Embrace the Suck

Army port-a-potties the world over (I can speak to the US, Germany, Kuwait, Qatar, and Iraq, at least) are full of some of the crudest, funniest, and wisest graffiti ever. My personal favorite, scrawled or scratched into at least one potty in ever place I've ever been, is "Embrace the Suck."

"Army Strong," "Army of One," "Be All You Can Be" aside, "Embrace the Suck" is the real Army motto. The wisdom is simple and powerful. War sucks. Soldiering sucks. The Army sucks. Deal with it. Get over it. Accept it. Embrace it.

I think I'm close.

Just came back from 5 days in the woods. Slept in the dirt. Got rained on. Tore my hands up taking machine guns apart in the dark. Got real stinky. In short, it sucked.

But on day three or four (we lose track), we had hot chow trucked out to the woods. It had stopped raining. The sun was setting behind the North Carolina woods, through a break in the rainclouds. The truck was blaring 80's R&B as they pulled up, and we convinced them to open the doors and turn it up. Before long, plate full of lukewarm spaghetti in hand, funky buddies at my side, and bad music in background, I was as happy as can be. It wasn't long before our pint-sized First Sergeant started screaming about something or other, but it was wonderful while it lasted.

Better yet, last night, our field days over, we rolled back into the FOB. I've never been happier to see broken showers, a crowded tent, and a dining hall full of bland food. I'm learning to embrace the suck.

400 Joes/ 8 Showers = Funk

Not content with the indignities of port-a-johns, we shower in trailers here. Our little corner of the FOB houses around 400 soldiers and airmen ("Joes"- soldiers and airmen is too long. Also, the air force uses "airmen" as a gender neutral term. No feminist hate mail, to me at least, please.) Anyway, we 400 Joes (also gender neutral. cool your heels.) have 5 shower trailers, 8 showers a trailer, assigned to us. So, on a good day, 10 Joes per shower.

Tonight, on my way to getting all fresh and clean, I saw one long line and four signs on four trailers. "Closed until further notice." No further explanation. Awesome.

Nothing to Lose

This Army business was never intended to be a career (why I am here is another posting), and the last couple of months haven't changed my mind. So, this is, for all practical purposes, the end of my military career. And I love it.

There're no promotions to suck up for. No supervisors to make feel smart. No career-defining evaluations coming my way. When my bosses here do stupid stuff, I let them know, respectfully, that I think they're doing stupid stuff. I, daily, give honest, brutal, and (I hope) constructive feedback to our trainers.

I've managed to make myself a huge pain. I make the leadership squirm. I say the things that my buddies and, regrettably, most of my senior officers wish they could say. When I feel that my time is wasted, I say so, and I suggest a way to not waste it next time. When a training event misses the mark, I let them know, and I recommend exactly how they can fix it. I'm probably the most notoriously insufferable smart-ass here. But that's ok. Because I'm usually insufferably right. This is kinda fun.

Combat First Aid, Tactical Convoys, Language Classes, and Command Post Exercises

When I left home a month and a half ago, I fully expected I'd be in Afghanistan by now, happily attempting to nest by putting down a cheaply bought local floor rug and building a bookshelf out of scavenged planks and cinder blocks. But, no, I'm still here. Still living out of a rucksack. Yup. Great.

Training's actually gotten much better, though (which isn't saying much, frankly.) Here's how we've spent most of the last two weeks:

Combat First Aid: Applying a tourniquet (tight is good), treating a collapsed lung (make another hole in the chest), and starting an IV (going into, rather than through, the vein in the hardest part.)

Tactical Convoys: Getting 20 people in several humvees hundreds of meters apart to act as a well-oiled machine while under fire is hard.

Dari Language class: Spent a day learning such useful phrases as "may I search your car" and "drop your weapons," before the instructor went on a heartfelt but rambling and eternal monologue on Afghan history, politics, economics, and culture.

Command Post Exercise: Three days in an air conditioned tent (could be worse) doing simulated mission planning, analysis, and execution. Much nerdy fun.

My Prayers are in Chatsworth

For the last few years I've had the pleasure to work with LA's first responders- the LAFD, the LAPD, and everyone else who runs towards disaster as others run away. A bittersweet sadness and pride came over me as I saw these men and women at their finest, bringing strength to tragedy at the Chatsworth train wreck. My prayers are with the LAPD, having lost a colleague in the accident, with the LAFD, facing the grim work of rescue and recovery, and with all the individuals and families touched by the incident.

Story Arcs

On a gorgeous morning 7 years ago, I was walking to a Brooklyn subway station to catch a train into work when I ran into cabbie parked along the street. He was standing on the passenger side, watching a little black & white TV perched on the roof of his cab. I could just make out the fuzzy image of a familiar, blocky skyscraper billowing smoke. "Looks like a plane hit one of the towers," he said, pointing West to Manhattan.

I walked on. By the time I made it to my subway stop, the second plane had hit. Cops were screaming at everyone to get off the trains and go home. Sirens blared as every firetruck and ambulance in Brooklyn tried to make it across the bridge into downtown. The streets were full of confused people. I don't think we knew enough to be scared yet.

I decided to walk on, headed towards the East river, to get a look for myself. Walking through a nice neighborhood of brownstones, I was hit by a cloud of smoke and ash coming at me from the river. A few people ran the other way. I walked on.

Finally getting to the riverbank, I sat on a bench and looked across at the familiar Manhattan skyline, the lower half covered in choking, black smoke. I looked over at the hipster kid sitting on the other side of the bench, listening to a little pocket radio. "They fell," he said. "What fell?" "The towers, man. They're gone." I spent the rest of the morning sitting and staring.

Beautifully Terrifying

I've been carrying a print-out of an old NY Times Magazine article -- Battle Company is Out There -- and finally read it a couple of nights ago.

It's beautifully vivid and sympathetic, terrifyingly graphic and conflicted, and deeply moving. I hesitate to post this, but it's a very real part of this story.

One BIG note- I will be nowhere near Kunar. However, I will have friends there.

The Bright Side

After much whining on my part, a dear friend asked me what I liked about being here. After a little reflection, here's a short list:

- I see the sunrise most everyday. It's no less beautiful on Friday than it is on Monday.
- I call my mom all the time, and it's a treat rather than a chore.
- A patch of grass, a set of earplugs, and a hat pulled low is all I need to relax.
- I miss my job.

Hurricane Hanna

For those of you who like maps, meteorology, and current events, you may have figured out that there's a storm headed this way. Long story short, we've evacuated the FOB, we're back in the World War II barracks until the storm passes and, best of all, training will continue on schedule. Hooah.