Inedible Ink

From bpnews.net:

Navy Lt. Matthew S. Weems, flanked by his religious program specialist, Petty Officer 2nd Class Aaron G. Neely, are key weapons in the effort to maintain good morale among the 800 troops in the 3rd Battalion, 4th Marines, Regimental Combat Team-1.

“We’re here to give encouragement to the Marines and sailors,” said Weems, a graduate of the Arizona Campus of Golden Gate Baptist Theological Seminary, “and to provide for the free religious expression of all in the command.”

Nicknamed ‘The God Squad’ by the battalion, Weems, 33, and Neely, 21, provide more than weekly religious services; they also perform baptisms; conduct the battalion?s morale, welfare and recreation program; and provide any needed counseling.

“More than anything else, I think our ministry of presence is the most influential thing we do” Weems said.

The following email was in my inbox early this week. I’ve just received permission to share it here. I have edited it to remove identifying details and left a numbered mark: (~1~) wherever I did so. It is otherwise complete.

Trailer Life in Baghdad - Part 1: I made it.

Now, for my trip. All went well on the trip over. (~1~)dropped me off at the airport on Tuesday afternoon and I was lucky enough to a business class upgrade for the first leg of my flight from a friend (thanks ~2~). It made the long journey a bit more pleasant. I arrived in Kuwait in the evening of Wednesday. A couple of the guys from my State Dept. training were on the flight so we went through the process of finding KBR (the contracting group) for transportation to the hotel. I didn’t arrive at the Hilton until about 10pm that night. The contracting group has several villas set up for people on their way to Iraq so I was assigned a room with a shared bath. We then went to have a great meal in the dining area which they set up outside. The weather was beautiful.

The following morning we had a briefing where we went over more information, most of what we already heard at the State Department training. I also was fitted for my bullet proof vest and helmet. The vest with the plates in it weighs about 40 lbs. Let’s just saw it gives me a good workout toting it around. I prefer that to not having it when I need it. I relaxed for the rest of the day and packed up for the plane ride scheduled for the following day. The bus for the airbase picked us up at 8am. We had about an hour drive through Kuwait. The place is all desert with some communities here and there. Not very exciting. At the airbase we manifested and had dogs sniff our luggage for explosives. Mine passed. Next we had some time to kill so the bus driver took us to the PX and the DFAC (dining facility) (This place is acronym crazy, It puts the FDA to shame). After lunch, which was fine but I ate very little hearing about the plane trip, we went to the plane. We all got on and sat for a while. I have pictures but essentially you sit in rows facing each other on web seats in a big tin can with your luggage on a pallet at the back of the plane. After sitting on the plane for 45 minutes they put our flight on hold. We then went back to the bus for a couple hours. Since I had taken my Dramamine, I took a bit of a nap. We then went back to the DFAC for dinner. Finally at 6pm we heard we were not leaving that night so we were bussed back to the Hilton for another night. The next day we went back to the base - same routine. The plane did take off that day. What an experience. The C-130 is a loud prop plane. I ended up sitting on my vest for the 2 hour trip to Mosul (that day we had to stop there first) then the hour trip to Baghdad. They do defensive moves during the landing so you feel like you are on a roller coaster ride. Not as bad as people made it out to be but quite a trip none the less.

We landed at the Baghdad airport and had to catch a ride to Camp Stryker(formerly Camp Victory). From there we waited once again and got manifested on the Rhino armoured bus. Several hours later the Rhinos arrived, unloaded and we loaded up our gear for our trip to the International Zone (also known as IZ and Green Zone). The trip was wild. They shut down the road (Route Irish) and off we go with protection by the military on the road and in the air. Finally we made it to the IZ. As you can see the whole process of travel is quite complicated and time consuming, hurry up and wait is the theme.

International Zone:
(~3~), the Health Attaché, and I we met by Col. (~4~)the acting Health Attaché in the office. He helped us get to the right place to get temporary housing. By the time I got settled it was 4am. The next day I was up at 9am. (~3~)and I took care of some logistics and got briefed about some of our activities. Just in the last two days work has been non stop. I’ve already been to the ministry of health in a Humvee convoy (they are not that comfortable) and on a Blackhawk helicopter for a trip to Najaf. I have already met a couple Generals and (~5~). All I can say is, I will be working all the time. I’ll get more into what I’m doing in the future - when I figure out what I am doing.

The day after I arrived I moved into my permanent housing. I have half a trailer with a shared bath in between. It isn’t too bad. I have a couple wardrobes an extra single bed. I also have a tv/vcr combo and a small refrigerator - living large. My trailer is in the exclusive neighborhood they call Edgewood Estates. The grouping is toward the river in the backyard of the palace not far from the pool. I have yet to go swimming in Saddam’s pool but hopefully will get a chance this weekend. It looks quite nice. The trailers are lined up all over the grounds and are surrounded by sandbags. (I will send out pictures eventually). My front yard (consisting of sand and paving bricks) is wider than most, and my trailer is not far from my office. The office consists of four desks on the first floor of the palace which probably was a bedroom at one time. We have our own bathroom which makes it quite desireable. There is a lot of grandeur, marble floors, tall intricately carved wood doors (some with gold covered designs, chandeliers and beautiful ceilings. I can’t believe I am working and eating where Saddam lived. Speaking of eating, so far the food isn’t as bad as it has been made out to be. It is like a big cafeteria in what was once a fairly large ballroom or meeting room. I have yet to make it to the gym, work and lack of sleep have kept me away. By next week I am going to make a regular schedule to include a workout.

I have to say the whole experience is quite wild. I am still getting used to everything. Helicopters fly by very often and guns are a common accessory for most (I do not carry by the way). It is definitely a war zone although I feel safe in the Palace area. It is heavily guarded. I have not heard any mortars or explosives go off but did hear about the bombings in the market on CNN.

I’ll have to fill you in on more as time goes by. Don’t worry too much about me. My primary concern is my safety from both my perspective and the State Department’s perspective. I am very aware of my environment but feel like I was adequately briefed about what to expect over here. I also realize I have only been in Iraq a few days at this point and I’m sure my perspective will evolve.

Signing off and Staying Safe,

T

His mama lost track of him for a minute or so yesterday, he giggled when she called him, but she couldn’t lay eyes on him anywhere, inside, outside, in the laundry, out the dog door, on the shelves of the bookcase, in the toyboxes, nothin’ he had just vanished. Another giggle. He was in the fireplace. With the screen closed behind him. Oh how he thought he was so funny.

I lost him for a moment on Sunday. He was out in the back, motoring around from the artichokes to the grapefruit tree, up the slope to the grape vine, his normal haunts. Then nothing, nowhere. It’s not panic time, cause I saw him 5 seconds ago. Under the slide? nope. In the sandbox? no. Ah! under the palm fronds? neither. Dog run? no. I was totally out of ideas and rehearsing the speech I’d give my wife, and later Child Protective Services if I ever had to say “I seem to have mislaid him momentarily…” when I heard an enormous BlaWhaamKaaBoomBlaWhaamKaaBoom down the back side of the house, the side of the house where the girls just never went, didn’t dare. See, I’ve grown a big bougainvillea vine on a trellis to shade the whole thing so well that the girls call it “the dark forest”. There he was, having pierced the dark forest, by way of a nine foot long puddle, and arrived in the light on the far side to find a steel storage shed, which he tried breaking and entering by means of standing up and heaving his arms at it again and again.

Tonight, he heaved himself at me like that, bit me on the downstroke, little bugger.

I read in a home decorating mag that rich folks put their showers on the outside of their homes now, plumbing these private little courtyards for the daily shampoo-rinse-repeat. Not pragmatic or nearly modest enough for my beloved wife, and that is a shame, ’cause it’s a fine idea. I coulda hosed the kid off both of those times.

He will rest his head on your collarbone, put an arm around you and pat you on the back for 3 quiet seconds before he’s off on another adventure in the garage or up your nose, or anywhere else he isn’t allowed.

I think they’ve got it aimed about 8 degrees to the south.

He’s not kidding.

Now, I’m not promising world peace, not even a World Series title for the Chicago Cubs. Those are no slam-dunks. But if we can start diminishing the global arms races (as muscle mass and home-run production have already diminished this season in response to the steroids scandals), we just might start finding more enjoyment in our lives and games. We might start savoring little victories, incremental progress, modest advances in health and happiness instead of waiting to be saved by the lottery, that one big bang.

He doesn’t even seem to know it’s funny.

Ok, so in truth, I don’t get to vote. I guess it is not enough to be a sportswriter in private, there is some expectation that it be done for pay and even involve readers.

The Most Valuable Player prize ends up being as much a question of “value”, as a question of “Player”. Asking “Who’s the more valuable Basketball player, Shaquille O’Neal or Steve Nash?” is like asking “Which is the better movie Casablanca or The Matrix?” You might get an answer, but you wouldn’t know anything new about the movie, you’d know something new about your answerer.

Folks out there buying replica player jerseys like Shaq better than Nash by a wide margin. They prefer dunks over layups, points over assists, making a charge over taking one, and cartoons over actors. These same people do a Bogart impression for “Play it again, Sam.” (”Play it again” was Ingrid Bergman’s line, people.)

Kevin Hench at FOX sports likes Shaq. So, Kevin’s probably the kind of guy who values mass over speed.

Chris Sheridan at the Detriot Free Press likes Nash. I’d expect he likes it when his free throws go in, he’s bothered when they don’t and he knows that two from the paint equals two from the stripe.

Peter Vecsey writing for the NY Post voted for Nash. Peter knows basketball. Peter likes guys that can still run after three quarters of play.

Dan Bickley at the Arizona Republic values Nash over O’Neal. Bickley values dribbling and passing fundamental skills, the way a slashing point guard can collapse the defense, and he values not just getting the ball to Amare Stoudamire and Shawn Marion but exactly when and where that happens.

Somehow a lucrative shampoo endorsement deal hasn’t materialized for either of them.

We rejoin the battalion, somewhere near Fallujah…
Increased Security In Fallujah Slows Efforts to Rebuild (washingtonpost.com):

“FALLUJAH, Iraq — On a sweep through southern Fallujah, U.S. Marines uncovered a suspected insurgent safe house: four Iraqi men of military age living alone in a small, unkempt dwelling with a Russian heavy machine gun, ammunition and two grenades buried in the front yard. “

First, imagine a guy in your neighborhood has an intensely huge collection of vinyl LPs from his days as a rock n’ roll Disc Jockey.

Second, imagine this guy has ripped the best, oh, say, seven thousand tracks to his iPod.  Getting interested?

Third, imagine that this same guys has A.) Access to an FM transmitter. B.) Funding and C.) Some time on his hands.

I have no real idea exactly how all this music gets floated across the Phoenix airwaves, but this is the listener experience.  Cool, eh?

About KCDX:

“KCDX, a privately owned and funded radio station, operates each day with one mission in mind: Staying true to the music. We have thrown the corporate radio guide book out the window, and replaced it with real listeners’ views and opinions.”

I’ve been listening for years and have yet to hear an ad, a PSA, or a DJ.

Read up.

Sample Playlist.

So, so gross.

“The Denny’s restaurant employee in Douglas handed the customer, a U.S. Border Patrol agent, a printed receipt. It was the wrong copy, one intended for the cook, and included a printed, profane reference to the customer.”
Michael Nicley, chief of the Border Patrol’s Tucson sector, said he had no proof, “but we can speculate that that’s not the first time” such a message was sent to the kitchen. “It meant something to the guy who sent it, and it meant something to the guy who got it,” he said.

I knew it. I knew this was possible.
East Valley Tribune | Daily Arizona news for Chandler, Gilbert, Tempe, Mesa, Scottsdale: “A guest of a north Scottsdale hotel was found dead Tuesday in the desert apparently after bumping into a cactus, police said.”