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.

Meet a Member of the Coalition - February

Another month certainly cannot pass without an installment of everyone's favorite "Meet a Member of the Coalition. This month I feature the feisty 80 Macedonians in Iraq and in particular, my friend Nic, a Macedonian Army Captain. Macedonia, part of the former Yugoslavia, not only working towards a NATO membership (much to the chagrin of neighboring Greece) but they are also trying to bring their own government back to stability after a parliamentary ruckus.

Hail and Farewell Tongan Marines!

You may recall that my very first installment of "Meet a Member of the Coalition" highlighted the stern but friendly Marines from Tonga. Well they take blog center-stage once again as Camp Victory said hail and farewell during the change of command ceremony recognizing the incoming company of Marines relieving the outgoing. The palatial venue was, in fact, in the Al Faw Palace and the imposing rotunda at the center of the structure.

Approximately 120 Tongan Marines were in attendance. On a per capita basis, that would be the equivalent of having 250,000 U.S. troops in the same room. Don't miss the war challenge at the end.

P.S. I spelled "a cappella" wrong but seeing as how it took 45 minutes to upload the video, I'm going to let this one go . . .

Do Pilots Have too Much Free Time?

Just in case some of you think that I rip on the Air Force too much, my hat is off to these two USAF pilots based in the United Arab Emirates. They have finally answered the question: "Do pilots have too much free time?" Dozens of funny videos, photos and emails float around on the servers here but when someone sent me this, it was an immediate winner. Obviously I need to score a gig in the UAE for my next deployment. Enjoy (and remember - they aint in Iraq).

A Day in the Glamorous Life of an MNF-I Staff Officer

It occurred to me that I have never really offered-up a day-in-the-life for my time here in Iraq. No longer the case as today I give you a Day in the Glamorous Life of an MNF-I Staff Officer!

(MNF-I: Multi-National Force Iraq)

0630: Reveille. No, no bugles, just my own internal alarm clock

0700: Now that it is getting a little warmer (winter is pretty much over here) I run about 4 miles around Lost Lake, former residence of the charming Uday and Qusay Hussein. Their bombed-out former homes sit on an island towards the middle of the lake, complete with a drawbridge. As usual, the Army has come up with a set of rules dictating exercise outdoors. You have to wear a reflective belt, even in broad daylight. As if my pastey white legs were not sufficient. Of course, no reflective belt is required if you are wearing camoflauge, at night, walking down a trafficked street. Makes sense to the Army!



To give you a feel for the view, there is a brief video of the large mosque on the other side of the "wire" or perimeter.



0830: Arrive at work and take-up position at the LT Kurkjian Command Center, or, umm , my desk. I usually have 40 or so emails from headquarters back in the states plus some overnight emails from around Iraq. Another 150 or so will come in during the next 14 hours I'll be at work between the two systems (secret and unclassified).


Since most of us spend most of the time in the office, we keep our IBA (Improved Body Armor) on racks near our desks.


1100: Time for a break on the office balcony to enjoy the tasty sand-filled air during one of our recently frequent sand storms.



1230: Time for lunch and to run some errands. After more than four months here, I know all the menus, and the food is pretty boring at this point. Which is an amazing revelation for me since the variety is immense. There are no ATMs here so to get cash, you have to use a personal check at the finance office. Under the category of everything is more difficult in Iraq - You can only cash a check up to $200, once per month. You have to put pretty much every piece of personal information you have on the check. When I asked why this was required, the Army E-4 at the window told me that the U.S. Federal Reserve REQUIRES this information to process the check. I asked her how many checks she writes in the U.S. and how often she had to include this information. She gave me a quizzical look and told me I could talk to her Major. He was out, which might have been a good thing since my thoughts for him may have been perceived to be disrespectful . . . "Hey everyone! I have an idea, lets blame our own stupid rule on the Federal Reserve!"

1530: Time for a diversion so along with two buddies from the office, I head to the broadcast trailer to be part of a studio audience for a live sports talk show hosted by a guy named Ron Barr (uknown to me, but apparently a legend in the sports radio talk show circuit). He is broadcasting his daily show from Iraq and one of the call-in guests is none other than PETE CARROLL, USC's football coach. So I got to ask the Coach a question, live, all the way from Iraq!

You of course recognize the guy in the photo with me, right? Okay, yeah, I had no idea either until my friend Manny told me it was Brian Belick. I nodded my head with feigned comprehension and tried to duplicate the awe exuded by Manny. Turns out that Belick is the former head coach for the Baltimore Ravens football team . . . and a really tall guy. He was one of the guests that came to Iraq with Ron Barr. Just as the show went live, Camp Victory took a barrage of rocket fire from some of our admirers out in the city. One of the in-studio guests, a former NFL player named Spencer Tilman, took it in stride and said on air - "It's just a real blast to be here."

1700: My favorite time of day - the mail call. Here I am downstairs picking up packages.

I usually go to dinner late and try to not return to the office but a lot of nights that does not work. A few nights ago, Estonia's "Hottest rock band" The Sun performed at Camp Victory so we stopped before dinner to take it all in.

2200: Trailer sweet trailer. I try to catch up on emails (and I am always behind, so I am sorry about that) and maybe watch a little TV with my roomate Erick. Our favorite station is a pirated movie channel. How do we know it is pirated? The sillohuete of a movie goer with popcorn walking across the screen. Nice!

I take 1/2 of every other Sunday off. That's my weekend! About eight weeks to go before a real weekend comes my way.

At the Car Wash: A Salute to the TCN

"You might not ever get rich
But let me tell ya it's better than diggin' a ditch
There ain't no tellin' who you might meet
A movie star or maybe even an Indian chief
(Workin')At the car wash"

In my case, I met niether a movie star nor an Indian Chief, but Sri Lanka is CLOSE to India, so I'm not that far off . . . . Charles from Sri Lanka works washing cars at the NTV* Maintenance Facility on base. He has been here for FOUR years. Looks like Charles saw the Armed Forces Network commercial on avoiding hypothermia "which has been known to occur as far south as Florida." Keep that in mind Florida! Hopefully you will finally have your voting system squared away this fall but make sure you DRY off after the shower. You heard it here.

*Blog Quiz: If you remembered that NTV stands for Non Tactical Vehicles, award yourself 10 bonus points.

TCN stands for Third Country National (all civilians) and it is truly TCNs that provide the backbone of our operations here. From security to food service to hair cuts to manual labor, TCNs make this place work - ask anyone. These folks are hard workers, quick with a smile and immensely bright.

Look at the big things those Virginia Tech Hokies go onto in life! Samatna, working at the carwash, and I stand in front of my freshly de-muddied F150 Crew Cab. Yes, that is right. Banish visions of me driving a humvee - "Ford! The official vehicle of Bob's OIF II Tour!" I have never had a better appreciation for the value of 4-wheel drive, but the six CD changer skips every so often . . . life sucks.


Must be AC unit maitenance time! Two times a year the AC units have to be stripped and powerwashed to take off the quarter-inch of caked Iraqi dust.


All of our DFACs as well as some of the entry control points are guarded by . . . . wait for it . . . . UGANDANS. No kidding. No ID, no meal. Seriously. And keep that line moving.


My buddy Yahya, from Turkey, makes sure my uniform is pressed just the way I like it. He keeps up with his friends back home via his My Space page on the internet.





And lets not forget the really amazing staff that churns out all the food we eat here.



As you will recall, "DFAC" stands for "Dining Facility." FDFAC stands for "Fine Dining Facility." Fortunately for us, we only have DFACs so there is no way to mess up the name. I yearn to once again and on a regular basis drink from a glass that is indeed made of glass and use utensils with some steel content (when I need a temporary fix, I just go over to the Air Force Base). This may come as a surprise to many of you who were familar with the mantra of my younger days, "one man, one bowl and one box of plastic cutlery," but I have moved on. The DFACs have a very motivated staff of TCNs and one might think that they were compensated based on the amount of food they put on your plastic plate, a plate which often faces structural collapse long before it reaches maximum volume of food. For your reference, I offer this simple language translation guide for use in any DFAC you might come across in Iraq.



You say: "I'd like a PIECE of chicken."
They hear: I'd like A chicken.

You say: "One serving is fine."
They hear: "One serving comprised of 17 serving spoons is fine"

You say: "That's enough, thanks."
They hear: "Good, when I say 'enough,' what I really mean is keep going, but now just do it twice as fast."

You say: "No sauce, thanks."
They hear: "Does that come by the quart?"

Finally, I could not help but be mesmerized by the beat of the brick tossing as these guys built this wall.

January's Meet a Member of the Coalition

Crikey mate! It's the lads from down under, it's the Aussies!

I could not allow the month of January to pass without an installment of Meet a Member of the Coalition! And who better to highlight than those laid back slip-a-shrimp-on-the-barbie troops? Their goofy desert dalmatian uniforms aside, the 900 Australians in theater are the second largest contingent behind the British and provide me with endless amusement as they irreverently walk 12-abreast down the road seemingly oblvious to vehicle traffic.

The Australians are somewhat less parochial with their rules and although fenced in and largely secured from eyesight, their beer garden and BBQ pit is a frequent reminder of why I've been visiting soyouwanttobeanaussie.com.

Signs of the Times

Now you just know that really only the Army would need to have this explained to them with a sign. Most likely there is also a checklist that goes with it and the requirement that a colonel must sign-off.