Posts
It must be the ninth of April. Hard to be sure, though, with the jet lag following a couple of days of travel. Add to the confusion is the fact that Afghanistan has a time zone a half hour offset from the bulk of the world. Makes one think, though – since every place has a local noon, we could really have an infinite number of time zones, which might make watching your favorite shows on Fox more confusing, but at least lunch would always be in the middle of the day.
Such are the thoughts of one devoid of sleep. The flight over the pond was lightly attended, so I did get to spread out over three adjacent seats on the triple seven, but Boeing has placed a metal lump on the bottom of their armrests that lands in the small of your back when curled up, so the sleep you do get is only worth about forty percent of the time spent asleep. Look into that, John.
Once ‘cross the pond, we spent the evening at some al fresco Irish Place a little inland in Dubai, then retired to our totally fabulous suites at the Crowne Plaza. I swear, it was almost as big as our first house, and I didn’t have to rewire it, either.
Then, a ratty old jetliner for the 90 minute hop to beautiful Kandahar Air Field, KAF, which is very likely very close to beautiful Kandahar itself, but I never saw it from the middle of the plane and while concentrating on my proverbial cookies. From around 20,000 feet, it felt like the pilot was standing on the brakes while simultaneously dropping from the sky. Damn cool.
Our ride didn’t show, though, so another of us and I used what resources we could scrounge to try to track him down. Ultimately, we failed. Fortunately, yet another of our storied crew had better success, and we found ourselves in the client offices and ready to start the process, or not, because we still needed housing, and a map to the DFAC, and additional badging. That would come, but it would take the rest of the day.
By 2000, we had settled into our 200 man tent south of everything and downwind of what the base civil engineers call the “poop pond”. Now, I may have trained as a Civil Engineer, but I didn’t take a lot of Sanitary classes in school. What I think “poop pond” actually means, is a pond full of poop. At least, that’s what it smells like when the wind is blowing towards your tent. Today, though, we got new accommodations, four man rooms with a bathroom down the hall. Luxury, for the KAF, and we’re damned lucky to have it.
Now, if only our connectivity were better.
Read More......
2009-04-09
2009-04-07
I've Got a Secret
Maybe. I really don't know. What I do know is that they (meaning your government) whould rather I not post to this format during my brief tour of Afghanland.
I may still, but I'll likely not include the level of project details that I would not have bored you with, anyway. Got it?
As of this moment, I'm not even sure as to the level of communication we'll find in country. There's sure to be the Government's secure internet connections, but I'd rather not have anything to do with that. In Baghdad last time, we used their insecure internet connections, which were available in every hooch. This time, though, we expect the hooches to be more primative (i.e. tents) and our reports to be scratched out on recycled copies of Stars and Stripes.
For now, I dunno. Tomorrow, I'll start to figure it out.
Read More......
I may still, but I'll likely not include the level of project details that I would not have bored you with, anyway. Got it?
As of this moment, I'm not even sure as to the level of communication we'll find in country. There's sure to be the Government's secure internet connections, but I'd rather not have anything to do with that. In Baghdad last time, we used their insecure internet connections, which were available in every hooch. This time, though, we expect the hooches to be more primative (i.e. tents) and our reports to be scratched out on recycled copies of Stars and Stripes.
For now, I dunno. Tomorrow, I'll start to figure it out.
Read More......
2009-04-05
Deployment
It's getting harder and harder to go to war and they don't let just anyone play these days. No, there are fitness requirements and preventive medicine requirements and training requirements and form filling requirements. Holy crap, the forms!
We left Mudville during the wee hours, with only a HyVee #3 and a bad cup of coffee to tide me through to St. Louis. And tide it didn't , so we stopped in Hannibal for a couple of those hotdogs off of the roller thingies at the gas station. Mmmm, now *that* tided me over to St. Louis. The plan was to get a light, nutritious lunch before reporting to the UDC (or Unit Deployment Center (the acronyms begin)) for the formwork. This part of the plan worked fine, and could easily have played right into the third part of the plan, which was to eat our fill of the very unclean and godforbidden barbequed pork prior to heading to a place where they actually believe that pork is unclean and godforbidden, but we know better. Pig is merely the other white meat, just like a McNugget, but oh so unclean. Mmmm.
Sadly, part three of the plan went to shit, as the highly recommended pork shop near the hotel was closed on Sunday, as were ninety percent of the forty restaurants near the hotel. We eventually found a very nice Northern Italian place, but the thinly sliced proscuitto was no match for my salivatory images of pulled porcine products. Perhaps we can find something in the District of Columbia tomorrow during the layover. Being south of the Mason Dixon Line is a good sign, but I believe Washington is know for the other kind of unclean pork.
Ah well. Life is full of disappointments. Deal with it.
Not particularly disappointing, but sort of annoying anyway, were the forms and training that occurred between parts one and three of the plan. [Let's call it part two, just for kicks.] Blood pressure and temperature checks for the crew, to make sure we haven't died since leaving our doctor's offices last week. Then the fingerprinting and hostage training - part and parcel of the same event. In the fall of 2003, a DNA test was all they required, acquired through one little drop of blood. This time, a form for the prints, a form for complex personal security questions, and ninety minutes of video.
One of the team joked that we failed the entire scenario, as we were successfully held hostage and required to watch the damned thing, by our own people, no less.
Well, a few more forms tomorrow, then wheels up in the late afternoon.
It's unknown at this time what sort of communications capabilities we'll have on the ground, but that's part of the adventure.
Read More......
We left Mudville during the wee hours, with only a HyVee #3 and a bad cup of coffee to tide me through to St. Louis. And tide it didn't , so we stopped in Hannibal for a couple of those hotdogs off of the roller thingies at the gas station. Mmmm, now *that* tided me over to St. Louis. The plan was to get a light, nutritious lunch before reporting to the UDC (or Unit Deployment Center (the acronyms begin)) for the formwork. This part of the plan worked fine, and could easily have played right into the third part of the plan, which was to eat our fill of the very unclean and godforbidden barbequed pork prior to heading to a place where they actually believe that pork is unclean and godforbidden, but we know better. Pig is merely the other white meat, just like a McNugget, but oh so unclean. Mmmm.
Sadly, part three of the plan went to shit, as the highly recommended pork shop near the hotel was closed on Sunday, as were ninety percent of the forty restaurants near the hotel. We eventually found a very nice Northern Italian place, but the thinly sliced proscuitto was no match for my salivatory images of pulled porcine products. Perhaps we can find something in the District of Columbia tomorrow during the layover. Being south of the Mason Dixon Line is a good sign, but I believe Washington is know for the other kind of unclean pork.
Ah well. Life is full of disappointments. Deal with it.
Not particularly disappointing, but sort of annoying anyway, were the forms and training that occurred between parts one and three of the plan. [Let's call it part two, just for kicks.] Blood pressure and temperature checks for the crew, to make sure we haven't died since leaving our doctor's offices last week. Then the fingerprinting and hostage training - part and parcel of the same event. In the fall of 2003, a DNA test was all they required, acquired through one little drop of blood. This time, a form for the prints, a form for complex personal security questions, and ninety minutes of video.
One of the team joked that we failed the entire scenario, as we were successfully held hostage and required to watch the damned thing, by our own people, no less.
Well, a few more forms tomorrow, then wheels up in the late afternoon.
It's unknown at this time what sort of communications capabilities we'll have on the ground, but that's part of the adventure.
Read More......
2009-04-03
Watch This Space
There's a couple of old saws at play here. The first being that no international assignment is assured until you're on the ground. The second being that, no matter how long they tell you that you'll be gone, the time away from home will be doubled.
Are these beliefs in conflict?
I received my final medical result this morning, "Our company physician has approved you for deployment." This certainly looks easy enough, but was not even close to that. To go to a war zone these days, even the lowly Contractor has to be a healthy physical specimen. Full physical. Full range of innoculations. Blood tests, lung tests, hearing tests. Eye exam. Dental exam. Pokes and prods. I bet I spent three full days on the process.
And at each step, I was afforded the opportunity to fail - to *not* receive the physician approval.
In the background is the project, and contract, and politics, and war. Any of which could self-destruct at any time. As each day passes, though, this trip seems more assured,... but I'm still not on the ground. In the mean time, I'm hanging out at the Home Office for a few days, meeting the team and doing some prepatory work. Some of the team still has some medical crap to deal with, some are trying to figure out how to pack for five weeks on a military facility, and how they will hump all of their crap one they get there.
My first rule of thumb - no bright colors. As such, my entire wardrobe should allow me to blend in with the surrounding dirt at a moment's notice. Second rule of thumb - imagine there will be no restocking. It's hard to say what will be available at the local Post eXchange, so clothing, tools, and incidentals need to be thought out early and conveyed in full. The big decision is to define everything that you'll need to be self sufficient, less food and water, for an extended time away from everything. If it's not with you at the start, you'll probably need to do without, as there won't be a Walgreens on the corner. On the opposing end, anything uneccessary that makes its way into your kit will have to be humped around for weeks.
I've got a pretty good list, though, refined through the years, that makes this a little easier. It still needs little project specific tweaks, but I end up being mostly efficient. The downside, if it really is, is that I've brought few Home Office appropriate togs with me, and my dirt colored wardrobe doesn't quite match the ties and suits that roam the corridors here.
Aaah. Whatever.
Second saw, time away. When they first sold me on this work, it was for a 39 day gig. Once they had buy in, they loaded the front end and delayed the return, maintaining the number of days in country, but upping the total days away from home to 47. Last week, we were asked to spend two weeks towards preceding the submittal at Corporate, adding another 12 nights. All told, 39 days expanded to 59, or about 50% more than the original bargain.
Typical.
To answer the original question, there's no conflict. Sometimes projects get cancelled for any number of reasons. Most times, they go on for longer than anticipated. Right now, I think this projects a go. Right now, I think the time there will fly by.
Read More......
Are these beliefs in conflict?
I received my final medical result this morning, "Our company physician has approved you for deployment." This certainly looks easy enough, but was not even close to that. To go to a war zone these days, even the lowly Contractor has to be a healthy physical specimen. Full physical. Full range of innoculations. Blood tests, lung tests, hearing tests. Eye exam. Dental exam. Pokes and prods. I bet I spent three full days on the process.
And at each step, I was afforded the opportunity to fail - to *not* receive the physician approval.
In the background is the project, and contract, and politics, and war. Any of which could self-destruct at any time. As each day passes, though, this trip seems more assured,... but I'm still not on the ground. In the mean time, I'm hanging out at the Home Office for a few days, meeting the team and doing some prepatory work. Some of the team still has some medical crap to deal with, some are trying to figure out how to pack for five weeks on a military facility, and how they will hump all of their crap one they get there.
My first rule of thumb - no bright colors. As such, my entire wardrobe should allow me to blend in with the surrounding dirt at a moment's notice. Second rule of thumb - imagine there will be no restocking. It's hard to say what will be available at the local Post eXchange, so clothing, tools, and incidentals need to be thought out early and conveyed in full. The big decision is to define everything that you'll need to be self sufficient, less food and water, for an extended time away from everything. If it's not with you at the start, you'll probably need to do without, as there won't be a Walgreens on the corner. On the opposing end, anything uneccessary that makes its way into your kit will have to be humped around for weeks.
I've got a pretty good list, though, refined through the years, that makes this a little easier. It still needs little project specific tweaks, but I end up being mostly efficient. The downside, if it really is, is that I've brought few Home Office appropriate togs with me, and my dirt colored wardrobe doesn't quite match the ties and suits that roam the corridors here.
Aaah. Whatever.
Second saw, time away. When they first sold me on this work, it was for a 39 day gig. Once they had buy in, they loaded the front end and delayed the return, maintaining the number of days in country, but upping the total days away from home to 47. Last week, we were asked to spend two weeks towards preceding the submittal at Corporate, adding another 12 nights. All told, 39 days expanded to 59, or about 50% more than the original bargain.
Typical.
To answer the original question, there's no conflict. Sometimes projects get cancelled for any number of reasons. Most times, they go on for longer than anticipated. Right now, I think this projects a go. Right now, I think the time there will fly by.
Read More......
2009-03-15
Restructure the GOP
This one they did deign to publish - as the "Letter of the Day", no less, with zero edits, which is most surprising.
If the GOP ever intends to regain political control, it must stop catering to the radical right-wing elements of the party. A consistent platform of smaller government, conservative economic policies, strong defense and personal liberty would crush the socialist policies of the left.
However, this message is sullied by the family values camp, whose hatred toward unmarried women and homosexuals turns off tens of millions of Americans who would rush to the right if only Republicans took down the exclusionary policies that limit entry into their "big tent."
Michael Steele has no reason to apologize.
Read More......
If the GOP ever intends to regain political control, it must stop catering to the radical right-wing elements of the party. A consistent platform of smaller government, conservative economic policies, strong defense and personal liberty would crush the socialist policies of the left.
However, this message is sullied by the family values camp, whose hatred toward unmarried women and homosexuals turns off tens of millions of Americans who would rush to the right if only Republicans took down the exclusionary policies that limit entry into their "big tent."
Michael Steele has no reason to apologize.
Read More......
2009-02-09
Sadly, Abe was no more honest than the rest of them
Here, our hero rants about Lincoln, who he's never liked. I sent this to the local rag for publication on Thursday, but I have my doubts if this is an opinion they want to share.
This Thursday, on his 200th birthday, the Lincoln Cultists will further deify our 16th President. This glory is unwarranted. Abraham Lincoln made a name for himself as a railroad lobbyist, a very successful lawyer who made his clients rich by manipulating legislators and legislation to benefit a select few.
Throughout the world, slavery was being abolished through non-violent means, yet Lincoln invaded the South, resulting in the deaths of one quarter of its men and economic devastation that would last a century. Did Lincoln free the slaves? He did emancipate Southern Blacks, but to populate his war machine, he introduced conscription to the United States, ensuring that all able bodied men, regardless of race, could be forced into servitude to fight the Federal Government’s illegal wars.
The War to Prevent Southern Independence was unConstitutional, as the Union between the many States is voluntary. What the aggressors call a Civil War was merely another power grab by the Big Government politicians of the day, in their continuing attempts to restrict freedom and personal liberty.
Read More......
This Thursday, on his 200th birthday, the Lincoln Cultists will further deify our 16th President. This glory is unwarranted. Abraham Lincoln made a name for himself as a railroad lobbyist, a very successful lawyer who made his clients rich by manipulating legislators and legislation to benefit a select few.
Throughout the world, slavery was being abolished through non-violent means, yet Lincoln invaded the South, resulting in the deaths of one quarter of its men and economic devastation that would last a century. Did Lincoln free the slaves? He did emancipate Southern Blacks, but to populate his war machine, he introduced conscription to the United States, ensuring that all able bodied men, regardless of race, could be forced into servitude to fight the Federal Government’s illegal wars.
The War to Prevent Southern Independence was unConstitutional, as the Union between the many States is voluntary. What the aggressors call a Civil War was merely another power grab by the Big Government politicians of the day, in their continuing attempts to restrict freedom and personal liberty.
Read More......
2009-01-15
What's Old is Old
Only very rarely will anyone tell you about the air travel experiences that were nice. This is not one of those occasions.
Yet another long flight to the desert. Yet another opportunity to be crammed into cattle class, elbow to asshole with the masses yearning to breathe free. I'm only starting to recover from it.
Cairo called, just one more time, so I packed my bags and headed eight time zones east and fifteen degrees south. This time, I thought to route myself through JFK, an airport that I hadn't been to in forty years, an airport netorious for delays, an airport in ghastly New York City (where the trash in the Hudson is so thick you can float a jetliner on top of it). The biggest thing was that this route would eliminate one stop and about three or four hours off of a 26 hour travel day. It was an easy sell.
The first leg was on some 70 seat regional jet with, as near as I could tell, 70 passengers. Fortunately, it's less than four hours to the east coast from home, and a short first leg is always simple. I was a little worried about changing planes in a new (the first time in forty years might as well be new) facility, but it worked out alright. As it turns out, my departure was two gates from my arrival so, to the best of my knowledge, JFK is some tiny regional airport with half adozen gates, sort of like Great Falls, but with a different smell.
The second leg was packed to the gills, but not overly smelling of fish. I had an interior aisle seat, thankfully adjacent to a small child who spent her flight sleeping on her mother's lap, leaving me unopposed in the battle for the armrest. The real trouble was the major turbulence, violently shaking the plane with little (but mostly no) warning. We'd be cruising smoothly, and then get hit with huge jolts, disrupting the galley, causing some passengers to shout in shock and alarm, and resulting in folks racing down the aisle to the relative safety of their seat belts. Half a dozen instances, probably, of the violent stuff, but easily an hour of shaking and shimmying out of twelve in the air.
I love to fly. I love to fly. I love to fly.
I arrived in Egypt completely jet lagged and fighting a virus that robbed my appetite and sleep for the next three days, leaving me barely able to work (three days of meetings) and having little energy between meetings. By the end of the third day, at least I wasn't spending all of my time in the head, and had some hopes of making it home in one piece, just needing to survive a twenty four hour travel day.
The hotel shuttle to the airport was late, but arrived eventually, then dropped me off at the wrong door to the terminal, so that I had to walk a kilometer and a half to the first security checkpoint. At this stage in Cairo, they ask for your passport and ticket, and I'm usually a bit concerned in that I have an e-ticket, but the dude accepts my itinerary instead, and I'm off to the Delta counter, where they check my passport and itinerary again, before sending me to wait in line, where an airline employee (or Egyptian national security agency employee, I really can't tell) says to me, "You look a little nervous today, sir."
Shit. Do I? Could it be that I've felt like crap the past three days? Could it be that my flight here was shit? Could it be that Israelis are dropping bombs less than two hundred miles from here? Could it be that I really don't like to fly? Of course I'm fucking nervous today,... sir.
"Well, I have been feeling under the weather the past few days."
Approaching the ticket counter, they need my passport and ticket again. A skinny airline employee (or,...) can't find me on his list. "Is Palmer my family name, or is Alan", was the first in our game of twenty questions.
I really should get a new passport. I think I have the last of the old style documents, with a glued on photo and perforated number, that was issued in Kingston eight or nine years ago. It never fails to confuse the TSA (who are morons). I will often get asked what it is ("A valid United States passport"), or if I have any other identification ("I have given you a valid United States passport"), or if I can step to the side and wait for a supervisor.
And it's got additional pages added a little sloppily by the Baghdad Consulate full of interesting visas, which cause many inspectors (including the skinny guy at Delta) to start asking pesky questions. "What hotel did I stay at? How did you get here from the hotel? How long did it take to drive here? What is your address in the United States? Do you have any other identification?"
Just get me on the plane.
Short story longer - there are additional ID checks at the ticket counter, immigration, departure lounge, and departure gate and then I'm on a mostly empty plane headed west. I even get an exit row to myself, but there seems to be little insulation in the emergency door, so the minus seventy degrees outside quickly works its way into the occupant of seat 22A, who moves into seat 22B, which is under the additional ventilation installed next to the head. I finished the flight wearing everything I owned, including a stocking cap.
New York to Minneapolis was uneventful, although I spent the second half of the flight standing next to my seat, having sat enough for one day, and too tired to ignore the fact to sleep. I just reminded myself of the toasty warm limosine that would pick me up at the airport, with it's cavernous back seat perfectly suited for a forty minute snooze.
Little did I expect. However, I received the most talkative driver I've ever had with this company, who couldn't help but turn to me as he talked, which turned the car into the next lane, to which he would correct his path, again and again.
All told, a fine business trip, but a crappy trip, nonetheless.
Read More......
Yet another long flight to the desert. Yet another opportunity to be crammed into cattle class, elbow to asshole with the masses yearning to breathe free. I'm only starting to recover from it.
Cairo called, just one more time, so I packed my bags and headed eight time zones east and fifteen degrees south. This time, I thought to route myself through JFK, an airport that I hadn't been to in forty years, an airport netorious for delays, an airport in ghastly New York City (where the trash in the Hudson is so thick you can float a jetliner on top of it). The biggest thing was that this route would eliminate one stop and about three or four hours off of a 26 hour travel day. It was an easy sell.
The first leg was on some 70 seat regional jet with, as near as I could tell, 70 passengers. Fortunately, it's less than four hours to the east coast from home, and a short first leg is always simple. I was a little worried about changing planes in a new (the first time in forty years might as well be new) facility, but it worked out alright. As it turns out, my departure was two gates from my arrival so, to the best of my knowledge, JFK is some tiny regional airport with half adozen gates, sort of like Great Falls, but with a different smell.
The second leg was packed to the gills, but not overly smelling of fish. I had an interior aisle seat, thankfully adjacent to a small child who spent her flight sleeping on her mother's lap, leaving me unopposed in the battle for the armrest. The real trouble was the major turbulence, violently shaking the plane with little (but mostly no) warning. We'd be cruising smoothly, and then get hit with huge jolts, disrupting the galley, causing some passengers to shout in shock and alarm, and resulting in folks racing down the aisle to the relative safety of their seat belts. Half a dozen instances, probably, of the violent stuff, but easily an hour of shaking and shimmying out of twelve in the air.
I love to fly. I love to fly. I love to fly.
I arrived in Egypt completely jet lagged and fighting a virus that robbed my appetite and sleep for the next three days, leaving me barely able to work (three days of meetings) and having little energy between meetings. By the end of the third day, at least I wasn't spending all of my time in the head, and had some hopes of making it home in one piece, just needing to survive a twenty four hour travel day.
The hotel shuttle to the airport was late, but arrived eventually, then dropped me off at the wrong door to the terminal, so that I had to walk a kilometer and a half to the first security checkpoint. At this stage in Cairo, they ask for your passport and ticket, and I'm usually a bit concerned in that I have an e-ticket, but the dude accepts my itinerary instead, and I'm off to the Delta counter, where they check my passport and itinerary again, before sending me to wait in line, where an airline employee (or Egyptian national security agency employee, I really can't tell) says to me, "You look a little nervous today, sir."
Shit. Do I? Could it be that I've felt like crap the past three days? Could it be that my flight here was shit? Could it be that Israelis are dropping bombs less than two hundred miles from here? Could it be that I really don't like to fly? Of course I'm fucking nervous today,... sir.
"Well, I have been feeling under the weather the past few days."
Approaching the ticket counter, they need my passport and ticket again. A skinny airline employee (or,...) can't find me on his list. "Is Palmer my family name, or is Alan", was the first in our game of twenty questions.
I really should get a new passport. I think I have the last of the old style documents, with a glued on photo and perforated number, that was issued in Kingston eight or nine years ago. It never fails to confuse the TSA (who are morons). I will often get asked what it is ("A valid United States passport"), or if I have any other identification ("I have given you a valid United States passport"), or if I can step to the side and wait for a supervisor.
And it's got additional pages added a little sloppily by the Baghdad Consulate full of interesting visas, which cause many inspectors (including the skinny guy at Delta) to start asking pesky questions. "What hotel did I stay at? How did you get here from the hotel? How long did it take to drive here? What is your address in the United States? Do you have any other identification?"
Just get me on the plane.
Short story longer - there are additional ID checks at the ticket counter, immigration, departure lounge, and departure gate and then I'm on a mostly empty plane headed west. I even get an exit row to myself, but there seems to be little insulation in the emergency door, so the minus seventy degrees outside quickly works its way into the occupant of seat 22A, who moves into seat 22B, which is under the additional ventilation installed next to the head. I finished the flight wearing everything I owned, including a stocking cap.
New York to Minneapolis was uneventful, although I spent the second half of the flight standing next to my seat, having sat enough for one day, and too tired to ignore the fact to sleep. I just reminded myself of the toasty warm limosine that would pick me up at the airport, with it's cavernous back seat perfectly suited for a forty minute snooze.
Little did I expect. However, I received the most talkative driver I've ever had with this company, who couldn't help but turn to me as he talked, which turned the car into the next lane, to which he would correct his path, again and again.
All told, a fine business trip, but a crappy trip, nonetheless.
Read More......
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