Things I Like

Pearls Before Swine.

I'm going to go on record and say it is the best comic strip out there right now. It is the most consistently amusing strip I've seen lately, and that's all you can ask for, really (and a difficult demand at that), in a daily strip. The only other strip that comes to mind in the "consistently amusing" category is Calvin and Hobbes. That is premiere company.


Also, the font Sylfaen. Not boring like your arials or couriers, not your everyday Times New Roman, but still classy and professional. Currently my Outlook default font (Maroon for replies). Naturally, not a Blogger font.


In a local weather update, it turns out that when you add half an inch of rain to six inches of moon dust, you get an entire region covered in a really high-quality mud. Let that dry a few days in the sun, harden almost to a clay under foot, wheel and tracked-vehicle traffic, then ad a touch more rain, and you get a lovely layer of melted peanut butter-looking slop covering the ground. That is, wherever you don't have small lake-sized pools of standing water. This is truly a magical place.

That Last Stipulation is Negotiable

I tend to work an awful schedule here, usually well into the wee morning hours. I'm not necessarily working that late; I simply find that the only time I can justify doing what I want to do is when everyone else is sleeping and can't possibly need anything from me.

That being the case, hitting the gym, phones, internet at one in the morning is not an infrequent occurance. Case in point, it's 3:30 right now.

Where this trend really bites back in in the morning. At first I just kept hitting my snooze, but ended up losing hours of sleep to this four-minute snooze I have on my clock. Every four minutes for an hour and a half I'd wake up feeling progressively worse. I soon developed a fierce loathing for that inanimate object, and, eventually, I just began sleeping through alarms altogether.

I was forced to request a wake-up from the guys on duty downstairs, which seems almost foolproof except for two things: first, they actually have to remember to do it. ("Sorry sir! We thought you were out at the COP!")

Second, I have my door secured from the inside, so knocking and asking if I'm awake is all they can do to wake me up. Naturally, once I was awake, I responded accordingly. There was nothing, however, to actually make me get out of bed, which tended to result in my simply going back to sleep if I didn't have to be somewhere that exact instant.

To combat my own natural impulses, I have had to create certain rules for getting me up which I currently have posted on my door. And now the internet.



Guidelines for waking up the XO

Rule #1: If you haven't actually seen the XO, he isn't awake.

Rule #2: The XO may tell you that he's awake. He's not. In fact, he's probably lying to you. See Rule #1.

Rule #3: The XO does not like to be woken up in the morning. He may threaten your life. Do not let this deter you from this most important mission. (But be ready to run.)

Rule #4: In case you lack creativity, the following methods are acceptable for waking the XO:
-Banging on the door
-Banging really loudly on the door
-Telling the XO to "Wake up!"
-Telling the XO to "Wake up, Jackass!"
-Lying to the XO about things like the building being on fire, missing a meeting, or a very angry Tiger 5 on his way up.
(Be sure to admit you were lying once you have visual proof that the XO is awake.)

Rule #5: The following methods are unacceptable for waking the XO:
-Using liquids of any kind
-Using (actual) fire or ammunition in any way
-Attempting to snuggle with the XO



This morning, I got my wakeup, actually went to the door to visually prove that I was awake. The individual came back a couple minutes later just to be sure. Another ten minutes went by and I was already half dressed and putting my boots on when the other kid* on duty, not knowing the first had come by and probably thinking he was late knocks on the door and says "Sir, it's time to wake up...uh...the building is on fire." This is going to work out really well.






*I'm only 25. I'm not sure I have any business using the term.

But It's Good Enough For Government Work

It has been brought to my attention that they now make M&M Dark Chocolate candies. This is probably the best thing to happen to me in the last 7 months. Someone had a box at the COP and I ate half of the packages in there during my last two day trip.

Like all good things, M&M Dark candies cannot be obtained in Iraq.

This is where you come in. Christmas is coming. I'm easy to please.

__________

The computers available here for us to use are in rough shape. I switched from a desktop that ground to a halt when I opened a whopping four internet windows to a laptop that has a touchpad that jumps all over the place and clicks randomly, a collection of loose keys (with letters worn off), and a left touchpad button that will only work on certain links.

I imagine the frustration this causes is fractionally similar to that felt by those dealing with MS or other neuro-muscular disorders. I'm pushing the right buttons but can't make happen what this thing is supposed to do. This computer ought to be sent to a special kind of hell for evil tech-support jerks.

Way Scarier Than Boxed Wine

All the milk we get here is what one of our Kansas-raised platoon leaders likes to call 'nuclear milk.' A lot of it is the Kuwaiti Danish Dairy company (figure that one out) or other companies with names that mean nothing to the English-speaking mind. By 'nuclear' he is referring the mysterious and unnatural process that allows the boxed milk to live well beyond the life-span of any respectable milk product, even at middle of the desert room temperatures. It doesn't taste quite right, but the available chocolate, strawberry or banana flavors disguise it well enough.

I try to drink milk at least daily, as I'm assuming is still does a body good, or whatever the American Dairy slogan was prior to 'Got Milk?' There are enough conditions here that do the body bad, I figure I ought to compensate wherever possible.

Not long ago I was partaking of one of the boxes of milk ('box of milk' still not sounding quite right) when I found the box seemingly empty *except* for the sensation of weight in the box that suggested there should be some remaining. Upon further inspection there was in fact no liquid left. 'Liquid' being the key word there. I turned the box over and heard a most ominous gentle thud of some soft solid falling in the overturned box.

It is at this point that the feeling of foreboding in my gut really started to scream for recognition.

I squeezed the box to witness something reminiscent of a play-doh factory product ooze out of the straw hole in the box forming a nauseating little mound on my tray. The following thoughts ensued:

"I..........am going.............to die.

I came to Iraq, again, and I am going to die of self-inflicted nuclear milk poisoning in a freaking Dining Facility.

Should I not die, the gastrointestinal nightmare that is bound to result will likely be worse than death itself."

As it turns out, no such death or other effects were realized at all. That either says something about that milk product or about my digestive system. Either way, I'm horrified. But not horrified enough to stop drinking boxes of milk, as has been pointed out to me by those with whom I've shared this story.

I'm sure it does a body something.