The Normal Strange

The sunset strikes a perfect silhouette of a small mosque on Camp Slayer.

The Normal Strange - You give me a location on camp and I will tell you where the closest bunker is. Fun game!

When you find yourself immersed 24/7 in a different reality, the strange, odd and unbelievable quickly become the normal, routine and totally plausible. I no longer look up when helicopters fly over head any more than I would look up to see a pigeon (the same in that both fly but different in that helicopters are not known for releasing waste fuel while airborne). Although I still twitch just a little when a sudden boom gently rattles the building, I have developed a keen sense of differentiation. Much like the car mechanic who can easily determine the distinct difference between a Honda backfire and a Chevy back fire, I have become eerily apt at discerning the difference between incoming rockets (those aimed at the base) and outgoing artillery (us sending out a little "thank you for your kind gift" message). As one of my helicopter pilot friends frequently likes to say, "The only thing better than the sound of outgoing artillery is the sound of incoming choppers." Our explosive ordinance disposal guys do, however, have a bad habit of performing controlled-detonations of captured enemy ordinance without warning the rest of us. I guess everyone has to do something for fun here . . .

Even when you try to be "normal," a reminder is not far off in the distance, like this five story watch tower.

That is some referee tower for the volleyball game . . .

Unlike the Navy and the Air Force, who wear their rank insignias on their collars, the Army wears rank insignia square in the middle of their chests. I say this as a warning to my female friends. When I get back, I am not being depraved, I'm just trying to figure out whether to salute you or not. Many people have offered to take me out to eat when I get back and I appreciate it. What you don't realize is that you will be a key part of my transition back into the civilian world. I have not paid for a meal in almost seven months so I definitely need to ease back into that. Also, when we enter the restaurant and I try to show the hostess my base ID and that I am carrying an unloaded pistol (both prerequisites to obtaining food here), kindly pull me aside.

In fact, paying for most "normal" purchases will take me some time to get use to. Mailing a letter is free. Having your vehicle filled with gas . . . free. I don't pay any rent for my lovely trailer room. Bottled water is all over the place for the taking. I am not being charged any federal income tax on my earnings here (sadly, even then I still make more as a civilian). Mailing a letter is free, however, they make up for it with the draconian inspections any package you send is required to go through. It is utterly ridiculous. Across the borders of 50+ countries who knows how many times, my belongings have never been subjected to the inspections required to mail a package here.

Do you see many interesting cars or trucks as you drive to work or around town? See how this compares . . . . just a little driving video from one of the bases here in Iraq.

Many of us joke about how Iraq is one big Groundhog Day, in reference to the Bill Murray movie where his character is trapped repeating the same day over and over again. Everything here is open for operation seven days a week. In the absence of weekends, I track the time in a new way. We don't have janitorial service in the office, so every Saturday night it is my turn to take out the trash. Yes, that is correct; I celebrate Saturday night by taking out the trash and marking yet another week complete. Each month, I have to take the truck to be serviced and spend some time with my favorite Sri Lankans (prominently featured in a previous post "A Salute to the TCN"). So that indicates to me that a month has passed. And finally, every so often my computers force me to change my passwords. So there it is. Time tracking in Iraq.

Since we already talked about Groundhog Day, why not talk about The Mummy, a movie with unbelieveable sandstorms. Hah! I thought to myself. More wacky Hollywood special effects. Well, not so much. Here is the veiw from my office in the morning . . . .

Annnnnd here is the same view about three hours later. No, I did not change the settings on the camera.