same time to explain that you did to accuse. Posted 10/1/2005 at 9:04 PM by Emerstan        After I left this comment I started wondering why in the hell I got this inflammatory comment from someone so I started looking around. You may remember NotLinky, the kind gentleman that for some reason acted like a dickhead on 9/28 when he left a post comparing my website to his son’s phone calls and made a terrible misunderstanding out of what I thought was a relatively clear post. (see below) Well of course Mrs Smiles was a lackey of his and was coming to his aid since he never saw fit to respond to the comment I posted on my last post. It was then I found my foot in my mouth because I did make a few comments about his intelligence, and propensity for “asshole-ness”. So I tried immediately to clear the air.

I am assuming that you are coming to the defense of NotLinky, I suppose in retrospect that I did call him an asshole, but I only implied he was stupid. He read half of my post and took literally that I really thought I should be able to say whatever I want(yeah right), and then compared my right to have a website, to his son’s right to divulge classified info on the phone.(Stupid) And then went out of his way to be rude in the way he phrased his comment to me after not even reading the entire post in the first place (Asshole). I didn’t call him that because I disagreed with him. I called him that because he acted like a stupid asshole…at the time. I am sure that he is a great guy normally. I still would hope that you would respond to your accusations that I am an ignorant and unfair labeler, and maybe apologize in light of the fact that I have proven that he was in fact, a stupid asshole. Posted 10/1/2005 at 9:13 PM by Emerstan

That made me laugh so I thought that I would share it with all of you. I hope it made you smile as well. Hopefully we can all enjoy a good response…I doubt it.

Peace Talks, Fast Cars, and Human Traps in Afghanistan

   Time to clear the air, there seems to be a certain level of misunderstanding about my last post. Not being able to speak freely is a part of being in the military and having a secret security clearance. My last post was a fun one to do, and a decent read, but it was only meant towards one person. My platoon leader. The entire thing was a farce, an attempt to gain the freedom to type what I want when I want (within what I am allowed to say) without him giving the ok beforehand. I was making the point to him that I have no problem with him reading it for security risks, but if his intent was to edit my “point of view”, language, content, or anything else not involving security he was going to have a war in his hands. That was the subtext of the entire post. I am sorry that it was too subtle. For any 1st Amendment lovers that thought a new lackey had joined the ranks, I apologize. I am a fake. I am here defending your right to argue and squabble over it, but that isn’t my racket, unless it serves my purpose. That’s right, I am that diluted… I have better things to worry about.

   The end result:  Freedom of the press.(sorta) I post just like I did before. I will be getting a little extra attention from those that are concerned with matters such as these, but otherwise no big deal. Hopefully everyone can move past the last few ugly hours of online freedom fighting and onto more important things like the taste of dust, onslaught of a new breed of flies, human food traps, and a few other things I have been wanting to write about.

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   All this talk of freedom has gotten me thinking about home, and returning to it. For those of you that haven’t taken notice of the counter at the bottom of my site, it reads that next week, will mark the halfway point of our scheduled year deployment. (I hope that you are all planning on throwing me some kind of strange Internet party.) On the thought of freedom, nothing symbolizes it as well as the thought of hitting the open road. I love driving more then living. Which leads me to my next thought. Upon my return home, I think I will go ahead and pick up one of these: 

(2005 Jeep Cherokee Laredo)

   I have done alot of searching around at these for the last few days, I can get a used one for inside my price range. (20,000) But I will have my fingers crossed until I get home that I can find a new one, (in 06′) of the old model year for around 20,000. Either way, from here it is looking like it is going to be an 05′ Cherokee. While looking around I have found a few other things to go with it. I am not one to load up a vehicle with “blades” and mirror tint or any of that other crap. But I like subtle details…and chrome.

(mats and chrome door plate)

(hitch cover)

(chrome tailgate cover…not the handle or the light covers)

(chrome grill)

(fog lights)

   Ahh yes, I can feel the excitement. When I was a kid I would sit in school and stare at magazines of things I wanted. I would budget in my head for hours how I would afford them. (If I mow three lawns a week for 3 months…minus the 15$ a week for…. or for…. then by…) I would spend hours making plans for things that would never work out. Now that I can afford it, the plans are alot easier to make and more fun to. On the subject of affording it, I move onto the next topic.

   My promotion, scheduled for first of the month, is going to continue as planned, unchanged by the recent war with the chain of command. I was worried for a minute that because of the fact I have been tipping the terrorists off to our dodgeball games for months, they may try and take it away. Or kill me for spying. (I think it is because noone wants the Taliban to show up with a team of their own to play dodgeball, and challenge for the trophy. That would embarrass everybody.) Anyway, I get promoted in less then a day, exactly 18 months to the day after I joined. For those that know, that is as quick a promotion as is legally allowed by the military. Huuhaa! I have another promotion I am available for in 6 months, and should have no major problem getting that ASAP as well. These are all factors I considered when budgeting for the new truck. Even though I intend on paying off most of it right away, the very cost of owning a vehicle nowadays must be considered. So to anyone sending mail, change that PFC Myers to… SPC Myers…thanks.

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   Finally I assume that most people were wondering what in the hell I meant by the human trap that I keep referencing. Well you may remember from the other post that I mentioned that the other people in tent were eating way more food then the mice even wanted to, and that the box couldn’t keep them out. Well I devised a plan…

  At first glance this would appear to be an ordinary bag of Ritz sitting on the table, waiting to be stolen… But look much closer at it, and you will see one of these:

   It is hard to notice, but if you look closely you will see it underneath the bag. After a few broken fingers, now I can leave a 100 dollar bill on the ground and noone will touch it. And noone would dare touch my box…It is booby trapped to! But I can’t say how online for security reasons!!

I am considering a layout change…any opinions or ideas?

Freedom Fails in Afghanistan

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Bill of Rights

Amendment I

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.

hmmmm….

  Post election, the Afghan population begins to enjoy similar freedoms to American citizens, freedom prevails…for them. For me however, I found out today that from now on my site would be subject to constant censoring. The rights I am here fighting to protect, and to give to a new county, do not apply to me. Apparently I gave away these basic freedoms of citizenship when I joined the Army. Ironic, after I so cheerfully defined freedom in my last post. Now I know what freedom is.

   Apparently my ramblings about mouse traps, and dodgeball, and building things proved to be a potential risk to national security, so now every post (including this one) will be monitored by a ranking officer. Of course now instead of wondering what to put on here and what not to, and deciding on the safe side. I can just wing it, and anything that passes the censor is good as gold, out of my hands. Still I was surprised that this definition didn’t fit as well as I thought it would.

bull·shit    ( P )  Pronunciation Key  (blsht) Vulgar Slang n. Foolish, deceitful, or boastful language. Something worthless, deceptive, or insincere. Insolent talk or behavior.

  But fear not sportsfans, because my posts will be every bit as real, honest, and NON-secret as they have been in the past. I intend to find out the difference between what I am not allowed to say, and what they wish I wouldn’t say. I didn’t start this war, I was very careful about what I put on this site, and except for one picture (removed) I showed all the nessacary discretion when posting. But now they are after my throat, I can’t even hit send until after they give the ok. No trust, no benifit of the doubt. Go down a couple of posts and you will see what used to be the “bad” picture. When you see it, if you remember it you will laugh. Hopefully harder then I am.

   As per the new policy my post must be ready for review by 15:00 which means because I work the night shift, I have to wake up in the middle of my “night” to work on the post and get it “approved” for posting. I had an argument with my “boss” about the meaning of censorship. He swears that I am NOT being censored but does not have an actual argument, luckily for him he does not have to. Since he is reading this, I thought I would take the time to define the term for him.

Main Entry: cen·sor
Function: transitive verb
: to examine (as a publication or film) in order to suppress or delete any contents considered objectionable

  So that settles it, I am being censored, not that there was any doubt. But in the interest of fairness, I will make an argument for the other side also…

censorship

n 1: counterintelligence achieved by banning or deleting any information of value to the enemy [syn: censoring, security review] 2: deleting parts of publications or correspondence or theatrical performances [syn: censoring]

  So that validates the censorship of my site on their behalf, that is of course only if you consider my boasting about dodgeball, and ranting about the American Dream information “valuable to the enemy“.

   My scheduled post about a “human trap” to catch food stealers, mail, and some new toys I got is delayed for a few days pending the outcome of this short, political post. Remember America I have no freedom of speech, but you do. I am here to make sure that never changes, so make sure to show your thanks by writing me some edgy comments about whatever you want to say. Anything vulgar, racist, communist, nudist, violent, or whatever taste wets your pallet is welcome. Let the fur fly…they can censor me, but they can never censor you. Help me get this post featured. Tell your friends…comment twice. Help me twist the knife. God Bless America.

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***Edit

  oH bring it on. Sorry I might have to have all my readers submit an IQ test to get approved thanks to this asshole. Anyone else want to take some shots at me??

My son served two tours in Iraq. When we chatted, there were things he could tell me, and there were things he couldn’t tell me. During that time he never whined about censorship. Suck it up soldier. Find another cause. Posted 9/28/2005 at 3:57 PM by NotLinky – delete – block user  (never)

Hey Fuck you, it is called drama, it makes for a good post. I didn’t “whine” if you actually read the site, assuming you did. You saw that my “boss” started a literary war with me, a power struggle and I was firing the first shot. That post was to get him to back down about “approving” my shit BEFORE I post it and making me “turn it in” at a certain time. And it worked, he didn’t want war, he didn’t want to read that type of shit everyday and have to make the call. He thought I was gonna just say “ok” and deal with it. So now I post as usual and he wants to read it sometime that day. So fuck you for not reading between the lines about what happend just now in that post. And fuck you in general just because I feel like it. Just because your son deployed does not make you the fucking go to guy on what it is like to be over here. It sounds like someone had to remind you of that. Posted 9/28/2005 at 4:02 PM by Emerstan

  I want to clarify, the problem is not that I am being censored, there are certain things I should never put on here, and would have no reason to. I have censored myself the entire time. The problem was with the word approval, like they intended to edit every post for content and not just things that shouldn’t be there. The problem was with having a certain time that my posts had to be “turned” in by. Not with being censored. The whole guff about the 1st ammendment was just stay under the censorship and piss some people off enough so that that would make peace talks with me about some changes to the “plan”. And it worked, I write this now on my own, and am about to submit it sometime in the next 30 secs. I won the battle, still fighting the war…as always.   

(Special thanks to everyone that linked me from there site)

 ,Emerstan

Freedom and Construction in Afghanistan

     Freedom is the topic of the day with the elections over. On the last post I asked everyone, “If freedom could be a verb, what action(s) do you symbolize with freedom?” Most people agree that freedom in the form of action is anything that they want to do, that noone can stop you from doing, or freedom to believe in whatever they want, or something they do that makes them feel uninhibited. (dancing, running, ect.) Dictionary.com describes “freedom” as follows:

free·dom    ( P )  Pronunciation Key  (frdm) n. The condition of being free of restraints. Liberty of the person from slavery, detention, or oppression. Political independence. Exemption from the arbitrary exercise of authority in the performance of a specific action; civil liberty: freedom of assembly. Exemption from an unpleasant or onerous condition: freedom from want. The capacity to exercise choice; free will: We have the freedom to do as we please all afternoon. Ease or facility of movement: loose sports clothing, giving the wearer freedom.   Frankness or boldness; lack of modesty or reserve: the new freedom in movies and novels. The right to unrestricted use; full access: was given the freedom of their research facilities. The right of enjoying all of the privileges of membership or citizenship: the freedom of the city. A right or the power to engage in certain actions without control or interference: “the seductive freedoms and excesses of the picaresque form” (John W. Aldridge).      Notice that as you read through the standard definitions of freedom, they nearly all fall under three headings: Freedom of action, Freedom of thought, and Freedom of choice. Here in Afghanistan those freedoms have been well illustrated here in the last few weeks. The freedom to have an opinion about the government and the people involved, the freedom to go to the polls and vote about it, and the freedom to choose what type of government they want to have in their country.    Having voted for officials in no way is the end of the struggle for the overall freedoms of Afghani people, there is a long way to go. The people elected still must to live up to the promises already made, still have to survive until they take office and beyond, the country has to survive the inevitable attempts at rebellion, and then deal with the same problems that all functioning governments must deal with. The country is headed in the right direction, but may never have freedom in the way that I define it.     I mentioned before that the standard definitions of freedom fall under three headings, my definitions encompass all three of the other headings. When I asked everyone else to define what freedom was to them several people brought up the point that it was only fair to post my own definitions of freedom. I think I said before that freedom to me parallels with the mystical rumor of the “American Dream”.  Freedom is the ability to choose the kind of life that you want to have for yourself. Freedom is the right to decide your own system of values and live the kind of life that will let you pursue those values. Freedom is the ability to go from unlucky to lucky, from rich to poor, from orphan to grandpa, from sinner to saved. Freedom is the ability to make your life whatever you want it to be. If you like danger and money, then by all means move to Vegas make a living gambling on one event after another. If you were born atheist but feel the call of God, noone will tell you that you cannot be a priest because of your parents, or anything else. Regardless of who your family is, or what class you were born to, or state you were born in, nearly every person in America has the ability to make whatever kind of life  they want for themselves once they turn 18 (or even sooner).  While most Americans live like this is not the case, and grow up to live not free at all, but as simply a product of their surroundings, very few Americans would deny the truth that the option was there for them to have lived their own life, on their own terms. And that is freedom for me, the singly unifying idea of the freedoms of thought, choice, and action.   (This is one of my favorite pictures I’ve taken, it’s from ground zero)     *********************************************

   Mice…they eat everything, but I wasn’t about to share my new food with them like everyone else has. I have seen peanut cans with the plastic tops and the foil chewed through, canned food almost all the way chewed open, and a host of amazing acrobatic feats by these tiny creatures. Climbing wires up walls, jumping of shelves halfway up the wall into boxes of food, if I wasn’t disgusted I would have been impressed. Alright truthfully I was impressed, but I wasn’t going to be a victim. The way I saw it I had two options….

Option #1:

     We aren’t talking about huge rats, just mice. But I have no taste for playing fair in a war like this, I could line my food piles with a defensive perimeter of these bad boys, but honestly I was afraid to set one and terribly uncertain about having a few of these near my bed, and also it seemed a bit excessive. Dictionary.com defines “overkill” as follows:

o·ver·kill    ( P )  Pronunciation Key  (vr-kl) n. Destructive weapon capacity exceeding the amount needed to destroy an enemy. Excessive killing. An excess of what is necessary or appropriate for a particular end: “government overkill in dealing with dissent” (Jesse Unruh). tr.v. o·ver·killed, o·ver·kill·ing, o·ver·kills (vr-kl) To destroy (an enemy or enemy target) with more force than necessary.

overkill

n 1: the capability to obliterate a target with more weapons (especially nuclear weapons) than are required 2: any effort that seems to go farther than would be necessary to achieve its goal

(I liked that last one, the one that I underlined)

Option #2:

    I finally settled on building a box to keep all of my things in, and we put the giant mouse traps around the outside of the our perimeter here in case of attack. Personally, I would rather step on a landmine then one of these mid evil contraptions. Normally the building of the box would be no great feat, but with nothing more then a hammer, handsaw, and screwdriver, it was an accomplishment to be proud of.

    My favorite parts are these “rope handles”. I am not sure why but at the time it seemed particularly genius. After about and hour of spinning a the blade of a pocket knife into the wood I was through to the other side , and the box was done.

   Now my food and half my books are safe from everything except fire, fire and of course the other guys in the tent, which sadly can eat three or four times what a mouse can.

Election Day Eve in Afghanistan

  And then there was an election, and everything was good…Yeah right. But it is a step in the right direction. For those that do not know, the elections are the reason that the SF and the 82nd Airborne are in Afghanistan at this time of year. An opportunity for the people here to elect a government of there own design. In theory, if the elections go well and the population trusts the government, (and the police) then we can all leave Afghanistan to it’s own devices. (and go to Iraq) But of course there is already problems and the election hasn’t even started yet.

   The UN and the US and coalition forces have spent the entire day trying to restore a sense of validity to the election.  After months of terrorizing and kidnapping and killing the Taliban started to accept the political nature of this war, and have found better means to fight. The allegation is that the entire election is a sham, a big show to create the illusion of democracy. As it sounds from here, people are believing it. Even people in the press, and not only are they believing it, they are saying so in print which is amazing. I mean, it does make sense, nothing prevents a Taliban from running for office, so it isn’t that unbelievable to think that maybe there is some “fixing”. There is no Social Security numbers here and there is probably not even good census count. There was already controversy over people registering multiple times. And now apparently the fingerprint ink that is supposed to be used to prevent multiple votes, can be washed off. Hence the controversy, sounds like Florida all over again. So both governments are scrambling to keep the results of the election acceptable, and official. Meanwhile voters are going to be lining up tomorrow to vote, at least once.

      That is the story that the press already has, the story that it does not have might be the best story in the last 10 years. By the time that the women’s rights movement hit America, it was long overdue, and anyone left standing in it’s path understood that it was a losing battle. In short, the country was more or less ready for it. The situation is not the same here. 3 years ago, women had to cover their faces in public. Tomorrow they will not only vote, but will run for office.  There are faces scratched out almost every election poster, they are the faces of the women that are running. There have been death threats and kidnappings and host of other intimidation tactics for anyone supporting the election. The women involved have had more then an equal share of that threat. There are Rosa Parks on every corner in Afghanistan lately. There should be teams of documentary film makers here to witness what is going here in high resolution video and sound. For as much hype as America makes about freedom, if freedom were a verb it would be happening right now, right here. Women here (as of today) are still traded as debts, married, or traded off by the age of 12. But tomorrow could be different. And that’s freedom.

Let Freedom Ring.

??? Assuming freedom could be a verb, what would freedom be to you? What action do you symbolize with freedom???

All out war in Afghanistan

  A battle for the ages, a war consuming virtual Goliaths in PT shorts. Fought on the dusty rocks of a small base in the middle of the mountains. With the stakes as high as they get at this altitude… pride, victory, bragging rights, and the promise of at least one blackened eye. A situation where before the eyes of an audience, a respected man can become feeble swine in the eyes of his comrades in a single instant. And even if just for a day, a skinny hard-throwing, low ranking private from Indiana can become a god amongst men. An intimidating force that can strike fear in the hearts of the opposition. Make them question themselves, their arms, their hearts, and there very existence. The battle in question…

DODGEBALL!

(Harmless picture of dodgeball
Randomly Censored by Chain of Command)

    The situation was bleak. The 82nd Airborne (us) were being overpowered by an older and more experienced SF team. These guys have shared blood and sweat together on countless missions, they are a battle hardened team with strength and teamwork and a taste for blood and victories. Their only mistake was to underestimate the hearts of a group of angry paratroopers. But as I said, the situation was bleak. We were down 4 games to 1 in a race to 7 games. They were simply outgunned. I lied asleep in my bunk, unaware of the battle unfolding just a few seconds away. Still tired from last night’s shift. I was dreaming happily when they busted in pulling me out of bed. Someone remembered that I used to be a quarterback and it was time to call in the cavalry. By this time the SF were cocky and fearless…wrongly so, as the tables were about to turn.

   Noone could have known that at my elementary school, our entire social rank was based on dodgeball, we live for it. I lived for it. And every Friday afternoon I was the most popular kid in school because of it. I have been reliving old glories in the gym ever since. They had no idea what they were in for. It was a slaughter…

    I was still half asleep when the first game started so I stayed in the back and watched the competition carefully. Not even my teammates knew what to expect when I was the last guy left. It looked like another loss, with 3 SF guys remaining our crowd was anxious.

     I think the moral of the entire team and even the entire game change a little after I hurled that first ball. It was a little high but the velocity alone seemed to change the expression on the faces of the SF. The next two throws however were right on the money, and the opposition was getting “the fear”. It was one on one now for a very important game. We had changed their morale but we needed momentum.

   With my fallen teammates looking on, I soaked the situation for all the intimidation it was worth. There is something that few people understand about dodgeball. There is something very eery, and creepy about an extremely calm  and mythodical person. Also, while noone wants to get hit and be out of the game….NOONE wants to get smacked so hard they are forced to show pain, and that was what was at stake. It changes the way some throws at you when they know that you are going to return that sort of fire. Back to the game…I stayed in the position shown above while the other guy threw, he was visibly shaken by my posture and missed wildly. That was the time that I sprang up and launched a ball so fast that people said it “hissed” on it’s way to his knee. The game was won and the tide had turned. It was 4 games to 2 now, and about to get worse. We won the next two and it was tied up, we were close to the lead, the SF were backpedaling, and I was leading the charge.

   End the end it was 7 games to 5. The SF had new opinions of the 82nd, and now I am  known as “that skinny kid that throws the shit out of a dodgeball”, the closest thing I have ever had to a nickname. There was talk of a rematch soon, my guess is that they are gonna start it a little earlier next time while I am still asleep. The SF were the first to lay down in the path of the 82nd, next week:

THE ANA (local army)

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

   After dodgeball we have all spent the day trying to watch football via the internet. Not as easy as advertised. We had satellites but noone wants to be the one to break them for good trying to fix them. So we moved to the internet. It is working a little bit despite some lags and bad resolution but noone here is in the mood to complain. Especially not me….Notre Dame just beat Michigan 17-10. Things couldn’t be any better…2-0 after 2 away games…yowsa! But thanks to ESPN putting the game on blackout, I only know that from score updates. But some is always better then none. Special thanks anyway to:  ESPN

  Thanks for reading, I will try and respond to most of the comments. I thought it was funny how everyone came to the defense of horses in general. I was just trying to be humorous, I know that horses are not like that all the time. I know a few people that have horses, and they are normally gentle creatures. The creatures that I rode last week were closer to mustangs then tamed horses. Thanks to everyone for your concern and comments. And as always, we will keep our minds on home….and our guns downrange!

Horseback Patrol in Afghanistan

    In search for a story, or a few decent pictures, I found myself in a rather disturbing situation. At first, the description sounded journalism worthy and almost even entertaining. The concept: A horseback patrol with the SF. (not pictured) Horses, in theory can go places here that even our humvees cannot. As I said before most of the terrain around here renders our vehicles about as useful as jet skis. However, there are several drawbacks to horse patrols. First, you cannot mount a .50 cal or any weapon onto a horse. Second, the horses appear not to speak English, either that or they are not very well trained. All the visions I have had of horses that were based on movies I’ve watched were wrong. They do not for example: Run where you want them to, do what you want them to do, or jump things that are in there way. At least not these horses. This is a two day and two part entry. The first step was to go out the first day and ride the horses to get used to it and pick out a noble creature for the following day’s patrol.

  ^ I wasn’t really sure how to tell a good horse from a bad horse and I wasn’t sure which one I wanted. But I had a good idea about a few horses that I didn’t want. This one for example, I wanted to get a picture capturing the desperate look in his eyes. His nostrils revealing a horse that was on the brink of a fit of anger and an absolute outburst on the first unlucky soul that was to unperceptive enough to untie him. Unfortunately, I never got the picture because every time I got close to him, the beast would spin around to get a good angle for a kick. And I was in no mood trouble or horse kicks.

  I finally settled on a gentler breed of animal. She seemed like a good horse, certainly photogenic. I learned soon after that it is not a good idea to pick horses based on how pretty they look unless you are a breeder. But at this point I had no idea of that rule of thumb. So I jumped on.

   That was about the time that her sweet and endearing face turned to an expression of pure lunacy…(pictured below). Notice the helplessly insane look in the eyes, the flared nostrils, and me trying to figure out how to say “whoooah” in Arabic.

  After a few minutes of being spun in circles and yelled at in horse, my taste for a horse ride was about fully diminished. I had no trust for these allegedly “gentle” creatures. These horses apparently needed a therapist more then they did exercise. And I was not it, I had already demonstrated a lack of ability to communicate with horses. Eventually we came to some sort of truce. She stopped spinning around and rearing up and screaming at me in her native tongue, and I stopped freaking out and yelling “whoooah” at her. But now, she just refused to budge in general. I pulled and moved and did all the things the “experts” around me told me to do and got no reaction at all. I felt like I was getting the silent treatment, from a horse. It would appear that we had quite the standoff on our hands.

  Eventually one of the locals came around with a solution. Apparently this horse only knew one language. The language of the whip. He ripped a sturdy litle plant from the ground and tore off the leaves, I watched the horse noticing this. This was apparently something she understood. She watched him the whole way over and looked back at me nervously as I grabbed the whip. I had no real intention of actual “whipping” her with it half because it seemed mean, but even moreso because I was terrified of the damn thing for as long as I was on it’s back. I reached back and lightly “tapped” the horse on it’s ass with the “whip”. She seemed to be waiting for this and responded with all the pent up fury of every tamed mustang in America. We flew strait out and down the hill, I held on through a tight corner and then she bolted out to the track. It seemed she knew where she was going and it was good because did not have the courage to offer any more guidance. Once down on the track she seemed to realize that her attempt at not being ridden had failed, and her attempt to scare me into jumping off also failed, and she acted like a well behaved horse, for the most part. I went around a few times, raced somebody, all that good stuff that you do when you ride a horse I guess. I felt that I had a pretty good grip on what was needed to take the horses out tomorrow and I was ready to get off and walk home while I still could, so I headed back.

   On the way back she/we took a different route to the stables. She went up by where all the other horses were tied up. Sniffed a few asses, shared a few stares….that sort of thing. It seemed harmless and since she completely ignored me when I tried to get her to leave, I decided I would let her stay there for a minute and socialize. Soon enough the other horses got all rowdy and were all starting to get that crazy look in there eye. My horse was already returning to her demented state and I wanted off. As the situation escalated I considered jumping off but thought that might make more of a scene. First I didn’t want to jump off right in the middle of the other horses, as I said before I was in no mood to get kicked. Second I thought maybe it was bad “horse edicate” to just jump off of a crazy horse and leave her free to run wild and kick everyone else. I eventually got her away from the male horses and she started off at a gallop towards the saddle area. Which was good. Except for one thing. On a horse, the quickest distance between two points is not always a strait line. Take another look at the picture of the crazy horse before I cropped it.

  You may have noticed what I was noticing at the time. The fence. The next section down the fence that you cannot see was almost completely gone. ALMOST completely gone. All but the bottom wire that is. As my horse galloped towards this section I kept trying to assure myself that she definitely saw the fence. She would jump it…right? Isn’t that what horses do. I kept having visions of what was about to happen. The way I saw it this could go two ways. Either she could jump the fence in high style and soar by the demented evil horse on our way to the saddle area, looking cool by all accounts and a great finish to the day. Or she could trip on the fence, rolling over on me, and just as I limped to safety I would get kicked by the other horse. I was starting to realize the risk of the second option was not worth the gain of the first, but it was to late. Of course the horse didn’t jump the fence or even see it. I think she stayed up alright and was not hurt, however when she started to go forward after tripping I bailed off to the side and landed, rolling up to the other evil horse. Fortunately even the evil horse thought she would jump the fence and had not yet positioned himself to puncture my lung with a kick. I did a combat roll away from the crazy horse and limped back to the saddle area amidst laughter and applause. The price you pay for laughter and celebrity…sometimes to high.  Eventually I decided that if I was going to be laughed at either way, I would pick a safer, gentler, and more noble steed. This one seemed appropriate.

Day 2

    The patrol was rather eventless. All the horses acted as they should, I considered the possibility that they were all just fucking with me the day before, but I decided that they just respond to peer pressure and didn’t want to be the only screwed up horse in the group. They do have to live which each other, and I am sure that the teasing would be relentless from the other horses if you were the only screwed up horse on patrol. Look what happened to Rudolph, same kinda thing.

   Outside of a few decent photo-ops that were marred by the bumpy ride the trip was just a horse ride in Afghanistan. The only suspicious people on the whole trip can be seen running up to us in the background of the picture of us crossing the river. But after the ANA jumped out and ran after them things calmed right back down. I didn’t even notice them when I took the picture I guess I just got lucky that they were in frame. After a ride through a few villages and along the riverbed we were headed home…safe. Not from the terrorists but from the horses.

    Thanks again as always to everyone that reads and to everyone that subscribes or comments. And especially for everyone that has offered to or has already sent packages to me or to the platoon. We all appreciate the concern and will respond promptly with thank yous and pictures.

Fear and Guilt in the Middle East.

   For many years people have tormented the world with acts of depravity and violence. As an only means to power, those willing to do what others are not, assume control. In endeavors for good and evil this is true. But in the case of the wicked, they have found the greatest weapon anyone can hold over a population. And it isn’t a plane, a little bomb, or even a huge bomb for that matter. The “Weapon of Mass Destruction”… is fear itself. Yesterday in Iraq almost 1000 people were killed by this malicious and terrible weapon. After all of the public bombings and other horrendous acts that have been committed. It was the simple “rumor” of a bomber in a large crowd, and the impending fear that caused a stampede that killed more people then any attack since New York.

  This was the scene that was left after the “stampede” had claimed it’s victims, a street filled with the unclaimed sandals of people who literally ran for their lives. Killed by nothing more then fear itself. This seemed to me to be the most honest, sad and deprived example of a metaphor coming to life that I have ever seen. It is fear… and it is the only “real” weapon that terrorists thugs have ever had. In the history of the world, for better or worse, the only way to control or manipulate a mass of people is through one of three mediums, religion, fear, and guilt. All of these things have a decent and righteous place in our life. And all three, if not governed with a sense of independence, and intuition leave us vulnerable to a wide number of ill fates.

While reading the last set of comments I noticed a disturbing trend. GUILT. I am  constantly being thanked for reminding people to “not take the things you have for granted”. I am almost sure that I never said that. I mean it is obvious, inherit in our culture for us to take things for granted. For example: I haven’t felt carpet under my feet since I have been here. But does that mean that you will know what that is like because you made an effort to not take it for granted? No. Does it mean you should feel guilty for the fact that you sit, reading this, at a comfortable computer chair and run your toes into your plush shag carpet? Of course not. That is why I am here in the first place. And I will be home soon enough to do the same thing.

    The message I was trying to deliver was not shame on you guilt trip, but a positive one. The idea isn’t to feel guilty for the things that we have that noone else does. America has open doors. Even people here, with ambition could one day make it to our sweet shores and enjoy a life within our borders. And birth their children here, and send them to school with my children, where they would grow up only to appreciate the differences between each other and play on the same football team at recess. The invitation is open to the entire world. Appreciate the long and hard journey America has made though so many eras, and times, and political climates, and yet always maintained a singular heading outlined in a document 100′s of years old. Guilt is a negative and unproductive emotion. 

    Americans’s are to accustomed to feelings of fear and guilt. Whenever we are shown an image of an impoverished nation, we are made to feel guilty and somehow to blame and charged with the responsibility to help. Which we should…help that is, not feel guilty. We deserve what we have, there is no other way to look at it. As a culture we do… as a generation, we have much to contribute. I would feel like some discontent swine if I felt that my function was to show people a life here without the same amenities, with the only result to make them feel guilty for what they have that I, or the people around us here do not have. Also in a sense, shame on people for being so arrogant as to pity such a strong and relentless culture as the Afghans. Everyone from Alexander to Ghangis Khan has stormed through this land and brought nothing but trouble to these people and yet they stand here like a rock jetting out from beneath the tide.

   Don’t curse yourself for not appreciating your way of life, or taking simple things for granted. They are supposed to be taken for granted. For better or worse it is the life we live. If you think it is an American thing to not be thankful everyday for running water, you are wrong. It is a trend true with every place that has had running water for over a year. When the water heater breaks here and there is a week of cold showers, only then do I appreciate the hot water, it is a fact of life. The key for Americans is to appreciate all of the little things at once, and embrace them under the heading of the American Dream if needed. And do something everyday to further that dream for yourself, your neighbor, and your community. Something to make someone or somewhere better. Don’t feel guilty for not appreciating the little things. Count them as services rendered by the dream….and pay the bill on that dream every month, and help further it’s place in our world. That is our function as citizens, to further sustain the dream. Not to feel guilty because our parents did their part.

   There is more decency in America everyday, crime and vagrancy is always be amuck to some degree. But it is the whole of our parts that will be considered when the time comes. Despite our lessoning world popularity, I think America is headed back to a place where decency rules and the gluttony of the 90′s will fade away.

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

(Waiting out an attack)

   Asleep, finally…well deserved. Then came the familiar desperate bull horn and the  frantic scrambling of men mindlessly repeating to each other and to random inanimate objects… Incoming!… Incoming! After scrambling out of the top bunk and onto the floor, gathering my equipment and running to the my place of duty… I remember thinking that this is the second worst way to wake up in the middle of the night. The first of course being, every other day, back at Bragg waking up to the all-to-familiar screams of my alarm clock at 4:30 in the morning. In my opinion much worse by comparison. 

    I have bigger problems here then rockets. For those that know me you can attest to my fragile sanity when it comes to subtle annoyances and things beyond my control. The first of course being the ongoing battle against the evil parasite that attempt to destroy my way of life here. I am speaking of course about flies. If only they had the common sense of a man. If you and a friend were bothering me…and I killed your friend with a single deft swoop. Wouldn’t you run? I would, but they don’t. I could derive some subtle satisfaction from killing one fly and watching the others, upon seeing this retreat in high fashion and with great hurry and severe prejudice. But they are fearless, I almost admire their courage. But I would love nothing more then to destroy the entire species. They have no sense of right and wrong. They land on your face, and lips, while you are eating or talking. They have no tact. And they never end. They are insurgents of the highest order…terrorists flies. They never attempt a frontal attack, I could respect them if they did, and always just a few at a time and with the sole intention of ruining you with fear and loathing of everything that would otherwise be decent. They are retched filthy creatures, and they are driving my internal anger to unknown heights.

  Then there is the other thing. It is not as constant, but twice as maddening. I have radio shift in the middle of the night. Which means that I wake up in the middle of the night to come and watch…or listen for the radios. When I am off shift I am ready to go back to sleep. Of course back the base, I have my own little room complete with the office I built, but here I am in a tent packed with bunk beds and there is 6 of them. For those quick with the finger math that is 12 people in one tent. I am not complaining, we are on a mission here, the last mission we were on I slept on rocks. So in comparison the top bunk is like the Hilton. However when I return to it to go back to sleep. There is always someone that is snoring.

    In my experience I have never slept around people that I didn’t know well enough to slap if they started snoring and buy myself enough time to fall back to sleep before they resumed their midnight vocal solo. Here I assume that behavior would be unacceptable. So I lay there…Paralyzed with suppressed anger and fear. I grip the edges of my sleeping bag and pull them close to my face and grind my teeth and stare at the ceiling fighting insanity. The unnatural noises that come from the people in tent are horrible. I sometimes ask myself if it is possible they are fucking with me?. I think, “Noone breathes like that…”, “they must take me for a pacifist.” I consider murder, suicide and a host of other irrational options. I just don’t understand, some of the sounds people emit are so unlike anything a lung would produce naturally. Every time I drift away to sleep in a few moments of silence, the snoring resumes and I am jolted in a heightened state paranoia and disgust. When one finally gets so loud that they snore themselves awake…(you know how “snorers” do that) I see it as an opening to try and fall under. And that is when someone else will start in producing the god awful noise. It is like they take turns in some awful plot to determine the breaking point of an otherwise normal person.

     Then I figured out a solution, one not involving a pillow, or a bullhorn. It never rains here. So I set up a bed outside the tent today. I am almost offshift, and I can’t wait to go to bed. I wonder how long before someone takes offense to this.  It is the army way, they have a natural fear of anything creative, original or unique. Their collective mind is made for policies and standards and for that reason we will never see eye to eye. And for the same reason, someone will make me move back inside the amphitheater soon, I can feel it.

  Ahhh yes, mail day. I didn’t expect to get mail here, I mean we are on a mission and I hardly get mail at our base. But never-the-less, I was more then happy to see the big birds hovering over our location kicking rocks and dust into the air and causing and even bigger stir with rumors of mail.

And sure enough…

 Thank you for the package. I am sure you have been waiting for me to get it as much as I have been waiting to get it. Slinky Jr and bouncy balls and Playdo…awesome. The Playdo tasted a little stale but the slinky was awesome haha. Thank you again for the thought. Andrew

Thanks to everyone who commented again. It feels good to know that people are reading what you are writing. I am challenging the likelihood of that with this post. Even longer then the rest. But I wanted to include some personal stuff along with my thought on the ever-important American Dream thesis. More to follow as always. I am getting a ton of people stopping by and not commenting. If you have nothing to say just write “hi”. I love my comments….  Myers

Turmoil in Afghanistan

   I have never gotten such a response to one of my posts. 140 comments and over 1000 hits on my site in 2 days. But then there was the other thing… Some vagrant swine loaded up my site with a 4 page comment of pure spam. I spent half the day today battling the Internet and trying to get it to not freeze when I clicked on my comments while trying to delete this impotent little creatures comment. It did not work. I curse not only him, but Xanga for allowing such a retarded thing to happen. Why would I want someone to leave me a 4 page comment. Or any comment so long that it would cause my entire page not to load.

   I haven’t gotten the “anger” so bad since last week, on the night of the “death of the flies”. On which night I was harassed so terribly by little squadrons of flies it forever scarred my working sanity. They would come like Japanese suicide pilots, 3 at a time from some unknown foxhole. Land on my nose, and ears, and fingers and drive me absolutely insane. The worst part is that they do nothing…NOTHING. Except rub their little “hands” together and die by my swatter. Only to be replaced by three more minutes later. If only I could swat the retarded vandalistic toad that spammed my site. Alright I think I have vented properly.

   I have bad news for those of you that just subscribed to my site. While I believe that most of my posts are funny, well written and have decent pictures and the such. I also believe that I may have hit some sort of high-water mark in terms of quality with my last post. I can guarantee a certain level of quality when making a post, but for those of you that subscribed thinking you found yourself a roving war correspondent to replace Geraldo on the front lines, I am sorry. I rarely leave the wire here because I am artillery. And most of the stuff that we do is classified and I can’t write about it. And when everyone goes out like I did the other day, that is my time to stay back and support them with artillery. The M4 is cool, and the .50 cal is huge. But this is my gun.

   A lot of people commented that they could see the world through my eyes in thanks to my post. The strange thing is that I could see the world through a lot of the eyes of the people that posted based on a lot of the things some of the people said. One person said that they didn’t realize that there was children here.(??) I can’t believe the lack of information and sometimes even insight that Americans have about this war that we have been in for almost 4 years now. I remember before we came here hearing about all the journalists that were in “boot camp” to follow along with the troops and “report everything from ground level.” It is obvious that either the government has censored them to death or they have dropped the ball.

   People don’t need or want to hear about strategic maneuvers or anything like that. But there is more human and valid stories here then anywhere in the world right now. More so in Iraq. People don’t realize that Baghdad functions as a city 24 hours a day with regular crime and citizens. Regular problems…and then a war. In this light they might better understand our inability to fight the kind of war that we want to fight over there. People don’t realize that a lot of the people launching these ill fated attacks on American soldiers and coalition forces aren’t hardened Taliban if there is such a thing…but some donkey herder who makes 400$ a year and just got offered 2000$ by some Taliban fat belly to launch a rocket or bury an IED. In this light Americans might understand the trouble with ending the insurgency. We HAVE killed all the dumb ones. We just have to find the more cowardly smart ones now.

    There are many things like this that could be explored in detail and while I have never professed to be any kind of professional journalist, I think even I can cover the information gap a little bit here and there and do some research and offer it up along with insight on occasion. Hopefully I will get the chance to snap a few decent pictures along the way. Here is a few more of my favorites.

   One of the things that we do all the time as artillery is load our guns up under huge Chinooks and fly off on mission via helicopter. At first this was an incredible photo op and still is an incredible sight but I am so tired of seeing helicopters that I don’t even have my camera out anymore when we do air assault. That and the fact that the dust from the damn helicopter,  has already cost me the first camera of the deployment. But there are some awesome pics back about 2 months or so from some of the other missions we have went on. Go back and check them out if you are interested. Similar to these.

   One of the things that I wanted to touch on was something I saw the other day when I was in the town. Poverty: I think that Americans view poverty as ratty clothes and and bad cars, or something equally obvious. This isn’t the kind of place like you might see in Africa where hungry kids wander the streets. They might be hungry, but they are not so impoverished that they cannot eat. The community was built to be self sufficient. Natural selection still exists here. I almost envy them for that. A strong man in this society cannot be missed, he is needed and would naturally rise to the surface.

   If the rest of the world got destroyed, it would be weeks before these people found out and many years before they would care. And that would only happen when they needed to buy new motorcycles and had nowhere to get them. There is almost no way to establish who the poor or the wealthy would be by driving around town. Nothing here is new. Everything looks like a mix between the stuff from the 80′s and a junkyard.

    In Africa a few short miles away from the starving, there are rich fat bellies with swimming pools and big screen T.Vs with satellites. Unlike Africa, the extremely wealthy here might own some land and a little farm and hire a few locals or family to tend these assets. He might have a car and if he does it would be a late 80′s or early 90′s station wagon or Corsica and he would romp acrossed roads made for 4 wheelers. He would live in a house with essentially a dirt floor and mud walls regardless of what size or shape. He might have a satellite dish that grabbed a few stolen European channels but has no local news, weather, sports or anything of the sort. There is a few shortwave radio stations but I can’t for the life of me understand where they broadcast from or who pays for it since there is no commercial industry here and no point advertising.

   Everyone else lives in a sort of self-imposed communism were all things are about equal. Everyone has about what they need to survive, and to have anything else would be asking to have it stolen. They wear the same “robe” garment for weeks at a time, and I can only guess where some of them live because only the wealthy live near town. The others ride to town everyday clinging to large vehicles or riding 20 to a pickup truck, with people in the back, on the hood ect. Any American would look at the wealthy here and view them as poor, and with that being all anyone here has to aspire to in terms of quality of life, it is easy to see how we are resented and considered ignorant and soft. There is no American dream. You will have what you do have for the most part. Classism still exists here. If your dad was wasn’t a community figure, you won’t be either. You won’t get a good wife, and opportunity is slim to improve your condition even a little. There is no inventing big business and making the quick buck.

   Poverty is only a matter of prospective here. I envy them for it, but I wouldn’t switch places. A man with a good mule and a good wife and 3 good sons, is a wealthy man. They don’t talk about religion, they live it. The average local has better values then would a handful of Americans. I am afraid to leave them to their own devices. The Taliban are financed by drug money and other sources. I can’t imagine how the government could ever draw taxes from the people I see in the city to maintain the local army. Would you ask for 10% of a man’s peanuts when that is the only currency he deals in?

    Americans will never know how lucky we are, and 90% of the people who will read that don’t even know what it is they are lucky for. It isn’t your new car, our your favorite CD, or the Internet or decent food or plumbing. It is the basic structure of the world we live in. In short, it is the American Dream. If there was ever a thing worth fighting for. We can give the Afghan people freedom. But we cannot give anyone the American Dream. Every American should wake up everyday and not feel guilty for having a soft carpet and coffee, but feel lucky to be living a dream, the dream of the men that set our country up to be different and better then the place they left behind.

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Thank you to everyone who had such kind things to say and to everyone that subscribed. I intend on responding to most every comment so if I miss yours it is probably because you are on the page that got spammed. I leave you with this: A picture of me wrestling my dog into submission because I thought she was possessed because her eyes were glowing. (apparently the red-eye thing in Photoshop doesn’t do anything for “crazy dog” eyes”)