Saturday, December 20, 2003

13:15 – Baghdad. Suffering through the sixth power outage of the day, and perhaps the tenth over the last sixty hours. Unit productivity has taken a bit of a hit, as with each outage there’s a loss of data. Sure, you try to save again and again, but it’s the time you forget that the room goes dark.

Fortunately, we’ve got a window, which will not be the case in the new space. I just peered into the ballroom and saw nothing. Cave dark. Future annoyance.

Fortunately for you, the laptop has a fresh charge and about three hours of Ramones, which I can play sans headphones, as they rest of my unit, wholly fed up with the lack of power and lost data, has slipped away for naps or walks to the PX or long smoke breaks or whatever.

And to think, I could have missed all of this frustration, and only suffered the resultant stories about it, had I taken the bus out to BIAP and watched the WWE wrestlers in action. Truly, civilization has taken a wrong turn, and reached a point where Vince McMahon and his traveling circus are fit entertainment for the U.S. military. Over lunch yesterday, a dozen of this troupe ate chow with the troops and then staged an autograph session outside the palace DFAC. The line was snaked throughout the hallways.

Hillary’s visit couldn’t compare.

Today they were set up at Camp Victory, presumably with scantily clad managers and elastic “wrestling” mat, for the next installment of their steroid monster theatre. Had I gone, I probably would have blown off the show after the first match and went to the duty free shop for more Bourbon, maybe shopped at the PX, although it’s not like I need anything. The Army provides my three hots and a cot, but they might have some crap I didn’t know I needed until I saw it.

Like coordinated brown underwear – just the thing to wear under your DCU’s. Maybe some elastic pants blousers. Hmmm? Chewing tobacco? Games for your X-Box? They got it all,… except for maybe a small broom, which I desperately need to keep the dirt in the hooch at bay. It just follows you home and refuses to leave.

I might have better luck at Big John’s Supermarket, which was built this week on a side street just north of the palace, just behind the curb.

For coalition employees, there are limited shopping opportunities. The PX is probably the best organized of the ventures, although it’s barely two trailers large. There’s also a small candy and smoke counter inside the palace, next to a couple of tables of overpriced Coalition logo wear. On Haifa Street, between the palace and the Assassin’s gate, numerous local merchants had set up scattered and flimsy shops, constructed of sticks and roofed with mats of palm fronds.

As with most tourist markets, the goods are all the same from shack to shack. Smokes, blankets, fake Rolex’s with Saddam’s image on the face, Iraqi Army medals, assorted trinkets, and holsters. Lots and lots of holsters. CD’s and DVD’s as well, all counterfeit. Cruising this strip on bicycles and scooters are teen boys, the pornographers, softly stating their wares as they scoot past.

Last week though, the CPA relocated all of these entrepreneurs to a side street north of the palace, where customer parking won’t cause such traffic problems. Here, Big John (probably not his real name) has constructed a five meter square brick structure as a “super”market. He has a plan - to sell high quality goods at a fair price with little profit. It took about five minutes of intense broken English conversation for me to figure out that he was selling cheap, not sheep.

I hope he has a broom.