I'm back home (my house) now, again, thankful that all the festivities are over with for now.


Wouldn't you know it, a fresh look at the computer issue enabled me to stumble through fixing it. Not exactly sure how I fixed it, but I'm happy I got it done. Word on the street is that the chickens I was planning to sacrifice to the mischievous gods of the Internet are enthused as well.

Wait 'till they hear what I'm planning for dinner later this week...

As bad as I might be interneticallastically speaking, is it wrong that I feel kinda good about my relatively huge base of knowledge when speaking with my grandma? She asked me at one point what was an e-mail. I thought she might have been kidding, but when she asked about postage for the letters, I realized that she honestly didn't know. I hope my future grandkids think of me fondly as I do to my grandma when I ask them some techocrappie question 50 or 60 years from now.

Nah, they'll probably think I'm a goober & off my meds, or something.


I'm kinda looking forward to getting back to work again, feeling like I've been out for a long, long time. I figure about 3 days of actual work should take care of that.

One of the things I like about the current work situation is the number of former military guys there. Always good to hear old war stories from the other services, and to compare and contrast jacked up missions, situations, and whatnot. One of the things that I've told many people is that in some ways, I think it's easier for the guys deployed than the families that are left behind. Whatever the situation, however messed up, outrageous, or humerous, you can bet that someone else has gone through the exact same thing, or worse. This was demonstrated in conversations from some of the guys who had lost some of their own family members.

How they came across in the conversations was kind of touching, in its own way. I think my favorite talk (in just about its entirety) was something along the lines of, "It's a kick in the nuts, huh." from, of course, a former old & salty sailor.

Indeed.

A sad twist of life, I suppose, when I heard about another death recently.

I don't suppose that it'll come to too much of a surprise that I'm not terribly in the Christmas spirit this year, my thoughts have been much more into sad reminiscing, bitter-sweet happier memories, and concerns about others. In my thoughts of my father, one of the things that I come back to often is music. Dad wasn't much for actually playing, heck I'm not even sure that he even knew how to read music. I do know that he played a little guitar in his youth, but he occasionally commented while looking at my sheet music that the notation was like another language to him.

He of course, supported my musical learnings, and would comment on different songs, which of course, I would immediately hunt down the music for and learn to play.

He introduced me to some different sounds such as Eva Cassidy, The Ventures, Piero, Los Iracundos, John Denver (?!), Abba (!?!?), Roy Orbison, and the like (if 'and the like' could apply here).

"Thank you for the music, and your stories of the road.
Thank you for the freedom when it came my time to go.
Thank you for your kindness, and the times when you got tough.
And papa I don't think I said, 'I love you' near enough."

--- Dan Fogelberg, Leader of the Band


Te quiero, viejo.

I miss you. so. much.

I'm back. Kinda sorta. Not really.... Crap.

So a couple of days ago I go to power up the laptop. I didn't really have any plans for the day, just wanted to make sure that the suspicious squealing and wheezing that I've been hearing from the ole checkbook and debit card aren't signs of any more holiday catastrophes. To the bank's website, ho! (Yes, I said 'ho').


*tippitytappityti-*


Crap, looks like the server's down.

S'ok, I had an e-book downloaded, so I read some of that for a while. Computer issues happen every once in a while, and for all that I know it's due to the alignment of the stars or the fact that I've been neglecting the sacrifices to the internet gods. Reminder to self; buy two live chickens for next weekend...

Aside from my blog roll (fun/informative) and the occasional news site (comedy/tragedy) , I'm not really much of one for reading on the 'net. This book turned out to be pretty good, and I got into it for a while. After an hour or so, I tried the 'net again.

Nada.

In the grand scheme of things, definitely not the end of the world, so I managed to find other things to occupy my time. I think there was some navel gazing and ear-pickin' in there somewhere...

A few days later and I was kinda concerned about the bank account. I really needed to figure out what I had to transfer over to checking, so I tried the laptop again.

Still nothing.

Perhaps it's the delusions of grandeur re: my so-called fixitability, but I decided to try my hand at figuring out what was wrong with the computer.

You in the back, shut it, I can hear you laughing.

See, every year around this time, I get voluntold to repair or construct new gifts, stuff to be re-gifted (what a concept!), and miscellaneous crap. Dunno why people think that an average Marine is going to have a good ability at fixing stuff up, but that's the way it goes.

As a personal general rule, I'm great at breaking stuff. Fixing it... not so much.

If I have a set of directions, a decent drink, and a scarcity of delicate ears to hear any profound words of dubious wisdom, I can usually stumble through the odd assembly or two. Case in point, I recently finished the assembly of a computer chair complete with massaging er... thingies. Felt pretty good, too, or at least 'till I got kicked out so she could give it a 'test ride'.

Back to the computer question, I turned off the laptop and somehow managed to restrain myself from tossing it through the window.

I then shuffled over to the desktop.

Due to the shuffling, I zapped myself pretty good *Crap, that hurt* when I turned on the light in the computer room / spare bedroom / extra junk that'll never get tossed out room / library. I turned on the pc to notice pretty much the same issues as the laptop.

For a mental picture, imagine yourself going down to the local zoo, signing out one of the resident chimps, plopping Bobo down in front of your computer, and telling him to get to work. That about describes me to a 'T'.

Hmmm....

Lights on and or flashing on small thingy in the back? Check.

[Scratching head]

Wireless network up and running? Nope.

[More scratching of head, some knuckling of keyboard ensues]

Router still alive and kicking? *clunk* Check... I think.

Internet? ... Internet?... (Bueller?).... Nope.

(By the way, I'm currently writing this from my mom's house, down south. That might kind of indicate the result of this particular story...)

At about the time when I was going to start hopping up and down flinging my poo, I happened to look down into the jumble of wires that pretty much takes up the entirety of the space beneath the desk. Amazing how, apparently all on their own, a collection of wires can spontaneously form knots of invincible properties, just by the fact of their existence. Two wires seemed to be disconnected...

This was about the time when I should have called it a day and resigned myself for getting someone much more knowledgeable to fixy-fixy... like the neighborhood 10 year old computer uber-geek. Heck, I probably could have settled for his 7 year old semi-computer literate sibling.

Forty-five minutes later of attempting to trace wired from their various outlets & surge protectors (?) later, and I was getting nowhere in a hurry. I decided to get creative and try to organize / untangle / destroy some of the chaos that was down there.

I think I killed (as in permanently) the printer. Darn things should be more resistant to an unexpected gravity test, especially when gently tugging on cords brings the thing down upon my noggin. Never fear, the gouge that it dug out of the wall on the way down slowed it enough to only slightly dent my brain housing group.

Don't you just hate it when after disassembly and reassembly of... just about anything, you finally get back to the starting point only to realize that you have screwed up and / or are missing some small component? I felt that way with those damn wires.

End result? Anything not needed for powering of the 'puter has been disconnected (or broken) and 'set aside' (read: tossed with accompanying color commentary) on the spare bed (only action that things seen in a while) for the time being. Computer is still not up and running. One sore head, various choice words on the state of technology uttered, and one drink refill.

I called the bank on their 1-800 number to find I had a balance of $25.32 in checking.

Oh, the holiday joy.

I should just go ahead and move the entirety of my 'Oh Shit' fund into checking, seems like it's all going there anyways...

A Thank You

... for all of the kind and thoughtful comments, e-mails, and blog posts over the past week or so. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around this situation, and I know it's not going to be easy, but I just wanted to convey my thanks to all, for all.

To my lazy Monday afternoon conversationalist, a special thank you, I needed that.

I'm back home now, all the initial details have been taken care of, and now it's just time to wait for the last of the paperwork, payments, notifications, etc. to come through. I suppose that this is where the getting over/through/on/whatever is supposed to take place, as well. Truth be told, it has already started, but with a frustratingly sense of slowness. It'll come...

Blog stories are still on standby for the immediate future, but I'm already getting back around, cruising the blogroll, and getting back into the swing of things.


Thank you, again.

Hiatus

My father has died.




This blog is on hold indefinitely.

Life Sucks When...

You know your armor situation is bad when the snipers are donating their old vests for you to sit on to help protect 'the boys' while sitting in your vehicle.

When you do finally get one up armored vehicle in the middle of winter, at least it warmed my heart to see, (freezing as I was with every article of cold weather gear that I had on) my Marines get out of the up armored Hummer, steam rising from their bodies, as they lazily stretched and took a leak while giving me the thumbs up.


Life sucks when, as a trained mortarman, one of the closest times that you came to buying the farm in Iraq was from mortars. Fired by friendlies.


It's really fun when you are tasked to escort an Army IED hunter team, seeking out and taking care of IEDs, with your unarmored Hummers.


There are few words to describe the sensation of returning from a mind-blowingly long series of patrols, knowing that you'll have to wait only one more week for a shower and maybe two more for a haircut, when you see a minty clean Recon Lance Criminal step out of his room in shades, pt shorts & chanklas, scratching his nuts and yawning at the bright and early time of... 1400, as he looks back in his room to ask his buddies if they had any Dr P. left over from their stash.


It is only a minor relief to discover that; no, the right ear bud for my mp3 player is not dead, I'm just still deaf from finding that one IED the hard way...


Life really sucks for those guys when they realize that they are trying to plant an IED well within range of our neighborhood unfriendly tanks that just came to join the party!

Dog Lovers

For the number of doggie-related posts out there recently, for the good ones and the sad...

My pooches have always put a smile on my face, long after they've gone. Here's to hoping that this one cracks a smile as well.

$$$

Don't you just love it when you find some money that you had long since forgotten about?

I just found around 7000 big ones!

Now, before the air gets thick with muttered curses, proposals of marriage, and the occasional naughty-lookin' bra (J-cup, natch), I should probably mention that those bills that I just found were Iraqi dinars, not U.S. dollars.

Doh!

At some of the larger bases, there were areas where small stalls were set up in a market specializing in local stuffs. You could find all kinds of mementos, Iraqi smokey treats, and a restaurant or two. Those shops would usually give your change in dinars, whenever possible, and 7000 was just what I would up with in my pocket when I came home.

I think it came out to about 4 dollars at the time.

Some of the more enterprising money-schemers in the platoon were going crazy. Seems like every unit has one or two, but in Iraq, with the large number of units all crammed onto the same base, all of the money-loonies congregated at the conversion area. They always knew the conversion figure down to the second or third decimal, and were already making plans for the oodles of cash that they were going to make from their latest and greatest scheme.


Interesting point.

For all of the in-country plans of investments like stocks, buying property, fixing up houses, etc. there sure was a lot of new motorcycles and trucks after we got back to the 'land of the big px'.


One of the more popular plans was to take some dollars and convert them to dinars. Some guys would take around 100 bucks, and some would take paycheck(s). In talking to one of my guys with a trash bag full of dinars, he tried to explain the theory. In a nutshell, the prevailing thought was that 'someday' the dinar would be worth a lot more compared to the dollar. If the dinar only went up to half the value of the dollar, the one dollar that one changed into 2000 dinars a number of years back would be worth a lot more. Makes sense, right?

Like a lot of other things that 'make sense', I decided to not jump into the waters with both feet. Figured that the surest way to guarantee that it might actually work would be for me not to get anywhere near it.

I'm keeping half an eye on it, however, and if in 30 years I'm proven wrong, besides tearing out what little hair I'll probably have then, I'll be making plenty of phone calls, 'cause I expect a cut of the earnings for not cursing 'the plan', dangit!

More Snippets of Wisdom...

I have learned to 'never say never', but I suppose that it might be a safe bet to make that nowhere in a pre-liberty briefing can one find authorizations for junior Marines to be mind-numbingly drunk on the beach...

... at about oh, 1030 in the morning...

...hitting on all ladies (and a few innocent trash cans) in a 5 mile area...


Clue #1.

When one of the civilian police responders (of about 4 or so) turns out to be female, she's probably not going to be interested in manly displays of musculature, the rippling of ink work, or suave come-ons.


Clue #2.

Police departments in the vicinity of Marine bases have probably dealt with drunk, amorous, and/or feisty Marines.

At least once or twice.


Clue #3 (bonus).

Don't fight with the cops. Ever. Not even once, and not even 'just a little bit'.

Following boot tread-marks and reading boot-sole labels on the bodies of Marines recently released from the pokey provides for hours of fond reminiscing at the end of the float.

Combat Action

A Gunny I once had described the Marine Corps as a big penis. He likened the head as the infantry, i.e. those that do all the up-close and personal interaction. Everything else in that region is pretty cleverly designed to aid and support the 'tip of the spear' to do its job. Not the description that I would have chosen, but it did do a remarkable job of illustrating a point. Here I am, almost 10 years later, remembering and describing a snippet of a 30 minute conversation.

The point that he was trying to make was that the infantry isn't going to get anything done without its administrative and support peeps. Despite the amount of shit that is said from the infantry to everyone else, it is very true. Thankfully, the admin guys that we had were good to go, and most went out of their way to help us out in whatever way they could.

One of the ways that we would say thanks was to take some of them out on patrol every once in a while. Some of the guys were cooped up in the rear for loooong hours every day and wanted nothing more than to go out on patrol and see what there was to see. Some of them had skills that could be easily used on patrol and were an asset to our mission.

Sitting around, blissfully wasting away an afternoon on a very rare day off, one of the admin guys barged into our quarters and proudly announced that he had now earned his combat action ribbon.

The combat action ribbon is one of those things that most Marines look forward to earning. You wouldn't believe the amount of time and mental powers that were spent pondering what actions earn it, who does and does not rate it, etc ad nauseum. I understand that the confusion has been somewhat cleared up by now, but at the time it was still one of the raging debates. I figured 'We're in Iraq. Patrolling the roads. If we DON'T get the CAR somehow, someway (and about 5 times over), that'll be a friggin' miracle.'

His story follows thusly.

Out on a patrol with one of the other mobile assault platoons, Admin Stud was taken as an extra dismount. His job would be not too extensive, he was there to cover any additional danger areas that might pop up, and to take photos if needed. As the sun set over the horizon, the patrol leader got an additional order to check on the power-line security tent in the area. A number of years ago a security department was set up to guard the power-lines. Locals would earn a wage, do something useful, and we might possibly have an extra set of eyes and ears in the area. Of course, the enemy might have an extra set of eyes and ears in the area as well, but that is just part of the whole party.

Back to the story. As the patrol was gradually making its way across the dunes to the tents, in the main tent under the power lines there was a little fiesta going on. The two man teams from both the tent to the north and south had gathered at the main tent to socialize, eat some grub, and perhaps to get their drink on. The after action report states that one of the Iraqi guards heard some vehicles approaching their position. When they heard the revving of multiple engines and saw no lights, they immediately assumed that it was a caravan of insurgents coming to pay them a visit.

They unloaded with their issued AKs at the Marine patrol to scare off what they thought were insurgents. Imagine their discomfort when they possibly thought that the insurgents were now fighting with our machine guns, grenade launchers, and rockets!

On the other side of this unfortunate firefight, the Marines performed almost perfectly. Following their contacts SOPs, they assumed their positions and returned fire. Admin stud recounted his admirable performance that no doubt was going directly into his commendation or award decree. Speaking with the squad leader later, turns out that Admin Stud actually did fairly well, but he did mention that he was 'slightly occupied' at the moment and did not have any more time than to ensure that Admin Stud wasn't getting himself killed.

The Iraqi guards must have very quickly realized the error in their ways, so they abandoned their positions and crawled into the wadi immediately behind the tent. They spent the next twenty minutes getting intimate with the sand at the bottom of the wadi, examining in microscopic detail every granule of dirt that was present. Their weapons were hastily flung into the scraggly bushes near the entrance to the tent.

Completing the immediate action drill for contact, the squad swept the area and investigated what was left of the tent, the guards' gear, and their vehicles. The guards themselves were completely intact, if only a little bit shaken up and quite sandy. Explanations were offered, apologies were made, and new gear was requested for the very lucky guards.

Was a mistaken ambush from a 'friendly' local unit enough for a combat action award? I don't know, and I don't really care. What I cared about was that no Marines were injured or killed, they learned valuable lessons relating to movement under fire, returning fire, good communication, and that the trigger happy locals were somehow spared. I know of others that have gotten higher awards for less, and a few that should have gotten a lot higher awards for definitive heroic actions, but didn't.

Besides, I was in the middle of a much deserved nap.