Dogs and Windmills

Seems like a reasonable sign.

2011-08-30T19:48:00.002-06:00

The funny thing is that this didn't describe at all how to operate the toilet that was in that stall.

Big Lucid Dream Break Through

2011-06-01T08:15:00.002-06:00

Ok, so just a warning, if you start to delve into your own subconscious, it maybe weirder than you expect.

Major breakthrough though last night... I was able to sustaing a lucid dream almost as long as I wanted. The most unusual discovery was playing with my subconscious as if it were a different entity than yourself. Me and myself being different people.

I had kind of figured lucid dreams were the route to being one with your subconscious and all its resources and knowledge. The act of lucid dreaming plays out like this... you are there, basically an immortal god in a world of your own creation. Anything you want, is created, any being, machine, environment... all you have to do is desire it and it happens. I can't imagine anything closer to being all powerful than lucid dreaming. The thing is that when you are there, it isn't even an illusion. It is as real as anything that happens in your physical life.

When it gets weird is when your own subconscious imagination messes with you for it's own fun. I figure, if you really are in your own brain, then whatever you are experiencing must have been created by you. Right? Things should take the form that you imagine they should, because it is your imagination creating them. It should be a closed system. No one in there but you and yourself... So where would this unexpected element come from?

I know that might sound crazy. Sort of if you imagine a you have found a magic Genie, and he thinks puns are funny. Several times I would wish something into existence, find what had been created was not in fact what I had intended, but could be interpreted that way if it was trying to fuck with myself.

"I wish for a million bucks!"
(Suddenly surrounded by deer...)
"Ha ha... subconscious me is being funny again, apparently I have to be clearer with myself..."

That kind of thing.

The other interesting thing I found is that it is easier to sustain lucid dreaming when your dream body is doing something different than your real body. Try and keep your actions as different from laying down in a bed as possible. When the signals and sensations from your dream body start to be similar to what you physical body is experiencing they star to overlap and you will start to wake up. So if you feel yourself start to wake, just do something really physical (in your dream). What worked for me was to run. When I was running, I would go deeper into dream state and when I stayed still, I would start to come out of it.

The only problem with this "do something physical in your dream" model of dream sustainment is that you may accidentally cross the signal and make your physical body do it instead of your dream body. This takes the shocking form of finding yourself awake in shipping container in central Asia having just punched the overhead bunk or the wall next to your bed. I imagine it could also get awkward with your roommates if you try some sort of dream sex act and your physical body acts it out because of crossed signals...

So, in conclusion. When you are by yourself in your own mind, you aren't alone... or you aren't really in your own mind... Think about it! Also, push the bed into the middle of the room for safety.

The only logical explanation: I blasted it with my mind!

2011-04-20T20:17:00.006-06:00

So as I have mentioned before in a post, I am exploring the possibilities of Out of Body Experiences, Lucid Dreaming, etc...

Unfortunately I do not have proof of having traveled through space and time just with my mind, or entered other people's dreams or anything like that. I am not even going to claim that I have done it at all even with out proof. However, I would like to relay an interesting anecdotal happing from two days ago.

I had been reading a book on the subject of Astro Projection written from a wiccan point of view. Why not right, might as well check on it. A lot of it seems like bunko and... witchcraft... but one technique for separating your conscience from your physical body involved meditating while looking at a significant symbol drawn on a card. The idea being that you travel out through the symbol on the card to the astral plain.

As I thought about it, it seemed to me that what might really be happening is that your mind is more easily focused if you have something for you eyes to look at. A simple drawing on a card simply presents an easy place to keep your attention. Using this logic, I decided to try it.

When I am in bed, I hang my watch from the bottom of the bunk over me. That way, in the middle of the night I can just look up and can see the hands glowing in the dark and know the time. Since I imagined this technique of astro projection basically about giving something to do for your eyes as your mind focuses and separates I figured my glowing watch in the darkness would be a good subject to look at. It was simple in appearance, contrasted well with the background, etc... I didn't think that I would actually travel out through the watch, just that I might be able to meditate more focused by looking at it in the dark.

So I did...

Now, let me explain that this watch is really a pretty darn good watch. It is a 3 year old Citizen Eco Drive skyhawk A-T. It is solar powered so it doesn't run out of batteries and has never ever been off time in the last 3+ years that I have been wearing it. I have banged it around in aircraft, irradiated it with radars at close range, spun high voltage electrical equipment around it and never has it done anything but keep perfect time. I have literally trusted my life to this watch when I have used it as a fuel gauge. I would say it is probably the most reliable mechanical object I have ever used.

Right, so back to the astro projection bit. That night it went down like this: I was laying there in bed, focusing on the watch. I remember doing that for a while... then it was the next morning. I woke up and figured I must have just fallen asleep.

Shit, oh well, I guess I'll try again later.

After I had been awake for a few hours, I noticed that my watch was all kinds of screwed up! Not only was the time off in the digital section, but the hands themselves weren't even aligned with the wrong time! Basically the whole thing was completely jacked up! This watch can display three timezones at once, but they are all synced up at least in the minutes and seconds... Now they didn't even agree with each other in that! This shouldn't even be possible.

The obvious conclusion is that I accidental blasted my watch with my mind as I attempted to astro project.

So, in the name of science I should attempt to do it again. Surprisingly my roommate would not let me attempt it on his watch the next night. Even after I reconfirmed that what he feared was me breaking his watch with just my thoughts and energy of being... he said no... he really liked his watch. I can only assume he can sence my powers!

Don't worry everyone, after downloading the manual from the internet, I have been able to recalibrate my watch and it seems to be performing nominally again.

Turbo! The 80's gift to locomotion. Prego! some tomcat's gift to me!

2011-02-24T19:31:00.009-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen... Bad news. The Buick is not doing so good. She needs either a new engine or to have her engine rebuilt. I will eventually get to that, but in the mean time, I need a dang way to get to work.

I know what you are thinking, "Nick! You have so many awesome vehicles! Can't you just take a different one to work?"

The answer, "Yes I can... but most of the reasonable and practical ways I have to get to work are also disassembled with all their nubile bits all over the shop in boxes." (it happens) None of them are a weekend a way from drivable to work.

Obviously the answer lays on Craig's list! Maybe there is another cheep boat that I can roll. They are in every back yard around here!

Well, indeed there were many cheep boats that I could roll... unfortunately I got distracted by a car that I had never in my life considered actually driving myself. Actually I had mostly considered the drivers of such cars total Asshats!

But before we get into that, let me tell you about my past relationship with turbos. When I was five years old, my mom got a 1986 Subaru XT Coupe Turbo. I remember this car because as far as my little five year old brain could tell, my mom drove a fucking space ship! It was tiny, it had 4 wheel drive, it was gloss black like Darth Vader's face, and it had a TURBO! Now as a five year old, I didn't get to actually drive that car but I do remember being in the back seat with my brother going to school. I also remember begging my mom to punch the turbo so that I would get flung back in my seat and feel the G's of speed! The 30 year old version of my mother didn't take much encouragement from my brother and I to max perform that car.

A drawing I did of my mom's Subaru XT Coupe Turbo. Notice the pop up headlights!

This is how every morning went until I turned 8 and started walking to school.

"Mom! Hit the TURBO!!!!!!"

"VROOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM..."

"HUACKEEEUUUGGHGH" <----This last sound effect is actually my brother ralphing all over the backseat. He pretty much did that every morning. He claimed it was from being motion sick, but I know that it was all just a ploy to get to sit in the front seat.

Imagine puke visible in the back windows...

Either way, my 5-8 year old mornings were filled with the awesomeness of Turbos and the smell of freshly upchucked cheerios, still AWESOME!

Fast forward 10 years. My mom still had the same car and was teaching me to drive in it. By then the turbo was long seized and the little four cylinder was very tired. Very unimpressive as far as a driving experience. I pretty much didn't think anything of turbos. Sort of an ancient oddity but no real value in a car.

Oddly enough, I have realized that I hadn't ever driven a turbo car since the XT Coupe... until just this last weekend.

HOLY MOTHERFUCK! I don't see why everything on the planet doesn't come turbocharged to include underpants and asparagus! Turbos are awesome!

So... this brings us back to modern day Craig's list. The car that I had previously poo-pooed as for asshats was the Porsche 944. Porsches in general, but especially that model. Anyways, I was looking around and I saw a few for sale. For some reason I started reading more and more about them. I really was in the mood for something reasonable in the automotive department. Nothing like driving to work each day across the great plains in sub freezing temperatures on a motorcycle to have you looking at 1995 Sedan DeVilles and 1997 Lincoln Towncars! I started thinking less about 60's cars and started thinking about things like heaters, radios, water tightness... ext. Weak sauce shit I know. As I started thinking about the Porsches I started thinking I could have it all! "It all" being warmth, reliability, speed, and fuel efficiency. Obviously a late eighties Porsche (please pronounce the silent E on the end) was the answer!

I test drove one from craig's list. Holy Christfuck it is fast. I have no doubt it is the fastest car I have ever driven in my life.

Now I have a 88 Porsche 944 Turbo as my reliable car.

The turbo is insane. The way it works is you drive it around town and it feels pretty much like an 88 ford Escort. (Conveniently I drew one of these in my sketch book when I was 6 as well.) The four cylinders power it around like you are propelled by rabbit farts. Then you put the peddle down and it is like you are being smacked in the back of the head by a cricket bat!

Have you ever plucked a booger out of your nose, and flicked it across the room? Well drive this and you will know what that booger feels like is like in person! ZAPP!

STUCK TO THE WALL!

WOW!

Put it this way, I will now scavenge every turbo out of ever car I find with one in a junkyard ever for life!

I am planning to turbocharge my hot water heater this weekend...

In other news, that cool cat is getting fat really fast. Like, Really FAT! I know that mice are probably very nutritious, but I am starting to think that that hippy dude gave me a pregnant cat!

I am in the midst of teaching Artemis the Cat to use the toilet, because lets face it, litter boxes are basically a gross box of shit. If I spend 2 weeks teaching this cat to shit in the toilet I will have gotten rid of the biggest problem of pet ownership. (Fecal matter for those of you not following well enough to guess what I meant as the biggest problem.)

Anyways... I hope those kittens will be nimble on toilet seats or good swimmers because fuck litter boxes!

Fuck, new personal low! I am blogging about a cat.

I'll redeem myself by demonstrating how cool I was when I was five! Check out this bitch'n bobtail semi tractor! (Must have been on a road trip.)

This is what my six year old self thought driving would be like! Don't mind the backwards nines, look at the smile! I am pretty sure I am driving a Subaru XT Coupe with a missile launcher on the front.

What my parent's house looked like when I was ten years old.

This was actually on the adjacent page about to bomb my house... pictured previously.

A ship passing behind a tree.

Also, I seem to have had a Statue of Liberty fetish when I was 5... I have pages and pages of drawing of her.

Buick trama brings felion manifestation of Artemis: I now have a roommate.

2011-02-13T20:31:00.002-07:00

"So there I was," driving back from Albuquerque last weekend in the trusty blue Buick. I had had some overheating problems, but they seemed to be fixed so I didn't think twice about the trip home. Unfortunately the Buick did...

I was just past Morriarty, New Mexico when the shit totally hit the fan. And by shit, I mean all my coolant. The weather that day was basically wind swept tundra blizzard. Not appealing to be stuck on the side of the road in any way shape of form. Instead of becoming a damsel in distress, I decided I should nurse it to the next exit and do some motor surgery in a gas station parking lot there. The engine continued to overheat but still was moving so I kept going. I got to an exit ramp and rolled off it. The engine was starting to lug and make clattery noises. Just as I got to the stop sign at the top of the exit ramp, it clattered and then everything was totally silent... except for the snow filled wind blowing across the plains.

Well at least I made it to the exit right? Unfortunately I looked around an there seemed to be nothing but an abandoned Route 66 motel and bar. I was just as fucked here as I would have been on the freeway. I monkeyed around with the car trying to get it back in running order... but I wasn't able to effect anything. I did manage to nicely drain my battery. Eventually I came to the conclusion that I was fucked and needed to call for help.

Cell phones are magical!

A friend of mine agreed to come pick me up so that at least I would get to work the next day on time. It was still almost 3 hours away so I would have to abandon the car where it was. The Buick right now was beyond repair in that location in that weather. Knowing he was on his way I did the only sensible thing and curled up on the bench seat to take a nap. I did for about 2 hours... when I got a phone call. Basically he said that the free way was closed for snow and he couldn't get to me. Well shit... He had talked to the state patrol and asked them to come check on me. Shortly after he hung up, the state patrol did indeed come and knock on my window.

I talked to him for a while... mostly about weather. As I was talking to him I turned and saw that the abandoned old bar was now totally filled with big rig trucks. I had checked earlier, but it had been closed so I asked what was going on? He said, "well that there is a titty bar! Maybe you should just go hang out there..."

Always one to follow advice from a figure of authority, I did just what the cop suggested.

Holy shit! I happened to break down next to a strip club? I am a lucky SOB!

So I find the door and go in!

To call it a strip club is quite an exaggeration. It is really a bar where some old ladies stand around mostly naked... except that it was not a very well heated building, so they wore tennis shoes, panties, gloves, a coat, and knit hat. I sat down at the bar and ordered a beer and the guy next to me asked if I was Bulgarian.

Not that I know of.

Turns out this guy was Ukrainian! After taking about 30 seconds to expend all the conversational Russian I remember (Mostly How to order beer and "don't hitting tree") we talked about Ukraine, women, beer, women, cars, women, pool, women... etc. It turns out that just that day that guy had defleshed his finger with his wedding ring. As he was jumping down from his truck, he caught the ring on his mirror and it pulled the finger flesh right off like he was taking off a sock. He stuffed it back onto his naked bones and then drove himself 50 miles to the hospital. They sewed it back together... but he decided to take it easy the rest of the day and just drove to this bar to park in the lot here.

Very reasonable.

About this time we found out that the high way was opening back up and that one of the dudes from work would be driving buy soon and I could catch a ride back with him.

So I did. Very anti-climactic given where the evening had the potential to end up. Here I was in a bar full of truckers and ladies of the night completely trapped from the rest of civilization. I was one twist of supernatural away from "Dusk Till Dawn" and instead I got a long ride home to a cold dark garage where it turns out my hot water heater had shit it self.

Fuck.

No hot water, it was well below zero in here, my best car was dead on the side of the road becoming a lump in the snow bank, and I had missed out on a night of fighting vampires. On top of all that I had work in the morning and no reasonable way to get there. Damn it. And I was going to have to go to bed and work smelling like smoky trucker titty bar.

There are worse things.

In the morning I decided to take my most reasonable method of my unreasonable methods of transportation to work, (my 1954 Chevy 2 Ton flat bed truck) only to find that someone had stolen the gas out of it while I had been gone.

This was all very un-Dude!

Anyways, over the course of the week i manage to learn all about water heaters by disassembling and rebuilding mine, which was kind of fun. On Saturday my buddy from work that had attempted to come get me in the snow and I went up with a trailer to drag home the corpse of the Buick. Success on that front.

Today, I was attempting to resurrect the Buick out in my front gravel area. Things were going well enough... still no final prognosis but things are looking good for at least a few thousand more miles on this engine.

So while I was out working on the Buick, my hippy neighbor dude rolls in to say hi. (He also drives a 76 Buick Electra just like mine so there was some automatic grandfalooning from the start.) Obviously he was sad to hear about mine, but offered a lot of advice anyways. As we were standing here in the shop, he noticed that there were quite a few mice running around.

(Yea... while I was gone the last few weeks mice moved in and took the place over. There were empty beer cans and pizza boxes everywhere from one of their parties and they didn't clean up at all. The little bastards even ate all my spaghetti right out of the box!) I liked the mice when there was only two of them and I only saw them if I was really quiet and watched for them. Then they were cool. It got to the point they were ordering pay-per-view on my credit card. Things were out of hand.

So my hippy neighbor says. "Hey man... I got this cool cat man. I didn't want it but my lady friend brought it over cause she knows I am like a cat whisperer or something and she didn't want it to get hit in the road. I don't know if she mouses, but you can have her if you want."

Why not. I would rather have one cat roommate than on hundred billion mice roommates. Worst case: I am cleaning one more animal's poop out of my living area... best case: I am only cleaning one animal's poop out of my living area!

So it turns out the cat is awesome and cuddly. Still I don't know if she is a mouser cat. I let her go in the shop and then went back to working on the Buick. When I came back in a few minutes later I went to say hi and make sure she wasn't to spazed out by the move. I couldn't find her.

Suddely I hear a fight going on in the wall!

IN THE WALL!

This little barely more than a kitten had crawled into the mouse hole after them and was fighting them all inside the wall.

To say that she mouses would be like saying Babe Ruth played baseball.

After HOUR five of continuous prowling of my shop, I asked her her name... Turns out it is Artemis.

Mind Games

2011-01-23T20:33:00.002-07:00

Some of you may or may not know, but I have been endeavoring to explore some of the metaphysical aspects of my mind.

I have been trying remote view, time travel in my mind, have out of body experiences, as well as enter other people's dreams... or at least attempt to communicate with them through a shared dream.

I have with practice been able to lucid dream with fair regularity. If you have never lucid dreamed before, I recommend it completely. Sure you know you are in the matrix, but you control the program so it is more like being a god than anything I can think of. So far I have not been able to time travel or remote view once I have reached this state because attempting to do so usually disintegrates the dream and wakes me up. It feel like it is because I am not good enough at it yet, not because it is not possible. Sort of like when you were learning to ride a bike and you would get short stints of being able to stay up and then you fall over. It feels remarkably like that.

As far as communicating with other people via dream I believe I have come close if not actually have done it. The problem is remembering during the dream that I want to do that, (When you can make all your fantasies come true sometimes it is easy to forget the scientific experiments you meant to do.) and the second problem is that the person who's dreams you are trying to enter/communicate with might not be in the right dream state at the same time to make this happen. Even if they are in the right state, verification may not be possible because they may not remember their dreams or might not know to tell you communication was real and successful. It is also possible that once I wake up, I forget as well.

So, what I am getting at: If you do find that I have been in your dream some time, please send me an email or message letting me know what happened in the dream, what day, and an approximate time that you had the dream. This way I can start to verify what I think is happening. REMEMBER: THIS IS FOR SCIENCE!

What I have found when I do attempt to contact a particular person in dream land is that most of the time this contact takes the form of a phone call where they don't answer. (I assume this is because they are awake or not in the right dream state.)

On to remote viewing and out of body experiences. It seems the prevailing thought on how to do this is to induce sleep paralysis in yourself, and then when your body is stuck just step/float/slide out of it. Sleep paralysis is effectively when your body is asleep and disconnected from your mental ability to induce motor functions. It is sort of a safety feature of humans so we don't act out our dreams in bed. There are some tricks for making your body fall asleep while your mind is still totally awake and conscience. I have been able to do this several times but to be honest it is very scary to do. It feels like your whole body is under a huge thick wet mattress or plunged under water or put under weight. Being totally awake and not connected to your body this way is very disconcerting. So far I have not been able to get out of my body once I have disconnected myself from it. The scary part is being stuck in your own body but unable to control it. The next step will be to figure out how to get out of my body once I have disconnected from it.

That is all. Bed time.

What you have all been waiting for:

2011-01-09T13:42:00.010-07:00

So over the last 4 months (Yes, that is all I have lived here.) I have gotten numerous requests for pictures and descriptions of my living situation having moved into an old auto shop. It had been a body shop, but had closed for a few years before I moved in. It isn't quite right to call it abandoned, but only in the sense that I found a land lord to pay rent to.

I'll let the pictures and captions do the talking.

From the main door looking at the living area. The green camo thing is a big surplus cargo parachute I got to put over the living area to keep dust and dirt out of the area where I eat spaghetti. Marginally it works. It makes the inside feel like a big green womb.

The bedroom first iteration. This is still when the futon was my bed. I have it stacked on pallets to keep me farther off the cement floor and farther from the spiders.

Eventually I decided that after 8 years sleeping on the futon maybe I should get a real bed.

This is my bed on it's way home from the lumber yard.

Before I had my truck obviously.

As I was designing it in my head, I was thinking about how to keep warmer in the winter. My thoughts went to... "why don't they have beds, with a sort of cover over them... like a canopy or something..."

Bingo. So I build a canopy bed! (You can see it in the background. It is without the canopy in this picture. The canopy I have is actually a white silk parachute. Very dreamy when it is there. Though it doesn't hold nearly as much heat in as I had expected.

You also see my living room in this picture. All the amenities of a real home, but without dumb things like stainable carpet.

The kitchen: Food... check, ways to cook it... check, ways to preserve it... check. That is really all there is to that then.

The Grand Dinning Room. This is where I entertain heads of state.

THE SHOP AREA

The Caddy in her dry dock. Soon to be an electric car.

The former power plant of the caddy as well as left over implements from when this was a body shop. The track you see on the floor is actually a frame jig for straightening cars frames that have been in wrecks. I don't use it.

The ground equipment storage area.

The fabrication area.

Sweet Home!

She pretty much says all my arguments...

2011-01-08T17:37:00.000-07:00

New Sheriff in Town!

2010-09-09T16:02:00.003-06:00

Spotted this ad on a phone pole while taking the dogs for a walk. Those Russkies will know not to mess with these parts!

Youtube recommended this video for me... go figure?

2010-08-21T18:22:00.002-06:00

To hell with all that other shit to talk about, JEEP!

2010-06-26T11:02:00.006-06:00

I know it has been a shit ton of time since I posted anything original on here. All sorts of completely mind blowing and life changing things have happened to me over the last few months... but I don't want to talk about any of that. I have a jeep to tell you about.

That's right, after about eight months of work I have finally put the jeep on the road again. It is running for the first time in what I estimate to be about 40 years.

In the last few weeks I had finally gotten the the whole thing put back together. The engine and all the running gear was in. Everything was hooked up.

Rebuilt engine going in:

Engine as I found it:

Engine after being rebuilt:

You can imagine the anticipation as I was about to hot wire the thing and it was going to turn over for the first time. In my head I am thinking about all the things I might have put together wrong. The things I am pretty sure I did right but don't know for sure. About all the things that I will have to redo if I fucked it up...

With Chestocrates as my able-bodied assistant I connected the starter for the first time!

CONNECTED!

werrrrrrrrrrrrr.......

What the fuck?

"That is not enough noise. The engine isn't even turning."

The guys who had rebuilt the starter had put the wrong direction drive in it. When I connected it, the gear didn't engage the flywheel at all.

Another week.

OK. Now it is all back together. It should turn right over. So, I connect it all up again. This time when I engaged the starter.... it went

CLUNK!.......

That's it... and some sizzling sound from the starter...

Obviously something is still wrong. No problem I try various things and figure out that for some reason the starter is not powerful enough to turn the engine over. I had just rebuilt the engine so maybe things are a little tight. I consult Amateur-Sophist and a few other experts... Most seem to think the starter is still the problem.

I take out the starter again and have the starter shop look at it again. They say the did it right this time... and imply the size of my battery cable is insufficient to get the job done.

I assure them that that is not the problem...

Eventually I end up back at my house stumped. I built the engine totally to specs (I think), I didn't leave a wrench in there... what the fuck is the problem.

The transfer case mid-rebuild:

Finally I have an idea!!!!

Obviously I need more power!!! The easiest way to do that is to up the voltage to the starter. The jeep is a 6 volt system. I decide to take the battery out of the Buick and try that. It is 12 Volts, Don't worry, the internet seems to say it should be OK for the starter. So I took that battery that I got for turning a cold V-8 Buick in Montana and put it in the jeep. We are talking 4 digit cold cranking amps here!

It was like a wild animal loose in the house!

It worked quite well. It worked better than I could have ever expected. Sort of like when you discover the right tool for the job and that tool is a chainsaw... and the job is cutting up phone books!

Assume there was maniacal laughter!

It is running in this picture: (You may just have to trust me on that one.)

Soon after that the engine was running great though with the Buick battery in it. There was some other small quirks to work out... and now that it is a little broken in and lubed up on the inside, it only takes a reasonable 6 Volts to get her started.

As some of you may remember... success will soon follow. "Who thinks I can make it through that puddle?"

Email from my Dad

2010-06-20T11:32:00.004-06:00

Appropriate for Father's day, I got this email from from my dad today. I have posted it here with his permission...

Also, I will be posting again myself soon:

"Well we knew this would happen, I finally got to see the inside of a Saudi Police Station. It’s ok, I’m out now. Some little misunderstanding involving me, a tanker truck with no brakes, an excitable truck driver from Sudan, 6 squad cars, and a mystery arab.

There I was, driving the site, having warm thoughts of success as I observed a road crew with hard hats, retro-reflective vests, shoes, safety cones, (the works). Just then, a fully loaded tanker truck blew through at about 100 kph leaning on his horn. I was somewhat incensed so I took off after him to slow him down and give him the old impromptu safety lecture. I pulled in front of him an began to slow down. He moved left, I moved left. He moved right, I moved right. Still at a high rate of speed with horns blowing and arms waiving. I finally got him slowed down after another mile or so… I stopped my car in the middle of the road to get out and enlighten him when, BAM!!! He hit me!!. If I wasn’t excited before, I sure was now. I met him as he was climbing down the steps of his semi truck. The conversation was made easier because he only spoke Sudanese and I only spoke arm-waving, sputtering English. After a bit of this, he reached into his truck and showed me that he had very little in the way of working brakes on the truck. Great, I just threw myself in front of a speeding tanker truck with no brakes. I’m lucky the guy didn’t drive over me. By now, having looked at my somewhat shorter car, I’m beginning to rethink things.

He reached in his pocket and drew out his cell phone and I drew mine… he was quicker though. He got his manager at Saudi Ready Mix Concrete Company, I got a wrong number. But then, I called the Xxxxx’s Director of Safety and Traffic Management so I trumped him by a mile.

Two seconds later, about 6 squad cars showed up and easily a dozen police jumped out and surrounded the poor Sudanese guy. One of the cops walked over to me and said, “don’t worry, he’s guilty”. By now I figured I would be home for cocktail hour. No such luck.

A little custom over here is that everybody gets to go to the police station to settle things and pick up a police report (no police report, no repair shop will fix your car).

So off we go, me, the cop, and the truck driver to the nearest police station on the other side of about 30 miles of sand dunes. 45 minutes later, we roll up to a rundown beige brick building with a bunch of barefoot guys in uniform sitting on a rug smoking and drinking tea. They looked at me and went on with their work. After a bit, a guy who had 3 stripes got up and told me to sit down. He had to remove a pair of black socks from the chair and kick some sandals out of the way, I thanked him for his hospitality. He asked me what my nationality was.. believe me, I ran a few possible answers through my head before I answered USA. Then he asked if I worked for Xxxxx… yes I do. Saying you work for Xxxxx around here is like “open seseme”. The skies opened up, the sun shone, bluebirds began singing, etc. All the cops disappeared and I was there alone. Got a little creepy after 30 minutes. Then a rather highborn Saudi guy in white thobe and checkered guthra walked in, said “How do you do.” (not a question really). He disappeared. After another long wait, he reappeared. He asked me if I would allow him to pay for all damages and repair my car. Uh, sure? “Thank you, good bye.” He grabbed the Sudanese guy and they both disappeared down the street. A lot of disappearing going on. Now I’m standing in the cop station all alone again, the sun is going down, call to prayer starts and not another person in site. I walked out of the station and my car was there with all the papers and the keys. I did the obvious and jumped in and went home.

I learned today that I don’t have the authority to stop trucks and yell at the drivers. That’s ok because I don’t feel much like doing that again anyway.
That’s more or less what happened.

I am looking forward to coming home in 7 days… I will be on my best behavior until then."

Not my comic, but relevent.

2010-05-16T15:12:00.000-06:00

toothpastefordinner.com

The Warp-Drive is almost fully functional!

2010-05-12T13:39:00.003-06:00

This is the warp-drive out of my jeep. I think it is my favorite looking part in the whole car. Once I couple it to the subspace-dimension-collapsing gear that UPS should be delivering today I should be able to travel at a percentage of light speed in about a week!

The Blackfly Song

2010-03-18T20:12:00.001-06:00

This reminds me of my time in the forest service... actually anytime in the UP.

Mosquitoes too...

Is that rust in your tranny's box: or is he just happy to see me?

2010-03-04T20:55:00.012-07:00

Here is the freshly rebuilt 1942 Ford GPW World War 2 jeep engine. Rebuilding it didn't go quite according to plan... but now that it is finished, the only thing left to go is the transmission and transfer case.

No worries, here it is... I am sure it is pristine on the inside right?

Ah shit... well, that will buff out. Rust is no problem in a transmission right? It is like salt on a steak!

After a few hours, that is my tranny in a box... Just a little bit of rust. I am pretty sure I can remember how it all goes back together. After a bit of wire brush work, the gears cleaned up pretty well. I was just starting to think I was going to be able to put it back together with a few new seals when I pulled out the old vernier caliper. :-( <--- That is a sad face because even though I got all the rust and parts cleaned up, once I measured the wear on the parts, they were all worn out. I guess 60 years of turning will do that to some old steel.

Break break.....

So, a funny thing happened to me at the junkyard.

I had to go visit the local junkyard to get some parts for the caddy. I told an associate of mine that I planned to spend Saturday in the junkyard. She mentioned that she had never been to one. I offered, "well, I think they are fun... you are welcome to join me."

So she did.

I was a little apprehensive because except for in a porno, I have never actually seen a female in a junkyard...

So we went, who knows, it might turn out like that porno right?

After signing in we started looking for the right model Cadillac that would have compatible cruise control components to mine.

As we were walking past a Toyota Rav4 that had obviously been in a massive roll over accident, my associate exclaims, "Hey, that car is still full of luggage... HEY! IS THAT A COACH PURSE!?!?!... it better be a knock off!"

after examining it...

"HOLY SHIT IT'S REAL! Why would someone leave this in here?"

As things turned out, this car was right next to a 76 DeVille that had just the parts I was looking for. So as I scratched around in the rust and dust disassembling this caddy, she was rummaging through this car and all the stuff inside. It looked like it was equipped by someone on a long road trip or was moving. Shoes, clothing, paperwork, etc...

Well as it turned out, the car was full of letters from it's former owner to God. There was several dozen letters to God expressing all of her thoughts and emotions.

There is a reason that I have never seen girls in junkyards... it seems girls find it boring to stand around surrounded by acres of slowly decaying immobile machines, (Wierd) but what is effectively the personal diary of another woman is very interesting to them.

My associate proceeded to read me aloud these several dozen letters to God.

What they showed was the entire emotional, psychological, and physical state. (Actually the medical records and clothing showed the physical state.) Anyways, it sounded like her life totally sucked.

By the numbers her life was horrible. Money problems, guy problems, self-image problems, her mother just died, and her brother was a jerk, in and out of rehab, etc... Christ it was heart wrenching. Well, after reading all of these letters, we probably knew her better than anyone on earth. From what it sounded like, there was no one in her life that she was close to... though she did say that her grandmother was very nice to her.

On the way out of the junkyard I stuck my head inside the wrecked car... mostly to look for blood or something on the ceiling or somewhere. There wasn't any, though I had the thought that it still smelled like death but I didn't mention it at the time.

Eventually I had all my parts and we went home. I was in the driveway futzing with the cruise control of the caddy, (still doesn't work if you are curious) and my associate went inside to find out more through the magic of the internet.

As it turns out, the woman that we had gotten to know so intimately over the past few hours had died in that car a few months ago. From some of the letters, it seemed like she had just gotten out of rehab and was going to visit a friend who lived in Nevada. (We had read the invitation to her a for the date she died.)

Again through the magic of the internet, we read her obituary.

Turns out she was buried about 15 miles from here.

OK, I might get some weirdo points here... but whatever, this is how it went down.

Might as well give her grave a visit, I mean, we did really feel like we knew her at this point.

This was probably the most interesting cemetery I have ever been to in my life. It was a completely do it yourself cemetery. Whatever grave marker you want to put up for your dead is what there was. Everything from completely unmarked, to small wooden crosses, little tiled mausoleums, Dallas Cowboys themed plywood houses built on the graves... all sorts of crazy stuff. There was even a grave that was only marked with some plastic pink flamingos. It was a far cry from all the antiseptic cemeteries I have ever seen. This was no uniformed mid-western cemetery with identical grave markers that were designed specifically for ease of lawn mowing and maintainability...

This was not in the swanky part of town. The bank on the corner is were you buy plots to this place. It has some nice views... in case the residents care to look around.

Well, using some logic and detective work, we found our girl. Nothing on the grave more permanent than a few plastic flowers, the bank plot marker, and a few small rocks laid in a cross and a heart.

Engine porn soon... in the meain time, this sums it up pretty well.

2010-02-12T17:12:00.000-07:00

New Cars

2010-02-07T09:49:00.003-07:00

Whale Research

This is the best commentary on the auto industry I have probably ever read.

HERE

Where the F have I been?

2010-02-01T20:12:00.003-07:00

Well... shit, I have been spending most of my time in the garage. That jeep is a time robbing whore. I am still in love... Actually, I would post some pictures, but to be honest, it still looks like a pile of rusting metal. Turns out you can put shit tons of time, money, and effort into a 68 year old car and it still looks like you haven't done anything. I just like to think that I am keeping her as a sleeper! I expect with some of the internal engine mods I have done she will be pulling about 70 horses at the crank! So no pictures till I waste some 5.0 Mustangs.

I kind of have a mechanical objects fetish. (Not like that you sick bastards!) I mean like watches, cars, guns, typewriters, aircraft, outboard motors, steam engines, and motorcycles... (This is why I am always going to need a bigger garage.) Basically I love anything that has small metal parts and can rust. The only exception to this is the bicycle. I haven't been interested in bicycles since I first figured out that you can slide a 92 Ford Explorer sideways through empty University of Washington football stadium parking lots. I am pretty sure my dad saw a spike in tire wear when I got my license. Either way, It wasn't that I wasn't interested in peddle bikes before. I even rode similar bikes to the cars I eventually would lower residential property values with. When I was in High School, I used to ride a 1940's bike all over Seattle and had about the same reputation as I do when I do rolling a 1976 Buick. Just imagine the wicked witch bike from the "Wizard of Oz" and you will have exactly the bike I used to ride correctly in your mind. What I am getting around to saying is that since I could afford to operate self-propelled vehicles, I have been totally neglecting the bicycle as a fetish object.

SHIT! Now that I think about it, they are still telling stories about my sail bike at the Gladstone yacht club! WHAT HAPPENED TO ME!?!?!

Anyways, Bicycles recently came back into my life...

So there I was, drinking... when I get the call from UPS, "Dude, where are you? Come out and drink as it is a day that ends in "Y"!" How could I argue with that logic... unfortunately like I said I had already been drinking, and a bright orange 75 Cadillac ElDorado attracts cops like hornets to baby formula. I couldn't drive to the bar... what to do?!?!?

Stoke of GENIUS!!!!!

I borrow my associate's bike!

Holy shit!

I had forgotten how fast you can move on a bike! I was at the bar practically before my text that said I was on the way. No problems with parking, you can go a more direct path, don't have to follow arterials, etc. Many advantages! In addition it was a lot more fun that I had expected.

So, to sum up... with the exception of riding a bike with a flat tire to a bar in Dearborn Heights I haven't ridden a bike since high school. Now, I am in the market for a bike again. I would ride one every day to work except for that stupid base helmet rule.

If only I knew someone with knowledge about bikes... Oh well, I guess I'll have to figure it all out for myself. All I know is that I don't want any carbon fiber components in a bike and batteries explode.

And totally unrelated, I discovered through the magic of Facebook that a friend of mine from Garfield high school lives only a few blocks from me here in Albuquerque. She invited me to her and her husband's house for post-hangover-Sunday-Brunch. You don't have to have a hangover to attend, I didn't infact... but it is kind of a theme like Pirate parties... (I know, you all are wondering what happened to me that I didn't have a hangover on a Sunday morning. What can I say, I am getting old, but you can assume I am just getting really good.) Right here in the city she and her hubby have a Branch-Davidian style compound... right here in down town Albuquerque complete with dogs, workshops, and defensible walls. They even have chickens! I know were I am going when the zombies come. Surprisingly, she has hardly changed at all since high school... she said the same about me. It felt remarkably like a high school lunch with better food.

All hail FACEBOOK...

Well, those few tidbits hardly explain where the hell I have been for the last few months. I have also been part of an imaginary air campaign in the made up country of Cimaria. I swear I am not making that up... they are even paying me to do it.

For various reasons most of my CV-22 Osprey training is done in the simulator. To make things a bit more interesting the missions they have us do in the simulator get progressively more more complex... basically harder. Also, it follows a scripted campaign in the imaginary country of Cimaria. (I thought we should invade Limnathia but apparently we are now allies with them these days.) It is a lot like the flying video games where you have to fly missions all through WW2 or something like that. Start off getting bombed at Pearl Harbor and fly all the way through the end of the war... Anyways, the situation seems to be deteriorating in the imaginary country of Cimaria. We started off just flying milk-runs of humanitarian aid and doctors around the country, but we just had the class on how to run the defensive systems of the Osprey and I think the shit is about to hit the fan. The last few simulator missions haven't quite been taking medical supplies to refugee camps anymore. I hope the government of Cimaria gets there shit together or I am going to have to actually study how all these electronic doodads work in this flying tupperware computer-lab.

I know this isn't whitty commentary on life,

2010-01-29T17:58:00.002-07:00

but, it has hot chicks and machines... so it is almost like a normal post for me.

Audi Driver: Hey Girls, wanna go for a spin in my fast ride?
Girls: ehh not sure, there's not even enough space for all of us
Soldier: Wazzup girls, in the mood for a joyride?
Girls: Yay!
Soldier: Join the army if you wanna drive a tank.
Soldier2: Jump in.
Audi Driver: Hey, what about the spin?
Girl: forget It, I want to drive something big!
Narrator: The Austrian Armed Forces offer unique opportunities for young people who are at least 18, everything else is just everyday life.

I didn't find it because I was youtubing "Hot chicks and tanks" I found it first on Jalopnik.com. They get the credit. Expect a real post before to long.

Marry X-mas!

2009-12-23T12:09:00.000-07:00

Tis the season hippies... for parties and shit.

2009-12-19T18:06:00.010-07:00

Work Holiday Parties that is!

Most squadrons throw an official office holiday party. No different here, but this is the first time I had done it as a student in a training squadron. Turns out it is about the same. One major difference between this and my old squadron was the level of partyitude that happened at the actual party. Up in Montana, the official squadron party was basically dinner and a starting point for the evening. Here it WAS the evening. I guess at squadrons that have SOS at the after their number, "they don't fuck around." The beginning of things getting out-of-hand probably started on the Friday before the party. It is an AF tradition to make several people dress up for the Squadron Christmas party as various Christmas characters... such as an elf, Santa, Mrs Claus... maybe even Rudolph. The way that people get picked for this is that they are voted for with money. As in, "I vote for Jabronee McGee to dress as Mrs. Claus so I pay twenty dollars..." thus making twenty votes for him. Then of course Jabronee McGee desires that he doesn't dress up like Mrs Claus, so he puts 25 dollars on someone else so they have to dress up... You can see how that if there are a few people that either really want to see someone dressed up, or that really don't want to be dressed up, there could be a lot of votes. There is potential for a lot of money to get spent buying votes. I mean, you can't put a price on dignity. Actually, it turns out you can, it is just over three grand. There were over three thousand votes cast... The money then goes to the open bar at the party.

I won't tell you quite how fast the open bar was finished, but it was ridiculously fast!

"A good time was had by all." or so we guess... no one could remember anything Monday morning.

That was not the only holiday party that I attended this year. An associate of mine invited me to her work party. It was an entirely different scene to the max. But before I get into that, I want to clarify my definition of hippies. It has probably gotten a lot wider since I left the U of Mich. I have an easy if/then test to check if you are a hippie according to me. Do you overhear discussions of the 7.62mm Minigun vs the 50 cal Machine gun more than once a month? If "Yes," then you are not a hippie. If "No" probably a hippie.

Ok, so the second party I was going to was at an architecture firm that specializes in "Green" or low impact, sustainable tech type buildings. Obviously hippies. Anyways, it felt much more like a pizza party in a dorm common room than the prom run amok that the squadron party had been. It was cool enough, but mostly because I had never had pepperoni and green chili pizza. I recommend!

Shortly after it was acceptable, we ditched that place. I had gotten a call from UPS earlier that he was going to be up for whatever that night, so we went and picked him up to go to a different party. UPS was waiting for us in the bar at Apple-bee's. (Yea, you all know the one. Turns out they remodeled it on the inside. Not as homey for sure.) Anyways, we were on our way to a house party though I was warned that this place was going to have a lot of "REAL" hippies, not the kind that make the cut from my definition.

As soon as we walked into the back yard, UPS says, "Holy shit... a yurt!"

And he meant it.

There was a full size Mongolian yurt right there in a backyard in Albuquerque, New Mexico! So what was in the yurt you might ask? Why it was massage apparatus and a DJ of course.

I guess that checks out, either way, I needed to go to the bathroom. When I got back UPS says to me, "Dude, we need to go on a beer run..." I was slightly confused. This is a party and it is early. It wasn't a BYOB. That doesn't make sense at all! Well, it turns out there was no booze there at all! This is not to say everyone there wasn't chemically affected, but there was no alcohol. Luckily it was right next to a grocery store. So that problem was easily solved.

When we got back, we obviously were the heroes of the party because we had beer. I don't know why it didn't occur to everyone else there to do that. We passed a few of them out and took our place back next to the bonfire. That is when I realized that I was sitting next to a baby! Like a real baby that will eventually grow up and get a drivers license type baby.

After a moment of looking around at all the people toking up and tripping out, I told the baby that the only way she will be able to rebel when she is gets older is by starting a "Young Republicans Club" at her high school. I don't think she took notes. To be fair, the dad stayed completely sober and called for them to go home early for baby bed time. And, not being a drinking party, it seemed really unlikely that it was going to get rowdy, so it was probably a pretty reasonable party to take a baby to... if that can be said.

And, because I know you all will go into withdrawal if you don't get a few vehicle pictures:

I have been slowly removing the paint off the jeep so that I can find all the original markings... here is the elusive "S" from the ford factory! FOUND IT!

1942 Ford GPW S Position

Do you see the hood star hidden in there?

Some people get a little nuts/anal making sure that the markings are exact for restoration etc... then I find someing like this... the star is in the wrong possition and crooked. I would guess the stencil must have slipped when they were putting it on.

Yes, those are fresh welds on my cast iron engine block. I took the gamble with a guy that says he does it all the time on boat motors. (I guess they freeze with water in them a lot.) Anyways, it was either junk the block and pay $1300 for a new one... or let this guy try. It looks like it worked, making this the sexiest weld I have ever seen!

YOU READY FOR THE MACHINE SHOP!?!?!?!

2009-12-08T21:56:00.003-07:00

My jeep engine is now completely apart... it is in the proverbial, "No two pieces are touching" state. That is where all my time has been going.

Nick's approved Machine shop finding techniques: Feel free to take notes.

It is tough to guess by looking in a phone book to figure out where the good machine shops are, and with a 1942 engine, I don't want to take it somewhere with amateurs. I really don't want to try and find another engine block if they screw it up. So to solve the problem of finding a decent machine shop, I went out and drove around in the crappy part of town. I looked for an mechanic shop that looked only marginally like they wanted actual customers to come in and had at least eight half disassembled cars in it's chained in area that were obviously not customer's cars. I figured the kind of guys that run a shop like that would be the kind of guys that would KNOW a good machine shop.

So, I after finding just such a place... I asked them about machine shops. They gave me two that they thought did good work. The first had moved locations or had gone out of business. (At this point, I started to doubt my theory) The second one though, was better than I could have imagined! I walked in, sort of assessing them. I wouldn't want to drop the heart of my baby off with clowns! I started off asking if they could do welding on engine blocks if mine had cracks... if the do resleeving, etc. They asked what I was working on. When I told them it was a 1942 ford jeep, the guy I was talking to started quoting me engine tolerances and and details of the engine that could be known if he was very familiar with them. Though to be honest, the guy I was talking to missed one detail of the depth of the valve guides... luckily the guy who was standing right next to him corrected him as he was talking. Shit, any random place you can walk in with a 60 year old engine and they know the specs on it with out even looking them up gets my vote!

It seems my technique worked. I think from now on, I will do that with everything. If I need a good bakery, I will go ask a sketchy looking butcher, if I need a good pet store, I will visit... well, you get the idea.

Oh yea... the internet is still here isn't it?

2009-11-24T21:20:00.010-07:00

So, it seems I have been a bit out of circulation as far as the internet goes.

I have completed training with the Marines in North Carolina and am back in The Albuquerque. The Marine Osprey training ended with a bang! Over the course of the training I had started to think I may have gotten myself into a boring piece of equipment... though those thoughts were purely an artifact of the method of training an not at all related to the aircraft herself.

Training of course started of with just flying in circles in the pattern barely able to get the aircraft to do what you want. It is all very benign, slow, and in control just to teach you how to fly the thing. The next phase is Instrument flight. Again very smooth, preplanned, with shallow turns. Don't get me wrong, it is all still interesting, but you all saw the video... my instructor was eating his lunch while we flew! I was starting to think that I had traded in helicopters for a heavy airlift gig... (not that there is anything wrong with that... I just don't like it.) Anyways, one of my last flights was "Low Altitude Tactics." Like I said, I had started to think I had traded in my magic carpet for a smallish boring cargo plane... until that ride!!!!

HOLY SHIT!

In case you need a vehicle to girl or girl to vehicle analogy to understand what I am trying to say; It was like when you are dating some girl, things are nice... but it seems that the sex is destine to be boring forever, but then out of nowhere one night she pulls out handcuffs, a saddle, and custom molded prosthetic fangs! (and she doesn't even pretend like it is the first time she has used them) It was like that!

All through training we had been flying it very conservatively... mostly because as new tilt-rotor pilots, we didn't know what the fuck we were doing. Once we figured that out they could finally show us the real shit this thing could do. I had already been impressed by the climb rate of this thing, but everyone always talks about that. What I hadn't expected was the turn rate of this thing. You take it, turn it sideways and pull! I know what you are thinking, "with those stubby wings... it would be like turning a school bus by sticking bar coasters out the window!" True... the wings are a bit short to be very effective... but the trick is the rotation of the nacelles! You turn it sideways and pull. It does turn you, but mostly it just bleeds off your speed. bringing you right into a beautiful regime to rotate your engines! So instead of pulling yourself around through the turn with your stubby little wings, you pull the turn with pure gorilla-with-a-Thor-hammer thrust from your engines! Not only does this make for a tighter turn than is possible with just wings, you can bleed off so much energy that it sets you up for doing anything you want with the aircraft coming out of the turn. You can land, accelerate out, or climb to the moon!!! What ever you want! There can't be any other aircraft ever made that can be going that fast in one direction and do a complete coarse reversal in that short of time and that small of turn radius. It is fucking insane... Like first firing of a potato cannon maniacal laughter type insane! I hadn't felt the blood swish out of my head like that since T-37's!

The even crazier part is that there are dudes walking around in the back, hanging off the tailgate, with all the doors open. In a fighter, the one or two dudes are strapped into ejection seats facing forward. In this thing you can do all these crazy maneuvers with people walking around and standing out the door!

Ok, so I completed flying with the Marines... Now time to get back to that mythical place called "the real Air Force."

The trip back through across the country was great, the colors were all changing through the whole Appalachians. I didn't get pulled over even once!

Now I am back at KIKR. Time for a new round of Computer Based Training!

In an absurd display of domestication, I have rented a house. (To be honest I just wanted a place with the garage.) Apparently it wasn't made for full size American!

It turns out, i have absolutely no furniture. I knew that academically, but hadn't noticed as violently as after the moving truck left after delivering my house hold goods and I didn't have a place to sit down beside the floor and no convenient place to set my drink! I would like to say that I have acquired furniture, but that is not the case... I am now quite used to sitting on the floor. Problem solved!

Thanks to the truck and skills of C-Mac, I have been able to regroup my troops. A-S, you aren't the only only one that can drop property values!

Some of you may have noticed that I haven't been online quite as much recently. That is because of my new Mistress.
Yes, those are some of her naughty bits dangling out...

Expect more updates more regularly in the short future.

Oh yea... the internet is still here isn't it.

2009-11-24T21:20:00.000-07:00

Second post of the day...

2009-10-11T20:40:00.007-06:00

I hear this happens...

This is a screen shot of one of our computer based training lessons.

This is my face reacting to that slide...

WTF man... aircrew are known to be the picture of wholesome health.

I found this old picture on my hard drive and cracked up.

If I remember right, Bull filmed an entire training operation with the video recorder held sideways. We are reviewing the training tapes...

People, people... go away!

2009-10-10T08:30:00.005-06:00

Don't like people anymore... I think I know enough of them, I don't need to meet anymore. This place is much better without people. I have to say that they idea of going to the gulf coast of Florida with all it's people and traffic and subdivisions and people is kind of oppressive to me. To much time in Montana, and Afghanistan I guess... I am not saying that I am about to volunteer to go to Clovis, NM for the next half decade of my life, but it is starting to appeal in some ways.

Surf City has definitely changed atmosphere... I would say around 95% of the houses are closed up for the winter. The weather isn't bad... but i guess everyone is back at a work and school. I like the place much more with nobody in it. I just watched a program on the History Channel about what would happen to the earth if all the people disappeared off of it. It kind of feels like that happened around here.

It isn't completely empty around here. As the tourists have left, it seems they are now replaced by about 1/100th as many fishermen. Before I didn't run on the beach because it was a huge obstacle course of beach blankets, little kids, sand castles, umbrellas, and people playing batchi ball. Now the only ones on the beach are fishermen. I had never expected there would be many fish right in the surf... I have seen fish swim right out of the side of waves when I have been surfing, but didn't expect that they would hang out right where the waves crash right against the shore. I was wrong! They seem to pull out foot and a half long scaly fish right from the edge of the water! But back to what I was saying... every 200 yards or so there might be a guy fishing in the surf... other than that the beach is now totally open and clear for running. After the tide goes out, it leaves the sand almost completely smooth and hard, and without a bunch of people churning it up, it stays that way!

The fishermen don't look like they are pretending to have fun the way that a lot of the people sitting on the beach did.

I have also been surprised to see how many dead rays washed up on the shore. Maybe it is a good thing I can't see very far through the water... That way I can't see the sharks either.

Cops... always reminding me why I am a fan of our law enforcement professionals: One of the biggest differences seems to be in the local police's behavior. Before, the cops drove around on four wheelers in t-shirts and waved to everyone... now they are back in their cruisers with full on aviator sunglasses and triple creased dark blue shirts. This entire tourist season, I never so much as saw a cop pull anyone over for anything though I am sure most of the vacationers were all half in the bag after 9 pm every night... now that the only people here are the fishermen... they pull people over all the time, they set up drunk check-points, and there are speed traps everywhere. Granted, I could give the cops the benefit of the doubt... but though the tourists were almost exclusively well-to-do whites... the fishermen are mostly rural and about 50% black. Though i would like to think the best, it seems that the cops are trying to keep the fishermen out. Kind of discourage them through being pains in the ass. Maybe I am just being paranoid...

In other news:

As I am getting older, more songs make much more sense to me than ever before... I just realized I understand this song now. Probably I would have for a while but hadn't heard it in a while.

I am not saying it isn't easily understood, but I guess I hadn't realized I could feel what it meant before. Turns out it isn't just a good lick to sing about bloody underwear...

"Shot through the butt,
and your to blame!
Baby you gave my underwear
a blood stain!..."

I can only assume that in a few years this song will make sense...

"Someone left the cake out in the rain,
and I don't think I can take it,
cause it took so long to bake it,
and I'll never have that recipe agaiiiiiinn!!!!"

(maybe not)

This song I understood completely when I first heard it in sophomore year of high school. I am just posting it here so it will get stuck in your head.

(My parents had the record... I found it an played it over and over again.)

In other news...

After looking up quotes by famous people that don't indicate care for good spelling I started reading a bunch of quotes by our presidents. If you judge a president by his out of context quotes... "I like Ike!" So, to up my nerdyness quotient... Dwight D. Eisenhower is now my favorite president. As crazy as this sentence may sound, He seems to embody the ideal form of government as it is described in the book "Starship Troopers."

Read these:

If a problem cannot be solved, enlarge it.
Dwight D. Eisenhower

If you want total security, go to prison. There you're fed, clothed, given medical care and so on. The only thing lacking... is freedom.
Dwight D. Eisenhower

In most communities it is illegal to cry "fire" in a crowded assembly. Should it not be considered serious international misconduct to manufacture a general war scare in an effort to achieve local political aims?
Dwight D. Eisenhower

(Probably one of his best... though I hadn't solidified it in my mind the way reading it did.)
In preparing for battle I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.
Dwight D. Eisenhower

The best morale exist when you never hear the word mentioned. When you hear a lot of talk about it, it's usually lousy.
Dwight D. Eisenhower

The problem in defense is how far you can go without destroying from within what you are trying to defend from without.
Dwight D. Eisenhower

My great concern is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with your failure.
Abraham Lincoln

You don't lead by hitting people over the head - that's assault, not leadership.
Dwight D. Eisenhower

Am I not destroying my enemies when I make friends of them?
Abraham Lincoln

Every one desires to live long, but no one would be old.
Abraham Lincoln

How many legs does a dog have if you call the tail a leg? Four. Calling a tail a leg doesn't make it a leg.
Abraham Lincoln

I care not much for a man's religion whose dog and cat are not the better for it.
Abraham Lincoln

It has been my experience that folks who have no vices have very few virtues.
Abraham Lincoln
(I can only assume that if also follows; those with many vices have many virtues... so bring on the booze and women... I am trying to be a virtuous person here!)

If the present Congress errs in too much talking, how can it be otherwise in a body to which the people send one hundred and fifty lawyers, whose trade it is to question everything, yield nothing, and talk by the hour?
Thomas Jefferson
(probably better that they talk than actually act... I would hate for most of the wacko shit they say to actually become public policy!)

Difference of opinion is advantageous in religion. The several sects perform the office of a Censor - over each other.
Thomas Jefferson

It's true hard work never killed anybody, but I figure, why take the chance?
Ronald Reagan

You can tell alot about a fellow's character by his way of eating jellybeans.
Ronald Reagan

Government exists to protect us from each other. Where government has gone beyond its limits is in deciding to protect us from ourselves.
Ronald Reagan

Before I refuse to take your questions, I have an opening statement.
Ronald Reagan

Why can't I just eat my waffle?
Barack Obama

I am just here for the view!

2009-10-04T20:16:00.006-06:00

Since I am mostly talking to myself on here... I'll entertain myself with some pictures from a recent Osprey training flight.

Expencive... CHECK
Breaks alot... CHECK
Dangerous operating charictaristics... CHECK
Fun as fuck when everything is working... CHECK

Obviously the V-22 Osprey is an Italian sports car!

Myrtle Beach from about 3000 feet.

This video I took should clear up why I think all of you people mumble now.

"What did you say?"

Cross cockpit view of Charleston... or at least a bridge into Charleston, SC.

One of the Rolls Royce powerplants... and a few gearboxes.

Sweet! More water!

Fish and Birds AGREE: Toxin Covered Nurdles Found to be Tasty!

2009-10-01T14:55:00.005-06:00

So... I guess bottle caps are enough like shrimp... Mostly a vehicle for cocktail sauce as far as I can tell.

Autopilots are Magic and Chasy Lane is no good for the O'club.

2009-09-26T07:06:00.006-06:00

If I wasn't used to it, this might seem crazy. The airfield on the Marine base is closed over the weekend. We are behind schedule in our training, so the squadron wants to fly on the weekend... Well, we can't fly out of the closed airfield so instead we took a few aircraft and parked them last night (Friday night) at the local civilian airport so we can still get to them during the weekend. Now we can fly during the weekend!

Yesterday taking the aircraft to their weekend-out home, I had my first "instrument" flight in the Osprey. I think it is a bit hilarious to call THIS my first flight on instruments because honestly, I have been doing that this whole time! Even with my massively vast experience of about 7 hours flying this thing, I am not quite able to feel exactly what the aircraft is doing by the usual way of sensing it just with my ears, eyes, and ass... so I spend a lot of time looking at the little TV screen with all the flight information on it to figure out what is going on. In a normal helicopter I can easily tell a 500 foot per minute decent just by the change in sound and slight change in pressure on my butt. In this 50,000lb beast, that seems to always be surprising me with new sounds and sensations, I can easily miss a 1500 foot per minute decent if I am not paying very good attention. So, like I said, I end up spending a lot of time looking at the instruments to figure out what in the hell this aircraft is doing with itself at any given time. The Hawk and I have been joking that there will be pretty much no difference between our previous flights and now flying on "instruments."

Regardless, this was the first time I have taken it up into the clouds. It is absolutely amazing how much easier it is to fly an aircraft that will trim. The H-1 and Mi-17 were fine to fly, but if you let your eyes wander off from the instruments in the weather, they would sneekily flip them selves over in about 15 seconds. Unlike those squirly in the weather machines, this V-22 thing does exactly what you tell it to and doesn't start doing what ever it wants just because you aren't watching it closely! You trim it exactly as you want it to fly... and it just stays doing that until you get back to it! AND THEN!!! you can even turn on the autopilot! Holy shit, you want a mind blowing experience... fly holding with an autopilot!

In helicopters, I have always considered holding to be an exercise in frying your brain like the anti-drug commercial. First of all, it is a helicopter so without using the big window it takes most of your concentration just to keep the thing upright, on altitude and speed. Then you have to figure out just from watching all the little shaking wiggling needles where you are, where you are going, which way to turn, all while adjusting for wind and timing your maneuvers with a little "push hard" clock that is probably on the wrong side of the cockpit from you. Eventually you do get good enough at it... but it is not really "fun."

(Aside) We all know that technically according to the FAA that you only have to keep the aircraft on the "maneuvering side" and how ever you do that is your business... but it also seems in every squadron there is an Evaluator Pilot that wants you to explain the "AIM -B" procedure (*note) for holding entry while you are trying to shack a fix to fix by closing one eye and looking at your pencil. I hate that guy!

Well, no more of all that silliness for me! I just put it in trim and push the button. (That last sentence should probably be taken out of context.) But seriously, it is one of the most unnatural feelings I have ever experienced in my life to take my hands off the controls of an aircraft... turn a knob... and have the aircraft execute a perfect level standard rate turn all by itself. The controls even move on their own! ...it doesn't even seem real. It would be like driving your car, but taking your hands off the wheel and peddles and having the car all on it's own take the freeway exit and come to a stop at the next intersection. WILD!

Well, after the flight, the civilian field where we landed had free beer for crews that brought their aircraft there. (Quite reasonably there were two Harriers, three US ARMY Hueys, and our two Ospreys) This is a good way to keep military aircrews coming back! Though the best place for this I have ever seen is a field in Houston that not only has beer, but also will order any food you want and employs models and former miss Texases to refuel the aircraft and work behind the desk. Anyways we had a few beers while waiting for the bus back to the base. We got back to the base to pick up our vehicles to go home, but it was a horrible thunderstorm. I looked at my motorcycle there in the rain, felt the buzz in my head and made the wise decision that instead of riding home on a motorcycle in a thunderstorm with a buzz, we should go to the O'club instead!

Wonderful idea!

It seems there had been some sort of formalish event going on in the club somewhere and now the formal type crowd had trickled into the bar. We ended up talking to the Base commander. Turns out he is an old Cobra pilot. Anyways, They had a karaoke thing going in the corner... and the base commander was encouraging people to go sing. After reading the selections available, I saw a song I liked and decided to sing it.

"The Ballad of Chasy Lane" by the Bloodhound Gang.

The pilot I had been flying with that day decided to come up there with me. Turns out I didn't remember the song as well as I thought. It wasn't that I didn't remember all the words or that we couldn't sing the song correctly... but I had forgotten quite what the words actually said.

So there was... up on stage with A9 as my wingman. And bigger than a two story building, up on the screen comes the refrain:

My eyes glance over it... a cold chill goes through me as I realize what I am about to belt out into the microphone... Then I look out at the crowd of well dressed wives and senior officers.

You've had a lot of dick,
you've had a lot of dick,
I've had a lot of time,
I've had a lot of time,
You've had a lot of dick Chasy,
but you ain't had mine!

I had also forgot how much that song references eating out a pornstar's ass... Oops!

After that, one could say the ice was broken.

FOR REFERENCE PURPOSES ONLY

* The AIM -B otherwise known as the "Airman's Information Manuel procedure "B" method for holding entry" is the airborne equivalent of trying to do your taxes in your head while giving a impromptu speech in front of a crowd of accountants. If you just think about it, it makes sense, but when you start to do the math for it, it usually gets gummed up.

** You are on the tail of the number 2 needle!

***
"The Ballad Of Chasey Lain"

Dear Chasey Lain
I wrote to explain
I'm your biggest fan
I just wanted to ask
Could I eat your ass?
Write back as soon as you can

You've had a lotta dick
Had a lotta dick
I've had a lotta time
Had a lotta time
You've had a lotta dick Chasey
But you ain't had mine

Dear Chasey Lain
I wrote to complain
Ya never wrote me back
How could I ever eat
Your ass when ya treat
Your biggest fan like that?

You've had a lotta dick
Had a lotta dick
I've had a lotta time
Had a lotta time
You've had a lotta dick Chasey
But you ain't had mine

Dear Chasey Lain
I wrote to constrain
This letter is my last
As your biggest fan
I must demand
You let me eat your ass

You've had a lotta dick
Had a lotta dick
I've had a lotta time
Had a lotta time
You've had a lotta dick Chasey
But you ain't had mine

P.S.
Mom and Dad this is Chasey
Chasey this is my mom and dad
Now show 'em them titties
Now show 'em them titties
P.S.
Mom and Dad this is Chasey
Chasey this is my mom and dad
Now show 'em them titties
Now show 'em them tittïes

Would ya fuck me for blow?

V-22 Osprey Documentary

2009-09-22T21:20:00.002-06:00

Several folks have been asking about the V-22. This sums it up pretty well.

I think it has a few to many computers... but maybe the glass cockpit will grow on me. Other than that...

In the absence of wit, you get this...

2009-09-15T18:50:00.002-06:00

So, this is just from rain...

Don't let the meniacle laughter in the back ground distract you...

The post you all were waiting for!

2009-08-20T21:04:00.006-06:00

“Anything that will blow snow on your balls is guaranteed to be a good time!” quote from anonymous V-22 Osprey pilot regarding the aircraft and it’s impressive air conditioning system. ‘

The first time I had ever heard of the V-22 Osprey was when I was I little kid visiting my aunt out in Washington state. She took my brother and me to see the Boeing factory up in Everett, WA. On the wall of the waiting room at the factory they had a picture of the prototype Osprey touting it as the obvious future of aviation.

Fast forward about 15 years:

For the past few months I have been here in North Carolina training to fly the production version of the same aircraft that I first learned about so many years ago. About 90% of this training has been sitting at a computer of some sort learing about the aircraft and how to fly it. This particularly fits as the V-22 is mostly a bunch of computers itself. Granted in a supremely sexy package, but still pretty much a flying computer lab.

See… fun shit. Up on my computer screen you can see pictures of other computer screens…

But after several months of playing with computers…

YESTERDAY: Finally! I got to touch the real aircraft, strap in, start the engines… and then had the computers freak out… and broke right in the chocks. No problem, we just gave the aircraft back to the maintenance dudes, told them what was wrong with the aircraft, and went home to try again the next day.

TODAY: Weather, about 98 Deg F on the flight line. 95% Humidity. We got out to the aircraft and were about halfway through the preflight when, “lightning within five” miles of the airfield caused us to have to come back inside. After about an hour of telling war stories about women and love stories about war we went back out. Son-of-a-bitch! almost everything seemed to be working on the aircraft! I guess we get to go flying!

These are my impressions of the MV-22 after my first flight today. I figure I should write them down while they are still fresh.

My first comment is that the quality of the air conditioner was vastly exaggerated!

Before I had even gotten out to the aircraft, as I was walking out across the ramp I could feel my sweat beginning to soak through my shirt and flight suit and into the flight equipment on the vest. I was totally drenched in my own salty sweat by the time I even sat in the seat. Once inside the cockpit it was nothing like the climate controlled happiness I had been expecting. It was even hotter than outside, with more stale locker room smell, but without the nice humid breeze that had been outside. Blow snow on my balls? More like loitering next to the drier vent on the ouside of a laundromat! Well maybe a little cooler than that, but nothing like the titilateing excitement I had been anticipating. One of the vents does blow on your crotch so… I guess it is partially right. Maybe I just had a bad air conditioner on this one. I fully realized the airliner pilot comfort I had been expecting was just a lost dream when I felt that first tricle of sweat forming on the small of my back and oozing down my butt crack into the seat… Whatever, I have sat under magnifying glass canopies for a long time. I had just been expecting more because of all the stories.

NOTE: I have learned that the technical term for butt sweat trickling into aircraft seats is called skeech. I believe it is a navy term.

Taxiing: Surprisingly easy. Once you get the hang of controlling your speed with your left thumb, your balance in the turns with your right hand, and the direction of your turn with your feet it is no problem at all. The brakes aren’t very good so after a few minutes you kind of consider them not even there. Overall it behaved very well as a rolling vehicle.

Hovering: (Alright, you have all been waiting for the obvious machine/female analogy… so here it is.) This thing hovers very easily… almost to easily! Your first pick up in any totally new to you aircraft is always a bit tenetive… like a first kiss where you don’t know for sure if she wants to be kissed. So, pucker up! It turns out she loves to be kissed! She lifts right up into the air with ease! In fact, it only took a few moments to realize that as far as hovering is concerned, she almost doesn’t even need my input. Sort of like a girl that knows how to get herself off so well that any fancy moves you try on her only slow things down. I realized that the less I wiggled the sticks, the more she liked it. So I obliged and let her hover herself as well as she pleased. Of course it was nice, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she would hover just as well for any guy that sat in that seat. Oh well… I guess now I’ll go get a real girlfriend or a nintendo wii if I want something around that appreciates my hand eye coordination.

Conversion patterns: Otherwise known as “Helicopter patterns.” My first conversion pattern was no problem at all. Only once did my left hand and my brain get confused as to what I was supposed to do to control the power. (The thrust control in this is exactly backwards from a normal helicopter…) in the moment, my muscle memory and my conscious brain fought for what to do to. The instructor just made the standard comment, “we will log all three of those landings.”

Transition to Airplane!: This is what makes this aircraft fucking cool! After mucking around as a helicopter for about an hour, the instructor says to me, “Hey, you want to turn this thing into an airplane?” “FUCK YEA I DO!” my obvious answer. So, we coordinate our departure and he says, “alright, take off and turn to heading 332.” I hadn’t been expecting him to let me do this my first time without him demonstrating at all… but I didn’t ask questions and took off! (Now that I think about it, he let me do almost everything with out him demonstrating it first. I guess the simulator training worked.) To be honest, this thing gets a little squirrelly during the transition back and forth between helicopter and airplane modes. It really does throw you back in your seat pretty good. When the nacelles are in airplane mode, you have insane amount of thrust and acceleration available to you. This thing loves to go fast! It loves speed Ducati style! I found myself using most of my penguins to try and not break any low altitude speed limits or blasting off into space!

Speaking of blasting into space… This thing climbs like nothing I have ever seen. It will easily climb at over 5000 feet a minute. To give you some perspective on that, the next time you are driving in your car at 60 mph… think about how fast you are going… now imagine that you are going that same speed… only UP! That is an absolutely ridiculous clime rate to be able to SUSTAIN! It is also going forward at near 200 mph at the same time, but the impressive vertical component is the same as 60 mph… UP. Fucking wild man!

The Cadillac is fine to get to work, but check out Rolls Royce hanging on the wing out my window!

How have I not heard of this before?

2009-08-06T20:31:00.001-06:00

How is it even possible??? If anyone has any insight please share!

Crawl... Walk... Drown...

2009-07-24T11:29:00.000-06:00

Taking a break from our resent weeks of sitting at a computer and reading about other computers, the Navy regulations decided that several of our class needed to go through an impressive bit of training that will probably start to seem fun again in about four to five years… probably about when we are due for it again. It was a two day combined refresher for Hypoxia, Water Survival, and Dunker.

This really is some of the better training that they send us through… and is worth describing it in some detail. It seems the better training is always the most hands on… though it seems also that this is a trend we are getting away from in most things. Dread the day when this sort of thing becomes an online powerpoint presentation that must be viewed biannually!

Anyways. The first day was for the most part Classroom review of all the standard ways aircrews get messed up and fly perfectly good aircraft into the ground. The afternoon was a bit more interesting. A hypoxia lab of sorts. The idea behind this is to remind you what the beginnings of hypoxia feel like while your brain still works so that you can recognize it and fix what ever the problem is before you loose the ability to fly the aircraft. The old way to do this is to put you in a altitude chamber, suck out the air while you do math problems or play cards. After you can’t figure out what beats two of a kind or answer “4 + 4 = YOUR MOTHER TRABECK!” you are done… hopefully able to recognize the onset of Hypoxia before you chucle about “FAMOUS TITIES for 500!” at the controls of an aircraft. Interestingly, they came up with a new way to teach this particular lesson. Instead of using the altitude chamber and sucking the air out… they put you in an F-18 simulator, have you fly around, and slowly replace the oxygen you are breathing with nitrogen. The point is eventually you stop being able to fly the aircraft well, you recognize the onset of hypoxia, and push the 100% emergency oxygen button… restoring your brain to normal function. The best way to describe trying to fly an F-18 with most of the oxygen depleted from your blood is that it is like drunk sledding… The vehicle isn’t quite doing what you want it to, but you don’t mind that much and are still having fun. Overall very good training.

The next day was “Underwater Egress and Water Survival.”

The first thing they did was introduce us to a piece of ninja gear that I am very impressed with. It is basically a mini SCUBA tank to use if you end up underwater in a sinking aircraft. It is designed to give you just enough air to reach the surface if you can’t get out with just what is in your lungs. This little scuba tank is about the size of a redbull can and has a mini regulator on it. The last time I went through this training, we were shown one, but didn’t get to actually use it much. This time we would carry it with us underwater and at the approved times were aloud to use it. Before we get to that… a few exercises that as far as I can tell were designed to get anyone with a fear of water over it… and anyone that didn’t have a fear of water to instantly grow some aqua-phobia.

Just to add to the fun you are in full flight gear. Flight suit, gloves, helmet, survival vest, steel toed boots, and an inflatable life vest that you are not allowed to actually inflate. I barely float as it is. With all that shit on, I sink like a ten penny nail! There is a technique they were teaching us with the euphemistic name of “Drown Proofing” but it is the same move that used to go by the much more real name of “Dead Man’s Float” Either way… I have no doubt that this was invented by a person significantly more buoyant than myself. When I do it, I pretty much sink for a while, struggle back to the surface, cough in some water, then sink for a while again. Obviously it is a calming and energy saving technique!

The first exercise was they attached you to a sunken steel pole. The pole is at the bottom of the pool. You have to go down to the pole, release yourself from your attachment belt, follow along the pole to a sunken hatch with about six different latches on it. After manipulating each latch, you open the hatch and swim through back up to the surface. Mot much problem there. We only had to do that one once without our magic scuba bottles and once with them. It was a warm up.

The next bit of fun was a cage with two chairs over it. The roughly 25 by 6 foot long cage is submerged under water. You sit in the chair blindfolded (simulating night time) and strapped in like it is your aircraft seat. On the count of three, they flip both chairs over and plunge the both of you upside down underwater into this sunken cage. You have to extricate yourself from the chair and find your way out. The nearest hatch to you is always blocked… so you have to make your way blindfolded through the cage to find the hatch on the other end, then manipulate the mechanism, and swim back to the surface. It is easy enough when you just hold your breath and do it… though it is a little less comfortable than the first one. Eventually they make it so your seat belt won’t release you from the upside down seat. Luckily on this iteration you get to use your magic SCUBA bottle though and once you are breathing from your bottle, they release you from the seat to find your way out of the sunken cage.

Fun stuff!!!

Next came a sort of swim with your shit on exercise. After about one and a half laps with all this junk on I thought to myself, “this is stupid! The easiest stroke is the back float! I should just back stroke my way around here.” So I there I was back stroking my way around the pool… Unfortunately I got told I had to redo the swim portion. Apparently the only approved strokes were the breast stroke and the side stroke. There were no points for style! (to be honest, I didn’t look that stylish even back stroking… more like a bobbing half sunken helmet.

After all that, we were ready for “The Dunker” itself. It a mock up of the front of an aircraft that they strap you into in your normal crew position, lift it out over the pool, and drop the whole thing into the water. It of course flips upside down and sinks to the bottom of the pool. Your job is to make it out of the aircraft before you die. They have divers in the pool waiting incase it looks like you are not going to pull that off. Everything went fairly well for me except my first time through. (we did it 5 times.) The way we were supposed to do the first iteration was that we would stay in our seats, use our little scuba bottle, then escape calmly out of the aircraft. Well, I had set my bottle up wrong…(No better teachers than experience and adrenaline, right?) so I was strapped upside down in the sinking aircraft with no air. It isn’t bad itself as we had to do it without extra air too, but was a shock when I was expecting to be able to use it. So I then jettisoned my window, released my belt, and started swimming out and to the surface just holding my breath. My lungs were already burning as I had been dicking around with the stupid bottle that didn’t work and my window didn’t open very easily… Just as I was inches below the surface… BOING! My leg was snagged in the seatbelt and still stuck inside the aircraft! I wish I had had something witty to think about my situation, but I’ll tell you what, being trapped only inches underwater with your breath running out, snagged to a sunken aircraft has got to be one of the most terrifying feelings in the world. I could see the surface only inches from my face, but there was no way I could get to it. “About to drown” is a terrible, terrible feeling! After a moment of paralyzing panic I shook it off, swam back down to the sunken aircraft, unsnagged myself, and then finally made it to the surface. It felt like I had been underwater for a week! Fuck that shit! Though the rest of the times went fairly incident free.

The last time through we had to escape the sunken aircraft, swim across the pool, and huddle up with each other and wait to be rescued. This went just fine… Much better than the first time they did this with us 5 years ago or so. Last time they sprayed us with fire hoses to simulate waves and rain.

All this has made me completely sure that I don’t ever want to crash an aircraft into water. Two-engine failure 50 miles out to sea… to hell with ditching in the water brother, I will glide that bitch back to the beach on will power alone!

Little Italian Thing liberated!

2009-07-10T12:14:00.005-06:00

I arrive in the Detroit airport. Jonny Moto, after some “dude… what terminal are you at?” type problems picks me up. It was iffy if he would make it when I talked to him earlier in the day as he was drilling holes into his exhaust manifold and wasn’t sure he would have any vehicle that two dudes could reasonably ride in… (later we would abandoned the “Two dudes and two wheels is not enough wheels!” convention, but we were not quite there yet.)

From DTW we go strait to The Greek’s house. Like Rupunzle, the Ducati is hidden away in his garage. Unfortunately, we discovered that the garage is locked… and The Greek is also not home… he was out running scams on the west coast so it wasn't convenient at all. No problem, I remember from previous conversations that the keys to his garage should be on his kitchen counter. To borrow a term from the auto industry, we used some “keyless entry technology” to access the kitchen and were thus able to open the garage. Later on Amateur-Sophist would ask, “why didn’t you just break into the garage… instead of bothering with the house?” The answer… we just didn’t think of it.

Anyways, back to the garage! After a brief examination of the bike all seems to be in order, except one thing. It still has temporary plates on it… though not a problem itself, the problem is that the number on the temp plate is actually its expiration date. The plate said, 2009 02 07… technically the date was 2009 03 07. It had expired the one day before. Well shit. At 9 O’ clock on a Friday night before a holiday weekend is not the time to get an extension for temp plates. Lukily, Jonny Moto had a brilliant idea!

JM: “That is nothing a magic marker can’t fix… that two looks like it would make a very nice seven…”

N: “Shit, it looks like it would make an even better eight!”

So after Department of Markers on Vehicles, DMV for short, gave me an extension, my plates now read 20090807. Problem solved again! The weirdest part was that earlier that exact day my mother called me out of the blue concerned that I was going to ride the bike with expired temp tags! Her intuition has kept me from a life of crime no doubt and is for sure the reason I have absolutely no capacity to lie to women. (I feel very handicapped because of that.) It was like growing up with Sherlock Holms as your mother only with women’s intuition. She is like a ninja of knowing when you are planning to break her rules! Either way... the bike now had non-expired looking tags.

I rationalized it as this: 1. The bike actually is registered, 2. It does have insurance, 3. The only real rule I am breaking is that the current plate has to be physically attached to the vehicle. (The real plate was somewhere between Michigan and North Carolina in the custody of the US Postal Service. There was really nothing I could do.) This was probably the best solution. Besides, with my new no speeding philosophy I shouldn’t have any reason to get into conversations with jonny law on my way back to North Carolina anyways!

So, to celebrate the rescue of the cute little Italian thing we decide to go to bars in Royal Oak. My “SCIENCE, It works bitches” t-shirt was even a hit with the ladies! ...though they were all elementary school teachers with relationships… My, “a ring never plugged a hole” philosophy was also of no use. Oh well.

Due to the prodding of some chick Jonny Moto knew but neither he nor I were sleeping with… we ended up drinking to many shots with sexual innuendo type names. Lots or blow jobs and slippery nipples for everyone! We cabed it back to his place. :-( <------- Notice the not smily face! That is because of the next morning.

So the next morning: I wake up around 7 or 8 and wait a few hours for J. M. to wake up. I attempted to wake him earlier but the only coherentish thing I got out of it was his claim that he has no towels. Obviously he needs to practice this shots thing more often…

Finally he wakes up and we are faced with the obvious problem that the not smilely face alluded to earlier… that is right… we have two dudes, a garage full of motorcycles… and we have to go pick up another vehicle. This is streaking toward the two dudes on one bike quite quickly and neither of us could figure out a way to avert this disaster. Unfortunately for me I didn’t have much of an argument why I should be the driver. I didn’t know where he parked his truck, I didn’t know where I was even now, I also am lighter, and my bike’s back seat is pretty much designed only for girls to cling to you on as you try and find the right RPM to give them an orgasm. Shit, so on the back I went. :-( Riding bitch on another dude’s motorcycle….

Shortly after that, I rolled out and headed down to Dayton. Met up with Amature-Sophist and what appears to be his female slave.

The Forth of July was basically some beer and watching amateur pyros play with fire. The next day it was time for me to make it back to North Carolina so I wouldn't get in trouble for being AWOL. It was 13 hours strait of riding in the rain. Cold, wet, mountain roads filled with traffic… I considered stopping, but after the first 6 hours in the rain I almost wanted to do it just to see if I could! I got off that bike after that horrible ride and was one data point more sure that there is absolutely nothing I can’t do!

Break, Break!

On a different note I have undoubtably met a Jedi Knight of aviation. Tuesday and Wednesday of this week we had the class “Tiltrotor Aerodynamics.” It was taught by one of the test pilots that took the V-22 from prototype through production. He is now retired from active flying, but still teaches this one class... mostly for his own entertainment as far as I can tell. It was like Obi Wan Kenobi telling you how to survive your battle with Darth Vader… he told us shit like, “the bank limit and pitch limit are totally bogus made up by ninnies in your chain of command… If you need to bank the shit out of this bitch to get away from some missile you just go do it!” and, “The G-limit on this thing is for real! You exceed them and you will sling an engine!”

This video is footage from one of his test flights.

After the first day and a half of listening to this guy, I decided to start writing down the finer points of his wisdom in direct quote form!

“They were smoking their socks when they decided that!”

“you are thinking, ‘alright catfish breath! That isn’t how turbine engines work!’”

“that cockpit will go dark like you have your head up the ass of a cow.”

“I’ll bet you Dollars to turds, and you can keep your shit…”

“You do this and your commander will tap dance on your pecker with golf shoes… but the aircraft won’t care.”

“he was jacking off the controls…” (imagine with arm movements)

“Your sphincter will swell up and cut off blood to the brain!”

“if there are female flight crew, you can’t call it a cockpit anymore, that’s impolite… then it is the box office!”

“Don’t jump through your anal area!”

“You don’t need to slam dunk the bitch!”

“That makes sense like wiping your ass then taking a dump!”

“effective as a polish mine sweeper!” (Covers eyes and stomps blindly at the ground)

“You do this and you will install a smoking hole in the dirt!”

“In CONV mode this thing wants to mate with tankers… and she wants the bottom!”

“It will be, “Kate barr the door!”

“It doesn’t matter how you get there, you can navigate to Paris with an astrolabe, a duck, and a cat as long as you get there!”

(He later went on to explain how a duck, a cat and dog tags could be used as improvised instruments incase of primary instrument failure.) Either way, all of what he said was the most useful thing we have heard so far and I am sure that someday some of the shit he said will save my life! Probably the box office comment!

Not a regularly scheduled broadcast.

2009-07-01T05:35:00.002-06:00

Greetings from the world without regular internet access!

Last we talked I was still up in Montana practically with snow on the ground… Let me catch you up!

I have been getting pulled over quite a bit since I got back. Five times in five weeks seems like a lot to me. I figure you have more chance to get pulled over the more time you spend on the road right? So if I drive faster, I am on the road for a shorter amount of time, so I should get pulled over less often. Though logically sound that really isn’t the logic I was using. What I have come to the conclusion is that racial profiling is absolutely true. How did I come to that conclusion you might ask? Granted, I may have exceeded the posted speed limit at times. But I will argue that if I had been in a gray Honda I would never have gotten to have so many Socratic discussions with so many law enforcement officers.

I think the problem is that when I drive, the cops think I am black. I have for the most part been driving mid seventies General Motors Luxury vehicles. In fact I may be the only white guy left in the world driving mid seventies GM products by choice. Right, I know… I am a racist bastard… how can I say that? Well it is years and years of experience rolling these things. When I am stopped at a light and a black guy pulls up next me he often says, “That is a fine car! Is it for sale?” Where as a white dude pulls up and says, “WOW that is a big car! What kind of gas mileage does it get?” That digression was only to demonstrate that I am driving cars predominantly driven by black people… obviously blacks have more style!

(DON’T FORGET: ALL GENERALIZATIONS ARE BAD!)

Now let me tell you two stories about being pulled over in the last few weeks.

First of all, after the first three times getting pulled over in the last month, I had decided that I absolutely want to follow the speed limit! I am actually NOT trying to break any laws! Not so much because I care about laws or respect cops more than the consequences they can inflict… but I am tired of getting harassed. So I am going what I think to be the speed limit just north of Cheyenne, Wyoming. I say “think” because the Buick has sort of an open for interpretation speedometer.

For demonstration purposes only, take your finger and hold it in the air about a foot and a half in front of your head. Now shake it back and forth from right to left like you are telling a small child “NO.” That is what my speedometer does! I had been under the impression that about the middle of the shake was probably about the speed I was actually going. As it turns out, I should have taken the upper limit. Whatever… So again I am on the side of the road with a cop car behind me. Once he comes up to the window he sees that I am just a white dude with a lead foot so he takes his hand off his gun and we talk for a while… he gives me another damn ticket… blah blah blah. I go to leave… and I get this vision in my of my car not starting. (I can honestly see the future. Unfortunately it is only about a second and a half before it happens, but I really can! How else could I always win at “Egyptian Rat Screw” when I never start with any cards? It is sort of an impression that I feel with my entire body… but for real it exists.) So I touch the key and I realize that the car is not going to start. Turn it… CLICK… it doesn’t even turn over.

FUCK

I get out of the car and walk back to the cop car.

“Hey, I think I may need a jump.” I say.

“No can do… we are not allowed to jump off the squad cars. Might damage the radios” he says, “I’ll call a tow truck for you.” He then drives off.

So there I am, staring at my engine compartment confused. I know for sure that my battery is not low… there is not a damn thing wrong with my car! Why the hell won’t it start! So I stand there looking at my car for a few minutes… try and start it… nothing… etc. I do this drill for about 20 minutes with no luck. (Granted the whole thing about doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results being the definition of insanity may be applicable… but watch this shit!)

After making no mechanical adjustments to a vehicle I know to be in working order, I stand in front of the Buick, look her right in the bug covered headlights and say, “Listen you bitch! Stop fucking around! We have shit to do and you throwing a tantrum out here on the highway is going to give both of us problems! START NOW or you know the consequences!” (I am paraphrasing for all the little kids that read this… but that is pretty close.)

I got in turned the key… “VROOOMMMM!!!!!!!”

Right on! Apparently Stacy was right about women! (And Machines because they are obviously the same thing.) *See Note:

Onward! With my car now started, I didn’t wait for the tow truck. Fuck that shit! I even squealed the tires leaving the side of the road! As a side note, I read the ticket while I was waiting. Apparently part of the laws I had broken was “violating the dignity of the peaceful people of the sovereign state of Wyoming.” I didn’t want to have a charge laid like that against me and not have actually done it!

BREAK BREAK>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Checked in there at Kirtland… Shit, I am a student again.

So, even though 4 weeks ago I was commanding an aerial armada across the skies of Afghanistan with near impunity! That I was… (INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK TO BE FILLED IN OVER BEER.) I am now undoubtedly back to being a student. No more briefing at dawn with an M-4 slung across my back for missions out to the Pakistan boarder… no… now it is plain black student name tags and the “flaming snow cone” of Air Education and Training Command. After the Afghan Army, AETC is a tough pill to swallow. Oh well, nothing to do but shut up, listen up, and try not to make a fool out of myself. Back to the bottom of the pile… again.

Oh yea! You guys are probably wondering about the second time I got pulled over after the first three. So there I was… driving a bright orange 75 Cadillac Eldorado across Louisiana. I am ABSOLUTLY not speeding. As far as I know, I am the most law abiding driver on the road! FUCK! Lights in the mirror! I pull over as well as I can without falling off into the swamp.

I get the loud speaker from the cop car. “STEP OUT OF THE CAR!”

“Dang old dang!” This is new! I have never been asked to step out of the car like this before. I look down. Damn it! I only have my socks on. I took off my shoes somewhere in the last 3 hours of driving. Disappointed at the tactical situation I have put my self in; no shoes on, surrounded by swamp, and the cops are behind me and barricaded behind their car doors… I get out. I could visibly see the disappointment on the cops’ faces. I could see the thought, “shit, a white dude in a Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and only socks… he even has short hair!” go through their heads. They came out from behind their barricades looked at my license, then told me not to change lanes without using my blinker. I was free to go.

BREAK BREAK>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I am now at training in North Carolina.

Technically I am out here on TDY status. I am not realistically able or even supposed to set up a household here, I am expected to just live in hotels for the next however many months. Luckily I heard some good ideas from previous students in this program… Basically, I found a condo on the beach for less than the cost of staying in a hotel for the next few months. I save Uncle Sam money and get paid to live on the beach!

I have taken up surfing.

Just so you don’t all get too jealous let me tell you this. This is the first “furnished” apartment I have ever lived in. Furnished it is! Decorated as well! Unfortunately it is decorated in a style I like to call, “Un-cool Aunt.” Everything in this place is either pink or covered in flower prints. I didn’t even know you could get this many things with matching pink flowers on them! Even the light switch covers! Oh well, I can put up with that for the only thing between me and the beach is a sand dune!

One last comment: It is the most unbelievable mind fuck to go from a year living in half a shipping container in Afghanistan to drinking beer looking at the beach and surfing every day in under 6 weeks.

*NOTE: Stacy always would say mean things to helicopters to fix their mechanical problems. His infallible philosophy being: “You should treat whores like ladies and ladies like whores… they both will love you for it.” He reasonably extended this philosophy from women to aircraft and cars.

**NOTE: He did always say sweet things to 68-10776…

***NOTE: I didn’t rename Stacy because he is already a seven foot tall giant bearded helicopter mechanic former Navy Chief-Master-Chief-I-C from the mountains of Montana whose real name is already Stacy. Where could I even go with that?

****NOTE: For the female readers: If I am nice to you, please don’t assume I think you are a whore. It is best if you believe I don’t subscribe to this philosophy.

That was a quick five years...

2009-06-10T17:09:00.001-06:00

A tan left forearm.

2009-06-04T07:08:00.006-06:00

Greetings from the never ending road trip! I believe when we last left off I was headed to Detroit via the High school parking lot. Unfortunately the hood broke off the Fiat so I had to skip the High School. (Some combination of metal fatigue and rust… Just another opportunity to upgrade as far as I can tell.)

Anyways… so I rolled into Detroit on a Friday. Amateur-Sophist was surprisingly still at work. If you are also a reader of his writings, you will see that he solved that problem almost immediately. With the work problem solved so begins the week of over powered, underweight vehicles. I was in the market for a motorcycle… and as it turned out, they didn’t have any in Montana. Not the case there in the motorcity USA! A-S and I went and looked at some bikes.

The Sophist and I have been known to make a few analogies about women and vehicles… For the purposes of clarity here, if I am talking about a vehicle, it is just a vehicle, and of course visa versa.

VOICE FROM THE PEANUT GALLERY: “There is a difference between women and vehicles?”

NOTORIOUS: “Yes, but it is mostly academic…”

Anyways, I had plenty of time in my shipping container in Afghanistan to contemplate the merits of almost every bike on the market… thoughtfully comparing various thrust to weight ratios, reading reviews of riding characteristics, and visually studying every picture of all the interesting bikes I could find. I came to the conclusion that the best bike for my purposes was going to be the BMW R1200R. It will cruse anywhere in relative comfort, it has the power to do awesome things, it will last for ever, and despite A-S’s discountable opinion, it looks pretty good. We went to the dealership… and I rode one. It was exactly what I expected in every respect. It road perfectly, it behaved in all riding regimes that I could test, and the salesman was giving me a very good deal. I was pretty sure I had found my bike… but decided to wait until Monday to pull the trigger. On the way back to the Sophist’s apartment, we stop at the Ducati dealership. Mostly it was just to look at the eye candy and kill time. I mean, my decision is pretty much already made… the BMW is perfect. This is sort of like stopping at a strip club on your way home from getting engaged.

We look around the Ducati dealership for a while. The bikes are crazy hot… but lots of cheepish plastic parts. After looking around a bit… we are about to head out the door. Just as we turn to leave, the sales man says to me, “Hey, I have one warmed up out in back… you want to go for a ride?”

So I went for a ride.

Oh shit! I got on it and Holy FUCK! Inside my chest was the competing sound of the silent scream of terror only felt by the immediately doomed to violent death and the “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE” of Curious George the monkey when he accidentally flew a NASA rocket into space! Plus it had started raining!

Believe it or not… for several hours after riding both those bikes I still thought I had a decision ahead of me to make. I probably could have stayed mentally debating the pros and cons of the perfect bike vs the mechanical insanity for days. Finally, the Sophist pointed out that I already knew the answer to my question. He was right… I did.

And like so many important decisions, once contemplated in the right light, there really is no decision to be made… only action to enact.

So, when given a choice between a bike that is absolutely perfect and satisfying in everyway vs a maintenances intensive beast that is impractical in almost every measurable way and pretty much scares the shit out of me… I went with the latter.

(Now insert all your comparisons to women if you like… they are undoubtedly applicable.)

Stage two: Detroit arrival +9 hours.

We are in a bar in Hamtramck called “Whiskey in the Jar.” Despite what you would expect, it is neither an Irish nor a Polish bar. It is in fact a Drinker bar. They seemed to specialize in super cheep beer and cherry flavored hydraulic fluid. I do have to say, after a few sips of cherry hydraulic fluid, the mind becomes very clear. A zen way of thought takes over and you have ideas like… We are one hour closer to Ohio from here than we would be if we were an hour farther from there.” Obviously we should go to Ohio from here!

By an odd play of transportation… Jonny Motto, who had had no intention of going to Ohio at all that day, found himself on his way to Ohio with the Sophist and me. His resistance was minimal given the previous mentioned logic. We were in the Buick… So, being out of drinking practice for the last year, I handed the keys to the Sophist and retired to captain’s cabin (back seat) and left the crew to take us into port. It was dark and rainy. My only significant impression of that ride was the insane numbers of cars crashed in the ditch with their headlights pointing the wrong way. Being able to see the silver lining… at least the cops were to busy to mess with us… as long as we were able to keep the car on the road! From now on, if I have some reason to need to roll with no interference from the fuzz… I will be doing it during really crappy weather and natural disasters.

Ohio… it is right on the way anyways.

Kentucky… even more right on the way!

What the heck was I doing in Kentucky right? As a birthday trip for AG, we went to the Creation Museum. This place is unbelievable… literally! The unfortunate part was that it was full of “real” visitors and obviously well funded. I don’t consider myself to have been a real visitor… though they do have documentation of my attendance. I am not sure I would say it is worth the trip, but if you are in Kentucky anyways, stop by! The dioramas are the best I have ever seen. They also had a petting zoo…sans dinosaurs. Outside in the petting zoo there were two ponies… and they were being quite amorous regardless of the young Christian minds they were performing for. So, to the sound of grunting animal sex I realized, “Shit, I guess this is a Creation Museum!”

Next tactical problem to solve how do I get both a gigantic Buick and a Ducati to Montana… After attempting to solve this for about a day and a half, I realized that I didn’t want to solve it at all. Detroit is much closer to where I am going to need this thing than Montana is anyways. So I developed a new plan. I will leave the bike in Stos the Greek’s garage… and come back in a month or so and take ride it to North Carolina!

(Didn’t I tell you I am on a never ending road trip!)

From experience, I have learned that I shouldn’t leave anything I care about in Detroit for to long unattended. The entropy of that place is to much to high! I will be back for the bike ASAP!

Speaking of entropy… I visited my grandmother as well. Alztimers is hitting pretty hard, but she couldn’t have a better attitude about it! I have always said “you only have to lie in your own mind.” She is taking full advantage of the fact that she can make pretty much everything about her life up and no one is going to call her on it. According to her, she is 35, has several boyfriends, and her main dilemma is who to flirt with at dinner. Actually, it seems that she is sliding around in her memory “Slaughter House V” style. By her account she will out live us all. She might.

Onward!

Next stop for this boat show is what was described as, “Just outside Chicago.” Now, technically it is… just a little more than an hour Northwest of Chicago. In my mind I had assumed this meant something along the line of just beyond decent public transportation. In fact this meant directions include “so you turn off the paved road.” Just outside Chicago… like Jupitor is just outside the inner solar system.

Either way, with a progressive taxi on cell phone I found his house. Years can change people… Not having seen him in a while I was quite surprised to find that the years have turned him into a combination of Jesus Christ and Arnold Schwarzenegger… looks wise anyways. We talked for quite a while. Then after what turned into a 4 hour conversation with his new female associate about the public education system… it seems we are fucked! On a side note, I have heard lots of adults talk about how the “kids are different now, not like we used to be, etc.” I had always blown this off as the thing every generation says about the next one. After listening to some very well thought out examples and arguments… it may actually be the case. This seems to indicate more need for my genes to be preserved into the future of humanity. One can always hope that in Nature vs Nurture… Nature is the Dom!

Also, as I think about it… if this current generation really is mentally, educationally, and socially fucked up, it is probably their fault! These kids are different! They can’t read, and can’t speak proper English! They can’t communicate without electronic media as an interface! Who else could have brought this about? I am sure it is the 12 year old kid that decided to cancel art and music from the curriculum to focus on standardized tests and it is also them that volunteered to be a market for all sorts of mind numbing mass produced electronic gizmos… Oh well, fuck them! At least I am not in their generation! These kids are different from us anyways! …not like we were!

Onward again…

Pretty smooth drive across the rest of the great plains… then about 200 miles out side of Great Falls the Buick started to tap out. She started some wicked vibrations. It wasn’t through the steering… but it was enough to make the mirrors useless. Luckily if I stayed over 75 mph, the vibrations seemed to smooth out. Below that though… shit, I am glad I don’t have dentures! In addition to the vibes I was loosing power under load. It almost seemed like a few of the cylinders were cutting out. I nursed her to Louistown. Unfortunately all the auto parts stores are closed on Sunday… (Auto parts store parking lots are my preferred location to breakdown in cars) Next best place is gas stations across the street from airports where I know people. I figure worst case I can go over to the FBO and borrow some tools or assistance. Turns out part of the vibe was from the alternator bracket having lost one of it’s retaining bolts. I borrowed a crescent wrench from one of the other cars parked at the gas station. (all my tools are unusefully sitting in the trunk of the fiat… or one could just assume that I have made the fiat so fast and light by now that if hadn’t left them there it might float away all by itself) So I looked around for a bolt to secure the alternator. I found one! It was conveniently in the hood mounting hinge! I pulled it out of the hood mounting hinge and resecured the alternator. Now with the alternator bolted back into place, I attempted to restart the car. No dice. When the bracket was loose, the belt on the alternator had been slipping on each bounce so I didn’t have enough charge to turn over the tiny 7.5L engine. Jump start! No problem… back on the road… unfortunately with still about 2/3s of the vibrations still shaking the car. (Maybe the alternator bearings are all reamed out from the bouncing! Maybe!)

Either way, made it back to Great Falls… though the Buick was not happy about the rest of that trip… making it’s displeasure known by shaking enough between the speeds of 35 – 65 that the radio stations would change themselves. No time for that shit! With a quick change of horses R^2 and I continued on to Seattle! This time in a Mazda 3.

My aunt lives in Seattle… so in addition to exchange of philosophy she also restarted my tradition of pasta for breakfast! This was subtly encouraged by providing a real kitchen and putting bags of pasta next to the stove early in the morning. It is a lot like encouraging ants to eat potato salad on the forth of July by putting a few pieces next to their house when your mother isn’t looking. A little weird but so natural.

Seattle: Best place to drink beer with a view.

As long as we are this close… might as well take a quick day and a half trip out to the pacific coast. I thought I had never been there before, but once we got there… like some sort of weird deja vu I felt that I had been there before. (OK… enter a SMALL amount of nerdyness on my part…) As it turns out I had been there on a field trip with Science Camp about 17 years ago. I know… I know… Science Camp was way cool back then though. Even more absurdly I realized I had been there before by recognizing a tree, actually I recognized one particular tree. Then, like being splashed in the face with a bucket of ice cold water I realized that I recognized everything! I will caveat this with the fact that it is a really impressive tree that I had actually thought about several times in the last two decades.

Now, on this trip because of the near perfect weather, we stumbled what may be the most ideally romantic situation possible. Granted you have to be willing to break a few laws… maybe only regulations… well, just have a good explanation ready if you get caught by authority figures. (Should be no problem for anyone who would read this blog.) I will only go into describing the ingredients of this situation. It combined every standard ideal romantic situation possible… completely secluded beach, sunset over the pacific, campfires, wine-cheese-salami-cracker combo dinner, moonlit waves crashing on the shore, sleeping under the stars, and even a little adventure from rising tide in the middle of the night. Thank god for the sand flees or my teeth might have rotted right in my head! The only thing missing was a serenading gondola ride. Actually it was very nice. And to think, the beaches in my childhood were mostly about digging holes and poking dead carp that had washed up on the sand. Either way, if anyone needs a situation like this… keep the Pacific Northwest shore in mind. Be aware though, normally it would require rain gear. (As for breaking regulations… technically you are not allowed to “Camp” on the beach. As far as I see it, we had no tent… thus we weren’t camping! We were just sleeping on the beach near a campfire. Believe it or not, fires are allowed!)

A side note: I will admit that my fire craft is not quite what it used to be. It probably took me about 4 matches to get that thing lit. That was using wetish all natural found tinder and kindling… but I will have to practice more. I am a long way from the no match fires of my early teen years. I guess have just gotten used to the idea of having to start fires near crashed aircraft that I haven’t been practicing the no resources fire starting techniques.

Alright… enough for now. And just incase anyone is curious, it wasn’t the bearings in my alternator. Now I am hoping for impending U joint failure! If I can get the Buick fixed in the next few days, I will be off to New Mexico next week.

Finally a post... an update from the US of A!

2009-05-14T07:39:00.002-06:00

Before I make someone else's list of failed and dead blogs, I need to post an update. The problem this last month is that a lot of actually living life has been happening and has kept me somewhat off the computer... well, at least not as much time by myself in a shipping container... Anyways...

Flew some missions... some training... eventually that was done...

So I said good by to my guys. It was a bit sadder experience than I would have expected. They put together a sort of special lunch up in "the babe's" office. I was advocating the classroom for more space but the former warlord turned general rank wearing Lieutenant Colonel squadron commander wanted to have the going away thing in his office. So, that is what we did. Who doesn't want to put twenty guys in a room the size of a walk in closet along with kebabs, roast chickens, and crazy amounts of bananas?

I would have pictures, but I gave my camera away to one of my pilots. That guy probably took about a third of all the pictures on that camera anyways. Any time we went somewhere and I wanted to get pictures, but didn't want to take them myself, I would just give the camera to him and would have about 300 pictures almost instantly. I am pretty sure that there is some shutterbug gene that some people have. He even makes my mom seem like she takes a reasonable amount of pictures. (Those of you who have suffered photo taking experiences with my mom can appreciate that comment.)

So, no pictures.

But I can make the very carefully worded claim that, "None of the guys who I trained died, got hit by any enemy fire, or destroyed an aircraft after I began training them!" That is probably what I am happiest about and can not be said by all who are over there. Obviously I needed to leave because time and statistics were probably going to catch up soon!

So, I gave the keys to my motorcycle to a guy who was going to give them to my replacement... put everything I had that was legal to send in the mail, and hopped a flight up to Kyrgistan to catch my rotator home.

We have a base up in Bishkek, Kyrgistan. It is sort of a train station/bus stop of a base. Everyone on their way in and out of Afghanistan goes through that there. On the base are a few hanger sized tents filled with dudes waiting to go somewhere and the smell of dirty socks. They also have a chow hall and a bar. At the bar is where you get your two drink ration! Yes, so I had my first legal drinks in theater in a year! While I was there I was surprised how many people I knew. It seems that everyone who is anybody eventually goes through the bar at that base. I ran into people from school, pilot training, old squadrons... etc. It seems to be one of those places on the planet that if you wait there long enough, you will see everyone you would ever need to run into eventually.

As a side note, two beers was enough to completely knock me out of my brain! Granted they were some crazy burly russian beer that only go by the the name "number 9"... but still... I am out of practice! For all those of you that have ever wanted to out drink me, this is your chance! You have about two months. I am training and should be back up to my old competition standards in that time! Though being there and buzzing after two beers, I see why they don't allow that in combat areas... mostly because everyone would tell their bosses how idiotic everything that is going on and they might have to call off the war for lack of interest and beer induced rational thought!

Eventually the land of two beers slips into the past and I find myself landing in Baltimore at midnight. I have to check in at 0415 in the morning. I had no interest in going to a hotel for that short of time, so I sit down at the USO and turn on my cell phone for the first time in a year. My texting skills were rusty, but they have come back quickly.

About then I find out that a few of the hotels near the airport let returning GI's take showers in their staff locker rooms. Excellent! After three days of no sleep and riding in government airplanes I was in the mood for a shower. I stowed my equipment in an empty room at the USO, took my weapons in their case, (can't leave them unattended) and brought my toothbrush and a change of underwear to the hotel to take a shower. Turns out the hotel had a bar! Of course! So me, my weapons, my change of underwear, and my tooth brush in the pen pocket of my flight suit went into the hotel bar! I was not the first off that plane coming back from afghanistan to discover that hotel bar. The place was filled with us. The Marines were hitting on some chicks from a wedding party, some other helicopter pilots were devoting themselves to scotch, and there were some under 21 year old types still in uniform pretending they were older and seeing what they could get away with. I joined the other pilots. I would have joined the marines crashing the dressed up wedding chicks, but they were making territorial body language gestures and it seemed like to much work.

Eventually the bar closed, and we got around to taking showers in the hotel staff locker room. It was amazing! The hot water lasted FOREVER! Ever better than that, the shower drained! Showers are much more cleansing experiences when you aren't ankle deep in dirty water, piss, and hair... and maybe some other fluids... YECK!

Eventually I made it back out to Montana for a low key week of in-processing and hanging out with R^2. They made me give back all my weapons and cool equipment. Damn!

HOLLYWOOD: Dude, I don't know how you endured this change. The 40th has become a haven for babies and boredom! It wasn't that long ago that we were a marauding band of vikings slashing our way through he Great Falls social scene with free drinks and skanky mustache rides! Now the place is a get up early Saturday to cut the grass and pick your next assignment based on comparisons between school districts! Either way a girl still can't go near the 40th HS without worrying about getting pregnant... but for entirely different reasons now!

Right now I am in Gladstone. It is pretty much the same... I always expect this place will be different when I come back but it never is. They built a skate park in the park... that is about it.

For those of you that are interested, I took the Fiat out of storage. It started right up! It seems my mom thinks I drive it to fast. This is how that conversation went.

(She was in the car, I thought she would appreciate the mechanical capabilities and driving skills of her son.)

Fiat: SCKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!
Mom: Nicholas! DO NOT SCARE ME!
Me: We aren't even going faster than the speed limit! (Points to speedometer indicating less than 35 MPH)
Mom: Dear...... Don't drive like an idiot!

Apparently staying under the speed limit doesn't count when you are doing it going sideways through a residential intersection with smoke coming off your tires... I didn't know that.

Tomorrow I will be headed down to Detroit and Ohio.

(The high school should be getting out about now... maybe I can go impress some High School chicks by doing doughnuts in the school parking lot as they get on the busses!) Obviously I have to go now.

Czech Microbiologist... I have samples!

2009-04-10T13:46:00.002-06:00

Ok, so there is one aspect of life here that I have been neglecting... that's right. "The Women of KAIA!"

Realistically the Guy to Girl ratio around here is approx 2000 to 1. I know what the Tech, AFA, and Malmstrom vets are thinking... "I have seen worse."

True.... whatever... don't interrupt my story here.

So, there are two main contingents that brought their women to war, Belgians and Czechs. The Belgian women are mostly aloof and understand themselves to be the local version of sliced bread. Obviously, no use talking to them. The second group is the Czech women. The excellent thing about former eastern block women is that their men still treat them like garbage... so American style friendliness makes you the nicest guy they have ever met.

So there I was... Talking to this czech hottie. Turns out she is a microbiologist. (in czech accent: Meek-row bee-ologeest) No use fighting it, the czech accent from a women fries my brain ever since I was 14. (Yea... I was only 14) Anyways, this woman is here to czech on water and air quality around the country. (notice scientist style pun) She is here to check on coalition water... but I have some serious questions about some of the water that I drink everyday with the Afghan Army.

I would say that Afghanistan probably has the worst environmental stewardship of any place on the planet. Living in an industrial park/former soviet airfield makes it even worse. Between the air being full of toxic smoke and dried fecal mater and the water being a combination of parasites, bacteria, and fuel contamination, it is no wonder that the average age of death around here is 44. Thank god for the wars otherwise cancer and disease would be rampant!

The same way ER nurses like trauma victims, microbiologist get turned on by nasty water. For a woman with a Czech accent, I know where to find some nasty water around here! I have been very curious about the water from the old Afghan army base anyways. Let me describe this water. It comes out of a hand pump just south of the airfield. When it sits in the cup, there is a fuel oil sheen on the top of the water. I can usually deal with that... I have drank enough gasoline working on my cars that that is no longer a concern for me anymore... but it is the fact that if you let it sit for a while in your cup, it forms sort of a gelatinous film on top that makes me concerned.

Science: It works bitches!

Results to follow...

Replacements... eventually

2009-04-05T12:57:00.007-06:00

My replacements are finally getting trained. They should be learning to fly in a few weeks and will be here... whenever. I am getting to be a fairly short timer here, only a few weeks till I SHOULD rotate out. Luckily for those of you who are still interested in the military aviation training of indigenous forces in Afghanistan... my replacements have a blog too so your fix of Afghanistan Antics should continue fairly seamlessly.

The "AWAITING ORDERS" vacation is over boys!

Here is the future of Afghanistan military advisory!

See sidebar: "Afghan Antics" for future links.

10,000

2009-04-01T05:10:00.002-06:00

10,000 HITS

Granted, like the Sophist said on his last big number... it is probably made up of about 3 people who are interested... and they only visit because it is in their morning web page checking routine. But either way. Yea big number. Thank you all for stopping by. I have no doubt you are wiser for the visits.

History repeats... Again

2009-03-28T12:10:00.007-06:00

Those of you that knew me between 1999 and 2001 may remember me mostly as covered in grease, smelling like exhaust, lost in the woods, and half asphyxiated from carbon monoxide. Well, I am thrilled to say that those days are here again!

Thanks to one of my excellent feild agents and associates in Albuquerque I am now the third owner of this 1942 Ford GPW. The first two owners being the US Army Air Corp, and a guy named Louie. What you are looking at is a completely unrestored, original WWII army jeep! From what I understand, it was sold right off Kirtland AFB right after the war ended and has been in NM ever since. It looks like it even has its original paint!

HAH! 45 MPH? I know that no military vehicle in history has ever been held to their max speed. I believe chestocrates can verify that this vehicle will do more than that as it enters the water!

It might be a shame to cover that original paint job...

The Sophist has been on a bit of a rat-rod kick recently. Before you suggest it... this is the right way to rat rod a jeep... It is a possibility. Brohiem... how is that class 3 license coming?

It is almost in this condition already... just loose the arctic top and windshield... Add some weapons...

Self propelled machines and sex... pretty much the same thing.

2009-03-22T11:11:00.011-06:00

Which reminds me, I will be moving to Albuquerque, New Mexico in a few months. This is the Craig's List ad I am looking for as far as my future dwelling space goes:

FOR RENT: Climate Controlled Garage; girls from UNM gymnastics team looking to rent out unused garage space.
-room for two large american sedans, extra storage for parts, space for futon or hammock
-bathroom access
-walking distance to several bars, strip clubs, and auto parts stores
-Rent: no money, just odd jobs around house and buying us booze for our parties!

Because once you have a garage, you can put a cool car in it!

Obviously this follows...

...because New Mexico can be dusty sometimes.

Jalopnik knocks it out of the park with these posters.

Chaos + cool accent = Sexy! or The second most fun thing to do in a bunker!

2009-03-18T06:05:00.007-06:00

(Many pictures are more interesting if expanded.)

The last week I have been out in Herat... (That is on the other side of the country next to the Iran border for those of you that don't have a map of Afghanistan handy.) I found out that two of my friends from pilot training were going to be out there as well as two guys from my home squadron. That combined with the fact that I have never been to Herat made me think it would be a good place to take a 4 day pass. So, having some hookups at the airport, I got myself on an Italian C-130 and was spirited nearly painlessly to the Italian/Spanish base in Herat. (That's right, there is a combination Italian/Spanish base. I got there just after lunch, so obviously I couldn't do anything for the next four hours as everyone was on break... until the end of August)

My arrival in vacation clothes.

No problem because cell phones are magic! Even though most Afghans have never seen a paved road, the cell phone coverage here makes the US look abysmal. The taliban gets better coverage sneeking through the Konar valley than my mom driving from Marquette to the bridge. Either way, I shortly link up with M., who I find in typical Italian style... dressed completely in white and pink spandex.

(notice no picture of this) ... This is normal for italians, but I still went off and found a different more clothed friend, "The Vegetable."

Later that evening I found myself in in a bunker again for the second time that day. Now, I have been in quite a few bunkers but never before with the Spanish. Usually it is a time of sitting there with all your shit on just waiting. Not for the Spanish! These cats don't let a few nearby explosions get in the way of having a good time! I recommend for your next indirect fire attack, head for the Spanish bunker. The party was over by about one AM... (We ran out of red bull.) but as they say, "A good time was had by all"

I was invited on a helicopter appreciation flight with the C-130 guys. M. is demonstraiting the hard job of a cargo pilot.

But at least the view is nice.

So, I took a few C-130 bubbas to see the mighty Hip! This pretty much became a lesson in italian swearing and awe as they looked at these awesome machines. "Hey-a... it seems to-a be leaking something-a," After which they came to the conclusion that all of us are crazy. (For you history buffs, the aircraft pictured was actually Massoud's personal helicopter. It even has a place for a forward firing nose gun! It is good for the avionics!)

Though speaking of aircraft and luck. Here are a few less lucky aircraft. This is a pile of aircraft "The Vegetable" wanted to go take a look at. I didn't figure out how to get any of these old migs back to the US yet... but there was an old soviet motorcycle side car that had me pretty tempted.

Piles of old migs.

A more artistic view, though less documentary photo by "The Vegetable."

The man himself: Open cockpit jet pilot. "I want to hear those commies scream!"

This post is mostly pictures... but that is only because I have to wait for statutes of limitations to run out before I can start telling the stories. Or, just give me a beer next time I see you and I will tell them. Incase I forget, just remind me to tell the story about the "mortar attack with the spanish..." or "the GIANT piece of parmesan cheese" is also a good one too! (The piece of cheese is really big... like from now on when you need an analogy for big, you are going to think parmesan cheese instead of Dolly Parton.)

A neat little video that makes me want to take science books to strip clubs in foreign countries and have the dancers read them to me. Thus the title for this post.

You choose the caption... I'll explain later... maybe.

2009-03-08T05:26:00.002-06:00

A clear day in Kabul...

2009-03-05T07:57:00.007-07:00

Every once in a while the wind and the rain and the snow all work together to clean the fecal matter out of the air and one realizes that Afghanistan is a really beautiful place... in a centuries of blood bath, environmental destruction, and brutal existence kind of way.

Also, I have been told via other means that my landscape pictures are not very interesting... and I should include more pictures of people. As much as I would love to do this, my guys already have enough problems with family members getting kidnaped and bombs being thrown through the windows of their houses without me showing their faces on the internet. That being said, enjoy the pictures. FEEL FREE TO EXPAND THEM TO FULL SIZE FOR INCREASED PLEASURE!

"Oh, we're the wing men..." (that song goes through my head every time I look out the window...)

The next few pictures are what Kabul looks like if you were to take the vile airborne sludge of incinerated garbage, burnt tires, and dirt out of the air. Normally the air looks like a blank word document... as viewed through crapy sunglasses.

Some mild sludge on the horizon...

I just recently found out that this palace was the location of the opening battle of the Soviet invasion... and here I only though it was just a good waypoint for navigation.

"You see, in formation it is easy to hold position by putting the rotor head of lead on the horizon... Well fuck, this isn't going to work... OK, I'll explain when we get back to the classroom.

Those mountains are all over 14,000 feet. This place makes Colorado feel like Nebraska...

Basically the mountains never stop in this country. About 9 months ago or so I was trying to teach formation flying. I tried to explain that a good position was to put the rotor head of the preceding aircraft on the horizon... shortly after takeoff I realized that these guys have never seen a horizon. There is always a fucking gigantic mountain range in the way. The one advantage this gave me was when I was explaining how America sent men to the moon, I didn't have much trouble with the idea that the earth is not flat. A flat earth idea is just as hilarious to these guys as women's rights! I laughed too... then submitted my citizenship application. Peace out!

Some "Final Countdown" style shit.

2009-03-02T12:39:00.011-07:00

N = Notorious, B = name of my Afghan co-pilot, Tower = Kabul Tower, -2 = the second aircraft of the formation

N: (Looking out the aircraft window as we return to the airfield) "Man, spring happens fast around here doesn't it?" (Confused look at me.) I try again in Dari this time, "Felan.. Kabul, bizyar nojew... sabs zute zute."

B: "Bali! Trees green... heh heh! Yes... now bizyar sabs!"

N: "Right... Hey, you think it's about time for a radio call?"

B: "Radio?"

N: "Yes dude... YOU are control radio!" (I have found that using the words and syntax that they used with me actually gets the message across quicker than insisting on using correct English myself.)

B: "Yes yes, I am radio! I talking now... "Kabul Tower, Papa-Alpha-Sierra - 001, position Sierra-Wiskey, Inbound, landing Hotel.""

Tower: "Chi gufti? Kujasti?"

B: "Kabul Tower, Papa-Alpha-Sierra - 001, position Sierra-Wiskey, Inbound, landing Hotel."

Tower: . . .

(Looks to me confused?)

N: (I look back also confused) "Dude, your radio call was fine, I don't know what is going on... When did they teach the Belgians in the tower how to speak Dari?"

Tower: "Doo tiyara jurra, Chi gufti? Kujasti?"

N: "Well go ahead and answer..."

B: "Kabul Tower, Papa-Alpha-Sierra - 001, Doo tiyara kandaki riosate jambori, neshast mekonum Hotel taxiway."

Tower: "...Kandaki riosate jambori? Chi?"

B: "Bali, neshast mekonum."

Tower: "Mushkil neyst, neshast mekoni."

We land... despite the confusion...

As we taxi in past a noticeably large number of Hinds and Hips and some new hangers I don't remember, i realize that something is really really wrong.

N: "Chi hast?" I ask my copilot.

B: "Name famam!?!?"

I see a few guys walking along the edge of the ramp in some old soviet uniforms. Not unusual, the old dudes use them sort of like a status thing that they were a part of the old russian era, sort of like now how they wear US uniform articles when they get them to show their assosiation with the US military. I look back at "-2." They are taxiing right along with us like they should.

We turn into our parking spot. I look up at the tail of a nearby An-12.

A chill runs down by back like a razor filleting my spine...

Oh FUCK!

The tail has freshly painted red Soviet tail flash.

My brain tries to come up with what could possibly be going on. My mind is in the forced calm when you realize that the next few moments are vital, and understanding what is happening around you is all that you should be doing.

I come up with a short list of two of the most reasonable options... Either A) we have been sent back in time, and we have inadvertently traveled to Kabul in 1978... (In which case I wish I had payed more attention to sports stats... maybe I will just invest in Microsoft in it's early days.) or B) we have been shot down and are now doomed join the aerial ghosts of Afghanistan and fly these canyons and valleys for ever.

Both of those options don't appeal to me actually. The time is now for quick action.

N: "-2, Do not shut down! Present possition departure!"

-2: ""-2"... Say again... please"

N: "Felan Barhost mekonum, inja! Amodi"

-2: "Chi? Bali, amodum."

We took off and retraced our route exactly backwards. I don't know if we were in the underworld of war slaughtered Afghanistan or just sent back in time a few decades... either way, the calenders say 2009 again. (1387 for the local made ones)

We will see if I make it back...

In the news again.

2009-02-28T06:22:00.002-07:00

But this time, I managed to keep my name out of it personally.

The lead picture was taken from inside my wingman's aircraft. Figures, the only time they aren't flying right at my 6'... If any of you know Maj. H. personally please give him shit for the rest of his career for having the New York Times photographer taking pictures of inside his cockpit... and forgetting to take out the FUCKING GIGANTIC "Remove Before Flight" flag from his countermeasures panel! My flares went off that day too... weird it didn't remind him...

Back from the land where they sip their shots and shoot their coffee:

2009-02-12T10:42:00.003-07:00

"My trip to Italian grocery stores..."

Why no wisdom from the Notorious for the past month? The answer: I was on my mid-tour leave. As appealing and inviting as places like Montana and Michigan in January are, I decided to take up a buddy of mine on his standing invitation to come visit him in Italy. He lives in Tuscany...

But First a little stop in Kuwait for some paperwork.

This is the first time in nine months that I didn't have a flight suit on. (Apart from sleeping and in the shower) Shortly after I took that picture of myself I was arrested by the base security. I apparently didn't stay in the approved "Transient Personnel Area." The Transient Personnel Area consists of several hundred tents full of bunk beds, a MacDonalds, a big tent they play movies in, and a KBR chow hall. After nine months in Afghanistan, that didn't hold my interest for long so I went for a walk. I didn't cross any gates, didn't ignore any mine field signs, didn't do go anywhere but slightly away from all the zombies in the tents... then as I walked BACK into the TPA, Whamo! arrested... maybe detained more accurately... either way, I spent some time in an empty office only to eventually be lectured by some dushe bag on safety in a combat zone. Thanks dude... did you notice that you are in Kuwait? The whole reaction seemed way overzealous against a guy that went for a walk. Eventually we all came to the conclusion that I wanted to leave, and he wanted me to go, so lets do that... I was on a plane headed for Italy in about 3 hours. What a dick!

Now in Italy:

First stop...

The grocery store...

Here is the less famous counterpart... the Tuscan rain and fog and drizzle. (Surprisingly, it is also January in Italy.)

I made it easily on a few well connected space-A flights and ended up a few days early to my M's house. So, finding myself with time on my hands in Italy surrounded by medieval cities and ancient ruins what did I do?

I visited the Ferrari factory!

I had read an article about going on a tour of the Ferrari factory once so I figured it wouldn't be a problem. I rented a little Fiat and drove myself up there to go on the tour. (Being a Fiat owner, a Fiat Spider specifically, I had always considered Fiat to be first and foremost a sports car manufacturer that also made economy cars. This is actually not the case... at all! Fiat is first and foremost the producer of a line of cars called "the shit box." They are basically a three wheeled asprin bottle with a rolling spare that is big enough for only you and your favorite testicle and nothing else. It turns out Fiat is a roller-skate manufacture that made a sports car about 30 years ago.) After arriving at the Ferrari factory I found out that you can only go on the Ferrari factory tour if you already own a Ferrari. Damn... I was fresh out of Ferrari's so I payed my 8 Euros and went to the Ferrari museum instead. Though not the factory, it was still awesome, mostly because visitors can touch all the cars and I could take pictures of all the finer details of the race cars... I saw many things I will be incorporating into my Fiat when I get home.

Ferraris are pretty much the mechanical and artistic embodiment of LUST!

Oh yea, and Tuscany was there too...

After an appropriate amount of site seeing around the local area, we headed to snowier hillsides in search of greener pastures. My buddy, M. had some hook ups so that we could stay in a sort of condo in the Alps right near the a huge ski area for free. Hell yea! Free condo in the alps! How could it be bad, right!

(Let me digress for a second: In collage one year I went on spring break to Florida to a free condo that someone had hookups to use. As it turned out, that condo in Florida was surrounded completely by the 60+ with blue hair and General Motors luxury sedans for at least 50 miles in every direction. This was heart breaking to a bunch of spring break dudes from the great white north that drove 2500 miles to meet chicks in bikinis! "Where are all the women... and why is everyone driving so slow!" was the most repeated sentence for that entire trip. Apparently there are retirement areas of Florida... we hadn't considered that before we went. At the time we were only aware of the M-TV spring break part and of course Will Smith's enticing lyrics.)

Fast forward 8 years...

Free condo... same problem, "where are all the women... and why is everyone driving so slow!" Who would have guessed that the people that can afford to hang out in condos on the Alps and ski in the middle of the week are not mid-twenties hotties that are looking for someone to hold their towel in the sauna... it is in fact old middle aged Austrians who passive aggressively cut in front of you in the lift lines. Oh well, no big deal, adventures still to follow:

Yea, it really looks that fucking sweet!

Hey! Has it been ten minutes yet? Lets go grocery shopping then...

I have a new personal proverb, "Mind the punctuation even if you can't read the words!"

Day two on the mountain: So there I was... blasting down the hill! Obviously the coolest guy on the slope as I am the only one I have seen on a snowboard... I was still learning my way around this impressively huge mountain so I was following my friend. I see him go up this little mound and stop on the top next to an orange sign. I decide that I will also go up the little mound and stop behind him. I look at the sign that my friend is next to... It is written in both German and Italian... something like "VORNINGCLIFNSHIT!" (German) and "LASAGNA!" (Italian) Obviously it is not important or it would be in English too right! Never mind that I haven't met a native english speaker in about 5 days now. The important part of the message, which I didn't grasp at the time, was actually the punctuation... That little exclamation point on the end of each of those words was not a frivolous use of paint... Like I said, I had decided to come to a stop just behind my friend so I started to brake and was in a full on skid as I slid to the top of the little mound.

KSHSKSHKHSKHSKHSKHSKHSKHS (Sound of the snowboard braking against the snow as I slow down)

(Suddenly)

s i l e n c e . . .

Ah, the clean sound of nothing... The reason for that sudden quiet was that my snowboard was no longer braking against the snow. In fact it wasn't even touching the snow at all... in fact, I wasn't anywhere near planet earth at all as far as I could tell.

The only thought that entered my head was, "well shit..."

What I had just discovered was that there was no back side to that mound. It was really just a lip in front of a cliff... I guess that explains the exclamation point on that sign I just passed.

There is an old adage in aviation, "Fly as far into the crash as possible." So with this logic I think, "maybe I can land this!" Nope. I instantly realize that that is not going to happen as I become aware that I am looking at the horizon between my knees and my snowboard is silhouetted beautifully against the blue sky. Nothing to do now but wait for the pain.

CRUNCH!!!!! ............There's the ground!

After a crash like that, my first thought is always, "Yea! I am still alive!" followed shortly by, "what did I damage?" So I sat there for a moment and waited for the pain to begin to register. It seems sometimes your body gives you a moment of complete numbness before it hits you with all the pain. So I sat there... waiting... Nothing.

Granted, I heard every single vertebra in my back pop as I impacted the ground but it seems that I didn't really hurt myself at all. I stand up... look up at my cringing friend at the top of the cliff... Holy shit! I am fine! I am more surprised than anyone.

So, as I have been thinking about this particular snowboard crash and my subsequent getting away totally unscathed, I have come to the only logical conclusion. I must be either immortal or indestructible! (Though after coming to that conclusion I have decided no further experimentation is needed in this department.)

Either way, we probably should go to the grocery store...

The restaurant is always on the top of the mountain. (I don't know why... Europeans?)

After a few days of thrashing our bodies on the mountain, we decide to take a break and go sledding. Sounds good. So M. describes what I understand to be a restaurant next to where we can go sledding. (Enter language barriers) This was not actually the case. What he meant was there is a restaurant, (the italian word he used wasn't actually restaurant... it is something like "refugga" and actually means "restaurant in the middle of no where." I couldn't think of an english equivalent. Anyways... if you ever meet a dude from a Mediterranean country who says, "I think the restaurant is right up this mountain. It should be a quick walk..." you probably should bring lunch and a signaling device. This is the second time they have gotten me with the old restaurant on the top of the mountain trick. There really is going to be a restaurant up there, and it really is going to be awesome... but plan on a few extra hours. It actually turned into a horrible 3 hour sweat freezing death march. First we didn't know exactly where the place was... Second, there was about 4 feet of powder on the whole mountain... Third, we started on the wrong mountain. Oh well.

This is almost to the top... we started down in the bottom of that valley under the cloud layer.

This is the final stretch into the place. I was actually very surprised to find it there and open. Not only was it there, open, and serving beer... it also was full of people! How the fuck did they get here? We didn't follow any other tracks and as far as I could tell, there was no reasonable way to get to this place. (We may have come the hard way... but that is standard for these sorts of things in my experience.) Either way, beer time!

Now do you see those sleds in the picture? Those are not normal sleds... they are special italian alps style steerable sleds. The only problem is they work exactly backwards from every other vehicle on the entire planet. Motorcycles, snowboards, jet skis, and hang gliders all have you lean into the turn... These sleds have you lean to the outside of the turn. Seems simple enough, but think about this warning we got before we left. (read with italian accent) "You'a gonna go'a close to'a da cliffs... You'a gonna wanna lean away from da cliff because maybe you donna wanna be close to that cliff, but dont you wanna do that... Zip! (accumpanying zip hand motions) when'a you gonna lean away that sled gonna turn right off the side'a thata mountain."

something to think about anyways...

So after a few beers, no to many, just the happy buzz... it was time to sled down the mountain. Three pilots, two sleds, and another guy's girlfriend... looks like we have everybody. Now for the trick of getting down the mountain. It turns out that warning was exactly what was going to happen. You get close to the side of the cliff, you lean away, then the sled makes a sharp turn right off the side of the mountain. It only happened 3 times before we got the hang of steering... luckily we still had fast enough reaction times despite the beer for everyone to jump off the sled, grab something solid, and not let the sled fall. Obviously we learned fast enough to survive the trip down. What took us three hours to climb took 13 minutes to sled down. We followed the same path down that we came up...

So if you do the math...

3 hours X 3 MPH = 9 miles total distance.

9 miles/ 13 minutes = 41 mph

Though that seems a little fast to me...

lets be more conservative in our estimates:

3 hours X 2 MPH = 6 miles total distance

6 miles / 13 minutes = 27 mph

Either way, I think the math tells that story of the trip down better than I could with words.

Probably it is time for some grocery shopping.

SELF RESCUE IS THE BEST RESCUE!:

After days now of following a bunch of skiers on icy crowded groomed runs I was itchy to go off piste and really explore this mountain. So with an exchanged of "see you at the bottoms" near a sign that indicated some sort of summer only trail I left the marked groomed run.

...

(no, there is to much)
...

(Dusk now)
I found the search team just as they were leaving the lodge at the bottom of that side of the mountain. Turns out that was a lot bigger mountain than I had a sense of. I bought the snowmobile driver and helicopter pilot a beer. We called it even and I rejoined my friends for pizza.

As someone who has been on a few search and rescue missions... I recommend self rescue in all circumstances and definitely wanted to follow that philosophy myself. Hell, I knew where I was the whole time... It was the others that didn't know where I was!

DISCO TIME!

A nightclub in Italy is no place to fuck around with fashion. Look good or else! I only have one set of civilian cloths with me here in Afghanistan so packing for this trip was pretty easy... All garments that don't have rank and my one set of civilian cloths. It all fit in my backpack. Regardless of all that, I still found myself in Italy about to go to a nightclub and having to look good. I had meant to go to an italian store and get a few civilian items... but we had been to busy grocery shopping.

See....

Luckily I had my one civilian outfit... What? cargo pants and a hawaiian shirt! CHECK YES BITCHES! For all the readers that are cringing right now... don't worry. I pulled it off with all the bravado that would make any red blooded American proud! How does one do that you might ask? You buy drinks for everyone and scandalize them with your dirty american dance moves! Unfortunately there wasn't very many girls, actually with that many italian dudes, it was effectively a Liberachi themed salami fiesta. Still M. was managing to hit on some old lady and I can dance with myself... so everyone was still having a good time.

Then I got the signal from M... With a head tilt and some eye contact he transmitted this, "Dude, I think I am going to get laid if I stay with this girl... but I am obligated to get the both of us home as I have the car, there are no buses, taxis, or hotel rooms anywhere near here, and you don't speak the local language at all..."

Due to the code of "Man Law" a guy is always obligated to not be a cock block due to logistical concerns. So I of course signaled back, "No problem man, I can take care of myself." By doing this I had just put myself in a tough situation. I had no ride, no place to sleep, and not much in the way of options. I can't fuck up his night even if it is an old lady just because I need a ride... so I have to figure something out. Well, I am in a social setting... lets see how much charisma I really have. Can I make friends fast enough to either get invited back to an after party or get a ride home with out it being socially awkward. This should be no problem a confident american pilot in a Hawaiian shirt can't handle! The bar closes in 3 hours, there's a group of girls... I guess I'll start with them! I have been practicing, maybe they will be impressed with my Italian skills!

Shit... They are Austrian... and only speak German. What the deuce! This is Italy after all. (Though this particular part of Italy has only been Italian since world war one, and they aren't to sure they plan to stay that way.) Regardless of language barriers, I impressed them with my mad dance skills and having 9 months of practice playing scherades in a cockpit over Afghanistan I was able to communicate fairly effectively. It has got to be the shirt!

M. and I talked in words and it was decided that I would get back to the condo first so I should take the key. His plan, take her to her house... and hopefully stay the night. Unfortunately as I was getting dropped off he was also pulling into the parking lot. WTF Mate! I guess she was not interested in going as far as he was... but he did come back with the report that 40+ year old boobies are way way softer than young ones. I'll take his word on that for now... because it is obviously time to go grocery shopping!

I am sure there are many other stories that I have already forgotten... so I'll end this whopping post with a pic I took during my returning visit through Kuwait. I managed to not get arrested again, but the place already feels like a prison so it didn't matter much. I sat there for 6 days waiting for a flight back here. I think the main point of Kuwait is to be painful enough you want to get back to the war just to be out of there!

(Shout out to my fellow prisoners in tents blocks E-2 and H-8... keep the faith brothas! ... except the bastard that left the light on at 3 in the morning! You don't have a fucking flashlight? And the guy that used his electric shaver at 2 in the morning then cleaned his razor by blowing the whiskers out onto the floor... major league fail!)

It wasn't me.

2009-01-15T06:48:00.002-07:00

The news is apparently out that we lost a helicopter today. Since I will be out of contact for the next few weeks I didn't want anyone to read it in the news, write me an email, get no responce, then pore out some good booze in my name.

Drink your beers and scotches... don't "pore one out for me."

MY guys are fine, as am I... We canceled our flight this morning because of weather.

The worms craw in, the worms crawl out...

2009-01-12T10:18:00.011-07:00

I was talking to one of the camp doctors. We got onto the subject of anti-malaria medication. In his opinion, malaria is by far not the most prevalent problem around here. Apparently the biggest thing going on around here is intestinal parasites... yep... that's right... WORMS!

HELL YEA!

So... as it turns out, most of the time they are fairly asymptomatic. Some might rob you of nutrients and some might make your anus itch... but most people that have them, would actually never know it. I was thinking about the possibility that I might have tiny worms living inside me. Even though I am not building sandcastles along the open suers, I am still pretty exposed to local water, people, and food... I have somewhat resigned myself to the fact that I probably have "parasites" living in me right now.

At first it seemed a little gross. Dude! There could be worms in me... freaking WORMS! I think it was put best by "The Vegetable" yesterday when he said, "the best thing about worms is that you can't get them from sex... otherwise I would be a monk."

But, I have been getting used to the idea after talking to that doctor. I kind of have started to think of them like little internal pets! I want to catch one and look at it. I will say though... even though they are kind of growing on me, I still like to mess with them! How do you mess with your worms you might ask?

In fact, my habit of eating food as spicy as I can around here may even make it too uncomfortable for them to live in me. Who knows... maybe they all moved out! To be honest, I would really like to get my worms drunk!

For those of you who might come in contact with me after I get home, don't worry... De-worming is one of the standard procedures for people returning from a deployment from around here. From what I understand... you get off the plane, they shake your hand, (then they wash theirs), then they give you the de-worming pills.

Not only am I building a nation... I like to think I am also building the most impenetrable immune system every know!

2009-01-11T03:38:00.002-07:00

Some Kiwi Huey guys made this excellent video obviously to make fun of the pointy nosed jet dudes. Thank god helo guys aren't like this in real life!

Skype. keeping real life real.

2009-01-08T09:12:00.002-07:00

Last night!

2009-01-04T04:25:00.002-07:00

So there I was...

Sound asleep having wacko dreams in there own right, when...

BOOM! BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM

My bed was shaking back and forth, everything was rattling around. The whole container was bouncing back and forth.

Laying in the darkness my half asleep mind was instantly awake and turning in overdrive... (though fully awake due to a shot of adrenaline... it was still a mind confused by being instantly awake in a dark, loud, shaking shipping container.)

I vocalized my first thought to my still sleeping roommate, "Dude, do you hear that! We are fucking under attack!"

His responce, "wwwwhhhaaaa.... narf narf..." (apparently his still fully SLEEPING mind was not bothered by a roommate yelling "we are fucking under attack." I said it again more forcefully and it was acknowledged by a "...really?" and nothing more.

I listened a moment, then made this decision, "Fuck this shit, I am staying in bed." I then rationalized this decision with these supporting thoughts, "well... I am on the inside of the building... It sounds like just mortars, I'll get up for gunfire... we don't have a real bunker to go to anyways... besides that, it is snowing and dark outside so the bad guys probably can't see what they are shooting at tonight... besides all that, if it was serious the Belgians would would put on the god damn sirens!" A few moments later, my container stopped shaking and I fell back asleep.

The next morning I woke up and vaguely remembered being a little spazy in the middle of the night. If something really had been happening, I am sure it would be obvious... yet everything seems normal. I figured I must have just woken up from a bad dream I had in the middle of the night. Whatever, no problem.

Then It occurred to me to ask some other people if they remembered anything.

As it turns out this was what had happened.

We have had a few earth quakes here in the past 8 months but this was definitely the biggest and longest. When they happen and I am with the Afghans, they instead of going outside their crumbling ancient buildings... sit and repeat over and over, "Allah Akbar." (God is the Greatest) I find this reaction just as strange as they find mine. (I go outside the crappy ass buildings until the shaking stops.) But so far we are all still here so I guess both reactions produce the same result...

The good news is that even with all the snow and rain we have been having combined with almost everyone in this country living in mud huts... I haven't heard of any major damages or injuries. Allah Akbar!

And of course, I am sure you have all thought of the biggest lesson to take away from this story. Yes, that's right... "my roommate is a sound sleeping motherfucker, so I can wack-off like a adolescent chimp and not worry at all about waking him up!"

Have you seen this guy?

2008-12-27T04:36:00.001-07:00

Pics from yesterday's mission.

2008-12-24T16:47:00.004-07:00

Nothing more exciting than the dawn launch! Fucking 0430 in the morning and everyone is still wide awake and happy to be there! (picture taken slightly after 0430... it was to dark at that time.)

(A few hours later)
It is moments like this when I always think I am not dressed warm enough... "Dress to Egress" Oiy!

As much fun as it is being the only American in the sky with these guys... sometimes it is most excellent to have some American made Zeus to rain down incase things go to shit. Yesterday these guys were probably disappointed that they didn't get to kill anyone, but I was still happy to have them along!

Quote of the day..."Two, what are you doing here you should be on the ground by now!" said as I looked out the window as we turned to final for our LZ. I looked down and saw the shadow of two helicopters where there should only have been one. Never a good thing. -2 and -3 were supposed to land at a different LZ than us. Unfortunately we were getting electronically jammed so -2 didn't hear my "break out" command. Normally jamming isn't a big problem because we can burn through it in close formation, but the flight engineer on -2 didn't like listening to the fuzz so he turned down the volume on the radio... thus the pilot didn't hear. We went around out of that approach. -2 eventually fixed their radio and asked if they should land. Man, we did not sound cool on the radio... and in front of the gun ships too. Very embarassing. Luckily good formation discipline ruled the day and without orders he stayed right on my wing. Better there than just randomly flying around the AOR!

Finally I was able to break them out. -2 landed into the second largest dust ball I have ever seen. It was probably ten stories high and covered 5 acres. Fuck that shit! I didn't hear their on the ground call so I was almost positive they were a smoking hole in the center of that giant opaque brown turd! I was considering what to do when they finally called in. Thank god! We made our approach into our LZ... and everything was fairly uneventful after that.

On the way home, we passed the lead to the Apaches. They are the more power limited aircraft, so if they can do it, we all can do it. They also have a much better navigation system... so they just pushed the magic "Direct, Direct" button and turn the nasty task of navigation through the wilds of Afghanistan into a site seeing trip through some lovely snow capped mountains.

Expect my rants to get a little more out there...

2008-12-08T23:00:00.004-07:00

Today, my friend for the past seven months has left for home. She was here for over 20 months in Kabul. Congratulations on everything. "Educate the women... hmm... why you would do this?" -Beatles (Czech gunship pilot) Drink a Natural Light for me because I know you won't have a Guiness.

Now, without the soothing and mentally regulating effects of having women around I plan to fall completely off the deep end. Heres to exploring my own insanity! (Kodjo, thanks for sending "Villa Incognito." It is a good start in that direction!)

In other absurd news:
My pilots have been drunk dialing me all day to wish me a happy Eid. (Eid- imagine a muslim version of Christmas and Thanksgiving.)

Eid Khoosh!

Sometimes art just speaks to you!

2008-11-29T06:19:00.005-07:00

I don't know if it is known by the general public, but there seem to be armies of christian youth groups out there making pictures and posters for overseas service members. Most of them say some sappy christian slogan like "Be Strong Because Jesus Loves You..." or some drivel like that. Every once in a rare while one of the pictures will be signed by some kid who actually has personality and gets what is going on here. Our Marine Gunny wrote back to some kid who drew a picture of a vicious dog holding a big K-bar style knife. The kid wrote that he wanted to be a marine and kill. The Gunny read that and immediately liked that kid. So far I have never been much inspired.

Until TODAY!!!

This was on my door. Someone got this in the mail from some preschool... they thought it was appropriate for my door.

"Thanks Lawson! You're a sharp kid, though no pilot smiles that big standing next to the RQ-1 Predator."

This was on the Canadian Pilot's door... (Close to the canadian flag...)

"The kilt is a nice touch, that is how we knew it was a Canadian in the picture."

An abstract piece by Colton titled "Jalalabad: poppies and dust."

"...I agree."

Any by far the local art critic's favorite!

"That's the spirit kid! We do too!"

Old blogs never die...

2008-11-25T05:44:00.003-07:00

Not all blogs continue their lives as useful fountains of wisdom... or even as convenient ways to secretly stock old flames. What happens to neglected blogs? They don't really rust or rot. Unless they are actively dismantled do they last for ever in perfect condition? I have had quite a few blogs linked on mine. Some have been dismantled... some sit static like unfinished conversations. When does a blog die? Is it the day that it's last post has been posted. It could have finished and no one even knows it at the time. Is it the day that it gets pulled from the internet?

These are a few that had been linked to me. Some sit in an unknown condition of dormant, some are totally gone. I occasionally check with hope to see if they have ever updated or been reinstated. But I fear all these are in a more RIP condition... some obviosly for sure.

(pores one out for the blogs)

http://www.kodjoslog.blogspot.com Kodjo of the Sea
http://roadlesstraveled-tryn.blogspot.com Try-N
http://jestocrates.blogspot.com Jest of Crates
http://forkintheroad-r2.blogspot.com R-also
http://aspiringreporter.blogspot.com/ Lois Lane
http://riverbendblog.blogspot.com Baghdad Burning
http://cheekylilblonde.blogspot.com Tink'
http://blog.jimj.net He with the pointy hat

This brings up another question in my mind. Are there thousands of blogs out there of dead people? I would have to assume so. If I auger in tomorrow, how long will my blog exist on the internet. A lot of these things are fairly conversational... It seems that when one stops posting, it is actually a conversation that isn't finished. Is the modern equivalent of "giving your buddy a stack of letters to send home if you buy it," to instead give your buddy the password to your blog with a post prewritten that he would just publish instead? (Probably not a bad idea actually.)

Another thought... Everyone has heard the usually hypothetical question:

"What would you do if you found out you only had one day/month/year to live?"

Are you thinking about your answer......................................................?

Why the fuck aren't you doing it now! What the fuck are you waiting for? Are you waiting until it isn't a hypothetical question anymore? Good luck with that. The only short lives are those that are lived with fear. Any moment you aren't taking your life where you really want it to go is the real waste. Why do so many "SETTLE" for unfulfilling lives? This is the only game there is... why you benching yourself? Am I the only person that gets a tightness in my chest from thinking that I am not living my life to the fullest?

Next and very related question:

Think of the person you are most in love with... now,

"What would you do if you found out that person only had a month to live?"

Again, think of your answer..............................................?

Why the fuck aren't you doing it?

Ok... that's enough out of me! "Peace, Love, and Action."

Sometimes I even agree with myself!

2008-11-15T07:54:00.003-07:00

I was recently sent THIS by an astute reader and fan.

It is always great when others agree with my ideas too!

Snow and shipping containers

2008-11-13T09:46:00.002-07:00

Hola, amigos. How's it going with you? I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya. I have been neglecting my online life, but I guess I have been staying busy with off line life.

Now that I have straightened out the "blue job" in the minds of a few of my pilots it was time to tackle other important issues. I don't often have to search long for new subjects. Often I find they present themselves... Like earlier this week... innocently... always out of the blue... like a child asking her parents if Santa is real...

I got this question:

"Mr Teacher, is wrestling real?"

How can you answer that question? The guy that asked really likes pro-wrestling. I couldn't break his heart, so I paused to think about the best way to answer this cosmic inquiry. Before I could answer, the guys broke into two viament camps. One clamming that it must be real! With training and good food, they could do all that! The other half arguing, it must be fake because no one can take a folding chair hit to the head. Good arguments on both sides...

The whole thing reminded me of a few discussions I have had in my past... (Most of them in the All Saints Church/middle school parking lot.) After a few moments heated debate, they turned to me to settle this discussion.

The only way I could answer the question was by asking a question.

me: "Are the Olympics real?"

them: "Yes..."

me: "Do they have wrestling in the Olympics?"

Them: "Yes..."

me: "So... what do you guys think?"

Them: "if she weighs as much as a duck, she must be a witch!"

me: "right!"

Them: "So... BURN THE WITCH!"

(I really did get asked if pro wrestling was real... but we didn't conclude that if she weighs the same as a duck, she is a witch... but things are weird here so I just wanted to explain, it would have been plausible either way.) I am just glad that we don't have any folding chairs around in case someone wants to advance human knowledge through experimentation the same way my cousins and I checked on some of the moves from "Karate Kid"... as well as Mr Meiagie's hand rubbing healing techniques.

....Break Break....

This little guy is a tomato plant I found growing naturally along the side of the road. Until it snowed, the tomatoes looked really good.

....Break Break....

So there I was... I had a brown out training sortie planned for yesterday. (basically, I take the helicopter and some students to somewhere that has shitloads of dust, then land on the dust, practicing how to land without balling it up from not seeing anything but the inside of a giant dustball.) Now given that it has rained once in the last 5 month here, I didn't think it would be a problem finding some dust to train in... but as Murphy does around here, he showed up and it was raining and snowing before we even took off. It was only light showers, but still... it seemed that I might be out of luck for blowing dust up when it is wet. What the duce! Is it really possible that the one day I want dust I can't find it?

Luckily not! Afghanistan came through and I had no trouble finding plenty of dust to blow up in the air. Something happened that I hadn't thought through all the way. It can be a lesson to all. So, let's say you fly through a rain shower on your way to a brown out. Rain is no problem, just close the window. Good idea anyways for the up coming dust. Then down into the ground.... Pooff! The world turns brown, cant see anything, but amazingly you are on the ground safe and sound. Yea! still upright and alive. So far so good. Now for the take off. In comes the power, the brown around you darkens as you blow more and more dust up. All is to be expected. This is an instrument take off anyways... "50 meters" call from the other pilot... your peripheral vision should be picking up the real horizon now, why don't you see out side? Are we still in the dust?

A momentary glance out.

What? You have got to be shitting me! The windshield is the transparency of wax paper!

The wet windshield from the rain was fine, until you landed in the dust. All the dust then stuck to the wet glass and now you have a coating of mud to look through! Unbelievable!!! so what do you do? You can't run the wipers, then the plexiglass will be so scratched you will never see through that windshield again... No problem! Open the side window and just fly a little sideways! Easy enough. It is like driving a car with your head out the side when your windshield fogs up from an antifreeze leak in your heater core. But you can't go home yet, you have a whole training sortie to get with these guys. It isn't like you can clean it with the washer fluid, as a helicopter doesn't have such a feature. Another problem... You have never been above swerving into the splash from an oncoming semi when in the winter when the car windshield gets covered in salt. It is usually just wet enough to let me clean a hole to see through... but what is the airborne equivalent of a semi truck?

Hey! is that another rain shower? Close the window, fly into it! Excellent! Like a natural helicopter wash! We could do this all day! Problem solved!

We landed, the maintenance guy look and immediately started yelling! "What is he saying?" I ask the other pilot.

"He asks did you go to school to learn this? Do you plan on planting potatoes on this helicopter?" (apparently it was still a little dirty...

....Break break...

I have seen some amazing things done with shipping containers around here. And, I know that american companies are some of the best at marketing in the world. Leave no markets untapped! right? It was only a mater of time until their powers combined to form:

The mobile tactical fast food restaurant! You can install one of these babies anywhere on the surface of the planet in under 24 hours! I like to think of it as another tool in the arsenal of American world dominance! An authentic italian place is no match for one of these babies! Just install it at night right in front of the door to Italy! We will own the country in a week!

Hump-day!

2008-11-02T05:09:00.003-07:00

It is true... if everything goes according to schedule, I am halfway to going home. I will be celebrating with a non-alcoholic beer and maybe some oreos.

In other news, "The Vegetable" got here a few days ago, so you all can consider me updated on everything 40th. My only recommendation is that if you are a young and possibly fertile woman and don't want to get pregnant, don't stand downwind of the Malmstrom flightline. Though if you are trying to consieve... there is probably a water fountain that all this can be traced to as the epicenter of this epidemic. I leave and the 40th goes from an organization dedicated to chasing women, drinking, and detering the terrorists to a baby factory / nursery! I will assume that someone threw a party with vodka watermelon and nobody warned the women not to eat the seeds.

Seriously though, Congratulations to everyone... and let me know if any of you need godfathers for any of them! (that is a joke...)

A few ground dudes took our pictures this week and forwarded them to me. More fun than landing in the mountains is landing in neighborhoods!

Splash 10!

2008-10-25T12:01:00.003-06:00

By my best guess I am now a double ace at Helicopters VS Kites.

My stats are much lower at Kite VS Kite...

Sure, I do a lot of aviation oriented instruction... but I am also spreading general cultural knowledge and understanding. Thank god I am such a renaissance man and can discuss almost all subjects with authority.

Today's ground training topics:

1) Women's menstrual cycles

Point - Women get a disease every month... they are not clean and you can't touch them. They are dirty during this time.

Counterpoint - True... but amazingly in America it is not against the law to have sex with them during this time. This is what we call in America the "week of blow jobs and advil"

2) Blue Jobs

Point - Blue jobs are very nice! It should be on a schedule! Schedule is very good for man.

Counterpoint - You schedule your blow jobs?

-some discussion passes where it is discovered that "blue jobs" are actually "blow jobs..." and are not the same as penetrating sex... after a brief description of actual blow jobs, I now have a few intrigued but scandalized afghan pilots in front of me. I also told them that it is very polite to your wife if you give your wife the blue job in return to her pussy. (It sounds crass on here, but I have to work with the english words they already know... it got the point across!) I also recommended that everyone involved take showers first! I think that might be vital to everyones enjoyment of blue jobs around here!

3) Tactical Descents into an Unfriendly Area

Point - Lets not circle low and slow over taliban land anymore OK guys?

Counterpoint - Yes...

(we will be practicing this skill more tomorrow in a safer area)

4) Romancing the ladies

Point - Can I tell to American girls, "Make sexy with me!"

Counterpoint - No... that almost never works... you need to make them think it is a good idea first. You know, be romantic!

Point - Can you teach us how to be romantic?

Counterpoint - Yes... Yes I can! Get out your notebooks boys!

5 minutes later...

Counterpoint - No... no I can't... (I gave them the "roses are red, violets are blue..." poem to work with. They will have to figure it out from there.)

Skinny dip in a magical oracle spring in remote Afghan mountains.

2008-10-21T10:08:00.010-06:00

Though doing that was never on my list of thing I need to accomplish... that shit gets checked off as of today!

Today started off like any normal training sortie. Again headed up into the safest province in this country for some navigation practice. One slight difference... this time we had a guy that is actually from the area where we will be landing. The guy hadn't been up to his tribal area in over ten years. That seemed like a good enough reason to stop and eat lunch there to me! I have found that lunch planning is the most important aspect of flight planning around here. (Probably in all aviation other wise Elington Field in TX wouldn't do as well as it does but that's another story.)

Anyways, we get to Bamyan and shut down the aircraft. The same tribal crew arrives to check out who is landing in their village. After all of the completely wacko social situations I have found myself in over the last 6 months... this hardly phases me at all now and I drop mad "Salaam Allah Khoms" to the village greeters like I have been doing it all my life.

This time, the governor is home... so we are invited to go meet her. I can't tell, but I think the guy that is from the area knows her as a friend, but it was hard to tell. Before we could go into her office we all had to drop and leave the ammo from our weapons... including him. Maybe she was just being careful, I imagine a female in charge of a provence would be a target around here. After a few minutes of talking in Dari (I just listened...) the governor ordered two police trucks to carry us where ever we needed. Obviously lunch!

We went to lunch. The food was Kababs, Kably Palao, Naan, apples, and coke-a-cola. Apparently coke has a good marketing department. Anyways, it was served goat grab style on the floor of some room in a hole in the wall of an alley. Literally! The food was great actually. I recommend that place to anyone that finds themselves in the central mountains of Afghanistan.

Conversation at lunch was kept light... in a way only Afghanistan can accomplish. The guy from the area told us that they had build a new bazar in the village because the Taliban had beheaded over 700 people in the old one in one day. Now the old bazar is uninhabitable because as he put it, "the dead don't sleep there." The sound of screaming and crying is still to loud in that area, not only can they still be heard, but the living absolutely can not spend the night there!

C.E. "Today, we not go there..."
Notorious "That works for me, I don't need to meet 700 screaming ghosts today."
C.E. "Hah ha ha! Mr Nick, Now we go collect the magic water! Hah ha ha ha!" (pulls a 5 gallon jug out of thin air)
Notorious "dude, where did you have that thing?"
C.E. "Need the water. Take home today. We go now."
Notorious "Lead the way man..." (I then must go first due to local etiquette)

Minutes later, I am in a Afghan National Police truck bouncing though the mountains on the way to the magic water. (It isn't even weird yet!) This is just a demo of how in third world driving style the horn can be used effectively as a break and steering wheel!

The music changes... (now it is starting to get weird)

We get to the spring/oracle... and find a truck driving around in the creek next to the outflow. I ask about the truck. (the magic water is good for vehicles too...) I guess it was obvious now that I think about it.

Anyways, there is a little stone hut built over the spring. You go into the hut through the hole that is covered buy the tiger blanket. Inside there is a stone shelf that you stand along. The rest of the floor of the hut is actually a pool. The excess water flows out to a creek where it is uses as preventative maintenance for trucks. I looked in there and honestly was a little apprehensive about taking off all my cloths and jumping in that water. The fact that there was about a thousand little fish looking up out of the pool at me didn't help.

The powers of the water are supposed to be something along the lines of a fountain of youth and "Oil of Olay (tm)." It is supposed to make your body younger by bathing in it, maybe cure leprosy, or at least get rid of wrinkles... maybe just pimples. I guess that's enough reason to try it out, why not. Besides, when again am I going to get to skinny dip in a fountain of youth in the remote mountains of central asia... Shit, what if it works!

Alright fish... out of the way.

Sploosh!

Yipe! (cold mountain spring)

Ok, that's enough youth/anti wrinkle cream for me...

Lets head home... back into the trucks.

(in the interest of uploading, just play the first video again to simulate the trip back.)

After a short stop at the cemetery, we head back up to the air field and head back to Kabul.

"Land As Soon As Possible" type emergencies should be avoided if possible in this area...

The news was here.

2008-10-17T00:10:00.003-06:00

I managed to avoid getting filmed or interviewed this time. This time it was an O-5 and up show!

My own comments:

- For those of you familiar, you can find "Sergeant America" jumping around in the background.

- Rahullah is walking around here like a movie star now.

- It looks like they hit a kit with the press on board... damn kites!

2008-10-15T07:04:00.002-06:00

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

2008-10-03T12:32:00.000-06:00

by Ed Bruce and Patsy Bruce (best done by Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson)

Cowboys ain't easy to love and they're harder to hold
They'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold
Lone Star belt buckles and old faded Levis
And each night begins a new day
If you don't understand him and he don't die young
He'll probably just ride away

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don't let them pick guitars and drive 'em old trucks
Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Cause they'll never stay home and they're always alone
Even with someone they love

Cowboys like smokey old pool rooms and clear mountain mornings
Little warm puppies and children and girls of the night
Them that don't know him won't like him and them that do
Sometimes won't know how to take him
He's not wrong he's just different and his pride won't let him
Do things to make you think he's right

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don't let them pick guitars and drive 'em old trucks
Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such
Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
They'll never stay home and they're always alone
Even with someone they love

Ramadan is over, beware of falling party favors!

2008-09-30T00:04:00.006-06:00

Ramadan is over. Lots of celebratory fire going on! I have to admit... it looks kind of cool to shoot randomly into the air to celebrate! Imagine if on Christmas eve everyone went out on the the roof and shot guns randomly into the air after midnight mass... I could get behind that sort of thing! "Khtak khtak Khtak!" (That is Dari and Pashto for "Bang Bang Bang." Though being a devout parishioner of Physics... I went inside. I don't really interrupt some chunk of lead's glorious and divine parabolic trajectory just as it is returning to earth. Who am I to mess with god's plan.

In other news... I watched the movie, "Worlds Fastest Indian" This movie is freaking awesome. I watched it two times yesterday. I don't think I have sat and watched the same movie more than once in the same day since I was 10 years old and watched "Hurbie goes to Monticarlo." several times a day for about a year and a half. This movie is that tits!

It also has a bit of a moral... basically the message of the movie is "Get off your ass and live your life! You want to be a vegetable all your life and die young at 100 years old?" This is probably the most needed message in America today! At least according to me.

(This is a file photo that I had from last years trip to Vegas. I was Bonniville with no wheels, not even a rental car...)

Not everyone is living the same war.

2008-09-27T05:33:00.002-06:00

That being said, I am sure there is some poor shlub guarding a pile of sandbags up some valley watching the helos fly back to major bases each day figuring we are just dilettantes.

Everything is relative I guess...

Crazy neighbors and get it done kind of guys! OH-58D's

2008-09-21T20:34:00.004-06:00

At Ft Rucker, my next door neighbors were scout guys... in training at least. The only time I have ever been called a pussy for not drinking by 0800 on a sunday morning was buy 58 guys throwing cans at my window and inviting me out onto the front lawn. (I was by 0830 though) Despite their disregard for sunday morning sleeping and sobriety, they are some adaptable get it done dudes!

This video is only gets interesting at about the 17 second point...

Kite Fighting: Round One

2008-09-17T09:40:00.015-06:00

It started innocently enough, "Hey mister, hey mister. Give me kite, my kite!" So, I went and gave the kids the kites that came down on our side of the fence. But as you can imagine, if it flies, I wanted to fly one too. (The kite is the purple and white thing on the ground to the left of the black and white pole.)

So, I did. I built one out of a plastic laundry bag and a few sticks. It flies pretty well. Every once in a wile it gets a little squirrly. Not bad for the first kite that I have either flown or made in probably at least 10 years! (I have the gloves on because the kite string is coated in ground up glass shards.)

But I have been told many times, "if you fly a kite in Kabul, it will only be a minute and there will be another kite up to cut it down." They weren't kidding... These guys showed up for the fight.

Like a slow motion killer, the new intruder rises to altitude.

Great... now the French are here... just what I needed, a peanut gallery!

He makes a swoop at my string, I dodge it, but immediately realize that my kite is no where near maneuverable enough to play this game. My only moves are fly strait or fall like a leaf. He seems to be able to do anything he wants with his. Amazing for having only one string... Maybe he won't be able to see mine because it is made out of a clear garbage bag.

Nope... it seems he sees me just fine...

Shit! My line goes slack, my kite flutters off into the distance, my string floats defeated down onto the countryside... The victor alone circles in the sky.

After the fight, I go over to talk... and practice my Dari. The guy explained how he got me...

He let me try. I fly his kite for a few minutes. His kite is much more maneuverable... It feels much more natural in the air. Mine felt like it forced it's way up into the air, where as his seemed almost like a swimming fish.

Rematch tomorrow...

Vortexes and other interesting things to observe!

2008-09-11T08:35:00.005-06:00

I think this country will never stop demonstrating complete absurdity to me. The above picture is of a few huge dust devils that were roaming through the city a few days ago. These were right in the approach corridor, otherwise I would have liked to go look at them most more closely from the helicopter. Beside giant marauding dust filled vortexes, there is plenty of other crazy things around here. For one, I met a Norwegian that was hilarious. Though Scandinavians seem to approach anatomical perfection, they often have personalities like dishrags. (As examples: it is the swedish bikini team, not the swedish bachelor party entertainment team. Also, volvos... supposedly they make a sports car.) But anyways, I met a Norwegian that even made Marines laugh openly. To be fair though, the Norwegian may not have been aware of his sense of humor. Another twilight zone moment... I saw a several huge African guys from the French Foreign Legion dancing with themselves, sober, to a little Latvian blond girl singing Joan Baez songs. ...just ponder that scene for a moment.

In other news, imagination combined with books is fucking incredible! It isn't that I haven't known this, but it seems especially crazy around here. You can just look at a piece of paper... instantly you are on a life boat in the south pacific, or rolling down 8-mile chasing thugs, or in a Richard Feynman lecture... It doesn't even take any work. You just look at the paper, remember to turn the pages, and it happens all by itself. Then the mind blowing part is to close the book, open the shipping container door and there you are in fucking Afghanistan again! Maybe it is just me.

Also,

The more I observe people, the more it seems totally obvious that we are just clever wild animals. The way humans establish Alfa, Beta, through Omega social order, the way people defend territory and personal space, the way people become agitated if routine or surroundings are disturbed. Just clever highly social monkeys. You can trust that I will be reading a lot of animal training books in the future...

I have built my first battle kite! I had my interpreter bring me some glass coated kite string from the market downtown, I built a kite out of a few sticks cannibalized from a crashed kite I found on the airfield as well as a plastic laundry bag. Now, I just need a little wind and we will see what happens. Pictures will follow.

Catholicism... a good way to raise a family, it is to bad it is associated with a religion.

My first online video!

2008-09-04T22:45:00.004-06:00

I wasn't about to be out done by Chestocrate's use of technology to broadcast his adventures. Though the internet isn't fast in anyway around here, (I usually read a book while I am online.) the connection deities left my computer unmolested long enough to upload my first web video.

We are landing in an LZ East of Kabul. This dust isn't as bad as it is sometimes... but it was the what I was able to capture on my camera. Obviously we are -2 on this approach.

It is like Christmas morning.

2008-09-03T05:37:00.005-06:00

The Navy looked around and wondered why are we here in this land locked country. Upon seeing that this is a crazy place for the Navy, they left... today. My Navy roommate rolled out this morning.

0500, The alarm goes off.

A few minutes later I hear some rustling from the back of the container.

"Time to take the Air Force pilots to the pool... and take my last dump in this country!" from the darkness.

"I hope they splash you..." It was the only thing I could think of at the time.

About 15 minutes later I was moving a free microwave and refrigerator into the room. The best thing about someone leaving is scavenging the stuff they left behind. The entire navy leaving all at once meant a lot of bunks and equipment being willed. Sort of like if the dead get to execute their own estate... but without crying and awkward hugs. One guy owed me pretty big so he made sure he hooked me up with his refrigerator and microwave. As excellent as that is, I think there is one Marine Gunny that could probably open a store with all he hauled. In addition to that, my roommate moving out means that I get to move out of what is effectively a hallway into what is practically a private royal chamber.

The Happy Holidays blanket is to keep the dust and sun out... There is a window installed in the back of the container.

About 0545. I check my email. As far as one line emails go, it is a pretty good one.

"Congrats Capt, you are scheduled for a CV-22 transition. Dates to follow."

I don't know what exactly that means as far as where I will be living, but the most likely will be North Carolina for about half a year, then Albuquerque for another year, then North Florida for 3-4 years.

This is a File Photo that I took a few years ago when a buddy flew one up to Montana.

Then to add to the continued awesomeness, my Anti-Missile-Warning-System booted up this morning with out a single glitch. (yesterday it made a Zap-POP noise with a blank screen... then nothing) The Afghans told me that it didn't work yesterday because it is Ramadan... The helicopter is a devout muslim and was probably weak yesterday from fasting. I suppose that could be plausable... the tailrotor gear box also stopped leaking today. Probably the helicopters are breaking their fast when no one is looking.

It was a good day... though it is unfortunate to loose a pretty good roommate, even if he did speak some crazy different language about heads, covers, overheads, racks, mess, and dudeyouneedahaircut. I never did figure out what that last word meant...

"Son, don't let me read about you in the paper..."

2008-09-01T12:38:00.003-06:00

That is all my dad has ever asked of me, and as of yesterday, I failed on a grand scale. All with an order I got a few weeks ago, "Captain, go talk to those reporters... I think they are French, maybe Italian." So it goes... as does my internet anonymity. Where as before a search for my name used to yield only a comment about the Naked Mile at Michigan and some incorrectly correlated links to my Aunt Beth... it will now be hard to hide from this story as it seems to have been reprinted and reposted in hundreds of newspapers across the world.

HERE

As far as I can tell, reporters never fully understand what they are reporting on. In reading the article, I would say that almost every single fact they wrote is technically wrong. They get just enough info to plausibly make up the rest. Shit, even direct quotes get made up! The main ideas get across, but I for one will only consider the very basic ideas of any news story to be true from now on. For this one, I would say... "There are helicopters in afghanistan." that is about it. Though... I have to say, I do dig it a little bit that my name is in world news... even if it does cost some internet anonymity.

I am sure I never gave them my name. I guess I should have worn my Dari name tag that day.

NVG's, romantic like sand in your thunderstorm... and if you don't have a ball, use a dead sheep.

2008-08-24T10:55:00.009-06:00

These are a few experiments with combining Night Vision Goggles and my camera.

To continue the dead animal theme: I was chilling in the squadron building and the power was on. The guys had a TV tuned to some local channel. I couldn't believe what I was watching... I thought it was a game that was made up for Rambo 3... not a real sport that gets locally tellevised! The national game around here is sort of a horse version of smear the queer but played with a dead calf or sheep. The way it works is that there is a dead sheep in a circle. The players try to grab the dead sheep while riding a horse. They then take the horse and ride it with the dead sheep around a flag that is down at the other end of the field. They go around the flag and try to take it back and drop it in the circle. The other players try to stop the player with the dead sheep from dropping the carcass inside the circle any way they can. I think there is usually two teams that play each other, but I am not totally sure. This is a pretty realistic depiction of this REAL sport as it is played here. The fact that this is the national sport of Afghanistan should explain a lot about this country... though I have also been told that, "in Logar province, everybody, they like play the volley ball! Hah hah hah!" (Sometimes I think I miss the humor... sometimes I think things are just that crazy)

Here it is:

Today we had a combination thunderstorm/sand storm... We stayed on the ground for this one.

What do you do when your ride breaks down?

2008-08-17T03:03:00.002-06:00

Nothing more chilled out than hard-broke off home station.

The morning of the big mish and your main gearbox shits the bed, what can you do... I took my cue from Oddball.

Well, as close as I could. Substitute bottles of water and pears heisted from the chow hall and you have the idea. It's amazing how high quality Z's you can catch in the shade of a Hip on a busy flightline. As long as you don't let jet blast and rotor wash disturb you to much, you can chill the most for hours.

And we end this animal's life in celebration!

2008-08-07T04:16:00.003-06:00

There are a few big events that will be taking place... to include a large portion of the Americans that are here will soon be leaving. So of course for good luck and celebration, the Afghans sacrificed a sheep... maybe it was a goat. A weird looking animal of that sort anyways. They called it a sheep.

Superstition... how can you argue with that? At first I thought it was going to be like a sheep cookout, but no... it was really just a sacrifice.

I'll let the pictures speak for themselves...

I was told the meat was given to the poor.

All generalizations are bad...

2008-07-27T10:47:00.002-06:00

and all fanatics should be killed!

OK... just kidding. WEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!

But seriously, I think we may have messed up big time here. Let me explain:

After hanging out in the heart of the former Soviet Union, using their technology, studying their tactics, and getting to know the guys that grew up under the red star... I don't think the USSR and USA are all that different. Granted some cultural differences, but nothing to major. At least, they are certainly not some evil empire that they were portrayed to be when I was a kid.

Playing devils advocate here: Lets say back in the day, instead of the US aiding all the fractured mujahadeen forces and religious wacko groups to help kick out the Soviets, we had left them alone. Maybe the USSR would have still left Afghanistan, maybe not... Maybe the USSR wouldn't have fallen apart. For the purposes of this discussion, lets say that we helped the folks that kicked out the Soviets... Ironically we now we find ourselves fighting in the same freaking country. Maybe if we had left things alone, the USSR would be here instead of us. Maybe the USSR would have gotten the insurgents under control and now in this country people would be studying russian in high school and eating delicious domestic apricots... instead of begging for rebuilt elementary schools and fighting skirmishes to get rice in from Pakistan. (I know a lot of maybes... but bear with me)

Now a short discussion about if people are inherently good or bad... I say neither. All you can do is trust people to act in what they perceive is their own best interests. Weather it is doing homework, dating a guy just to piss off your mother, speeding/not speeding, cleaning the bathroom, having premarital sex, going on the Jerry Springer show, and going church... all these actions are based purely on what one perceives is in their best interests.

What is Civilization? It is not a mater of technology, roads, and indoor plumbing... it really comes down to the scale one sees his own being as. Remember my discussion on organisms... what is the difference between you and your cells verses your country and you? Civilization seems really just to be the scale and cohesiveness of that larger organism. You can't have a civilization if people don't act at least somewhat in a with each other. Civilization doesn't exist because the people build indoor plumbing and roads... the roads exist because the people in the civilization work together to improve everyone's situation.

So, how does this all fit together? Lets go back to the current situation here. Almost undoubtably the average person would be better off here if the Soviet Union was still around and running this place. As it turns out, the average soviet is a fairly reasonable person... were as your average taliban or mujahadeen is not. So who the hell did we help when we were assisting the "Freedom Fighters?"

Maybe what we should have done when the US and USSR were the two biggest supper powers, is worked together. Imagine if the US and USSR had joined forces in the 70's and 80's. I am not saying become one country, but lets say they had stopped fucking with each other's shit. Each let the other run their sphere of influence how ever they wanted...

The civilizing influence of the super powers is not so much in that it directs the people to do as they say... the civilizing influence is that it changes what people perceive is in their own best interests. Though at first that might start out as making the consequences of a particular action negative... like if you shoot your neighbor and take his land you will get sent to jail. Eventually everyone ends up with a stake in the civilization and the self interest is expanded to include the larger group. As in, I don't want shoot outs on my block because I have a shoe store to run... or I don't want to start a tribal squabble with the valley over because all my workers will be fighting and I need them here to work on my farm... The immediate self interest is not worth the disruption of the larger society, thus the self interest becomes supporting the cohesion of the civilization.

Civilization isn't about the big super power telling people what to do, it is about changing what people believe is in their own best interests. The more civilized a person or group of people are is dependent on how large a view they take in what they consider their own best interests.

So, we should have worked with the USSR, divided up the world, made it in people's best interests to improve and strengthen the larger organisms/civilizations they were apart of, then worked together to improve the human condition as a whole.

(My opinion only... sometimes I am not even coherent to my self!)

2008-07-24T02:56:00.002-06:00

I was just getting good at checkers... then I realized we are playing chess. Son of a bitch!

Entomology expedition successful!

2008-07-18T11:14:00.007-06:00

Perhaps one develops a peculiar sense of what is fun around here. (Actual Conversation)

Notorious: "Hey, you want to go look for giant carnivorous arachnids in the dark?"

S*: "Sure! did you bring extra magazines..."

Notorious: "Always! also, lets go with 20 meter spacing, just incase."

I took these pictures tonight. I recommend clicking on the pictures to enlarge them. They are pretty spectacular animals... and much easier to study in a picture where they can't chase and jump at you.

Just for reference, the grating is about 3-4 inches deep...

A closer look. (Definitely expand this picture!)

These are actually different ones. Once we knew what to look for, you can find them all over.

To learn more:

Camel Spiders, My new favorite Solpugid!

2008-07-18T03:33:00.003-06:00

As a standard, every blog from our countries current wars must contain at least one post about the infamous CAMEL SPIDERS! (que sinister music)

No doubt about it. These things are worthy of every post they get! As far as land dwelling arthropods go... Holy Shit! There are quite a few myths about them. They are the size of dinner plates, they are venomous, they attack running camels and tear out their stomachs... etc. To dispel some of the myths, They aren't the size of dinner plates... maybe smallish cafeteria salad plates. (Much better right!) Are they venomous? My intertube research indicates they are not... but just like Mack trucks, they don't need to be to get the job done. I really don't want to get bitten any more than I want a chunk of flesh torn out with small pliers. Last of all, do they attack running camels tearing out their stomachs? I will need more data to answer that... my guess it depends on the camel and it depends on the camel spider. This was my encounter:

So there we were... walking back toward our particular stack of shipping containers. Suddenly! "Whoa!" My friend stops in her tracks. "What is that?" I look down. It was a camel spider about the size of the palm of your hand. It was one of those things that instantly you know not to fuck with. I crouched down to get a better look. My friend circled around it. The camel spider, (who we will call Ralph-Konn from now on,) watched her walk around, then it turned toward her and charged. It literally looked at her, sized her up, decided he could win, and charged! At a normal walking pace Ralph-Konn could easily overtake a person... maybe at a jog too. He was very fast. After a short circling chase, my friend and Ralph-Konn had a stare down. For a moment they both just stood there looking at each other. I was sure that out of this confrontation only one would emerge alive, though I didn't know which for sure. Just incase the Army (she is army) needed some air power intervention I had my 9 mm ready. After a few moments of looking at each other, Ralph-Konn ran to the side of a bunker, lifted the flap door, and went inside.

It was probably the most aggressive animal I have ever seen... including angry stray dogs and UP mosquitos. You could almost see it thinking it's situation over... Amazing! There will be an expedition tonight to try and find more and bigger ones! I'll post pictures if I get any good one!

World population be damned! I need to make some babies

2008-07-16T04:29:00.002-06:00

Alright, I have a mission for some of your reproductive systems... but first a little doctrine.

A few months ago Brohiem suggested the book "Starship Troopers" to me. Believe it or not, it is much more a political commentary than anything else. According to my interpretation, the book makes two main points. First, only those proven to be altruistic should be eligible to participate in the governing of humanity. Second, biologically it is imperative to expand your own population or you will be exterminated.

The first point, I will leave alone for now, the second I will explain the ultimate Catch-22.

Those of you that have ever had the thought, "Shit, the earth is way full of people, to many people in fact. Maybe I should make the world a better place and not make a bunch of babies that will over burden the planet." You are exactly who needs to produce babies! Let me explain. Any population that does not expand, eventually gets over run by ones that do. Right now, it seems to me that the ignorant and fanatical are breeding the crap out of the reasonable and enlightened(ish).

It is obvious that the world would be a better place with fewer people in it. There would be more resources available for everyone, higher standard of life would be more universally available, and an overall healthier planetary environment would be the result. So, many people after thinking these thoughts decide to do their part for humanity and only have enough children to replace themselves... or "better yet" have no kids at all! Initially this seems excellent! You are doing your part for the future of the world.

Now lets be realistic for a moment. Let's say that you decide not to have any kids for the good of future of humanity. Does this mean that the world's population will be any less in future generations? I say not at all! It will still be exactly the same only it will be without your genes in it. The genes that produce people that are rational and observant enough to come to the above conclusion will have now been removed from the gene pool. What does this leave us... the result is that it increases the percentage of irrational people that are capable of believing ludicrous things and decreases the percentage of the population that are observant rational people.

Humanity right now is choosing it's future. It is choosing it with it's reproductive choices every day. So, if you are having sex with ignorant, bigoted, stupid, or irrational people... stop! You are part of the problem... or at least use birth control! If you have thoughtfully come to the conclusion that there are to many people on the planet, consider yourself an enlightened observer of the universe, or if you have a PhD, it is your duty to the future of humanity to reproduce. If you don't someone else inevitably will!

How are we going to progress as life if we are selectively breading out the smartest, most rational, and most altruistic among us?

In conclusion... It is time to "ops check" your pluming, then go get a grad-student pregnant! Or if you are female, don't let your vagina become a clown car... make it into an egghead factory!

Anyone with questions, thoughts, or requests for sperm please leave a comment!

Holy Facebook!

2008-07-11T02:59:00.003-06:00

I don't know how many of you cats are into the facebook thing, but this is an ominously impressive program. I was just looking up an old friend of mine, googling their name. The most promising result was in "facebook." I opened it up to see if it had the contact info I was looking for. It wouldn't let me just look without a profile so I figured that I could make a quick profile and get the info I needed. All I did was put in my name... make up a password...

BLAM!

The screen says something like, "These maybe friends of yours." Indeed... I was looking at a page of pictures of people that I do in fact know. Some very well, some vaguely, but still. How did it know? What information did it use? How did it take my name and make the connections to people from my life? My best guess is that anyone that had done a search for my name came up. I don't know what else it could have used. Later there was a page that used my email contacts to make more connections, but the initial volley of people was very shocking and seemingly out of the blue.

It was one of those moments like when you find yourself in a totally unexpected place for you, and someone in a suit comes up to you and says, "Mr. (NAME), We have been expecting you for some time now. Please come with me."

I had done the myspace thing in the past. I shut that down for a few reasons... but myspace has nothing on facebook. I am pretty sure that it is going to evolve into the real "SKYNET."

________________________________________________________________________

In other news.

Some little kids threw rocks at me from over the airfield fence as I was out running. I would like to say that it was my calm perspective on life that made me take it in stride and not throw rocks back at them. In reality, I pretty much just didn't like any of the rocks that were nearby me. Throwing rocks? What the fuck! I wouldn't take that from little kids in the US.

To be fair, there was some other little kids along the fence that kept saying "Thank you." I suppose it is best to give them the benefit of the doubt and assume they are thanking me for being here. Probably they are trying to get me to give them stuff.

Apparently I have totally misunderstood the Koochee...

2008-07-06T19:51:00.008-06:00

Before all the females reading this start to think "Great! maybe he now will understand me..." no, not at all. You are still a mystery.

What I did find out is that the local nomadic tribe, the Koochee, have a totally different thing going on than I had originally expected. Normally I would not have expected the people sleeping in the dirt, that don't have a wall to their name, and spend their life mostly outside the established society to be the local financial and social geniuses. Apparently they are the richest tribe around here.

I found someone that knew about them, speaks enough english, and was willing to talk about them.

"They come into Kabul, sell two sheep, and they make my entire month's salary..." From the conversation, It sounds like because the animals they tend are so valuable, they actually have the most "capital" of almost anyone in the country. A dude owns a few dozen sheep and goats, a few donkeys or camels, and basically he is finically independent for the rest of his life.

I hadn't thought about that. It pretty much comes down to the fact that they have stayed in control of their own means of livelihood. They come into town to sell a sheep or two and a bucket of yogurt, buy some food, put some minutes on their cell phone, and roll out again. They don't have rent or mortgages, almost no expenses, politics and law don't apply to them, everything they own is self propelled. Now that I think about it, they really have their shit together.

The more I think about it, the better the whole life seems. Now, if I could figure out how to milk a Buick, I would be most of the way there.

Now is a good time for some Classical Archaeology

2008-07-01T11:19:00.021-06:00

I took quite a few Archaeology classes a Michigan. I probably would have ended up as a classical archaeologist if the Air Force hadn't been the ones paying for my school. (Maybe Philosophy...) Anyways, in the spring of 2001, I first heard of the Taliban Regime in Afghanistan. The reason I heard of them was not as most Americans did because of Sep 11, but because of their active systematic destruction of everything that could be construed as blastfamous or against their brand of Islam. I remember seeing pictures and hearing descriptions of hundreds of men going to work for weeks in museums in Afghanistan, smashing every artifact. Then of course the crown of heritage destruction, the reducing of the 1500 year old giant buddhas in Bamyan to sand. There were debates about what could be done, if wether it was a worthy enterprise to spend millions to rebuild the buddhas and preserve an archaeological site when there were starving people nearby... etc.

All this was before Sep, 11... the war in Afghanistan, the ousting of the Taliban, etc. Shit, I was 20 years old. It was even back when I thought flying something pointy and fast was the way to go. I saw the pictures of the artifacts being smashed, felt sick to my stomach, and went on with life. What could I do about a bunch of shit heads in the middle of Asia that want to destroy stuff. So their are assholes in Afghanistan. That won't effect me.

Fast forward 7 years... as it turns out, I am in Afghanistan. I am here and need a place to train the Afghan pilots in tactics and navigation that will keep them safe from what ever threats they might encounter. The problem with "training" in Afghanistan is that nothing is simulated. You plan a training route, and you don't have to say things like, "we are going to assume for training purposes that this route has the threat of ground fire and possible man portable surface to air missile..." because it actually does! So I am faced with the problem of where can I fly with these guys where we can practice before we go play with the real bad guys. As it turns out, the one of the more secure areas of Afghanistan is the nearby province of Bamyan! (It is probably secure because it is almost entirely made up of gigantic continuous 15,000 foot desert mountains... but the Hazara tribe that lives there gets plenty of credit too.) Either way, it is a good place to warm up your defensive skills with relatively low threat. Of course I didn't forget about the buddhas in Bamyan, so conveniently I urge a training route to be planned past them. I figure I might get an interesting picture of the empty holes from the air. Actually... we planned sort of a practice air assault to the gravel runway there. Hey, I'll take a relatively secure patch of flat gravel around here any day!

We had just made the last turn and were IP inbound.

Suddenly, "Dari, Dari, Dari..." on the radio.

My Flight Engineer says to me, "Mr Nick, Aircraft other, he have fuel leak."

We did the auto lead change, became the chase ship, and followed our wingman in. Already lined up to land at the gravel strip so we continued strait in for a roll on landing. On the ground, no problem. They didn't explode, but we need to investigate where and why the fuel is coming out of the aircraft. Secretly I am thinking this is great! Now we have a legitimate excuse to shut down and look around Bamyan instead of the one I was trying to make up.

Just as we shut down, i.e., cut the fuel and no longer have our engines available to take off again... two trucks roll right up to our helicopters and a bunch of guys hop out.

We are pretty committed now... What could we do... I might as well continue the shut down correctly.

After finishing shut down, we lower the stairs and step down the ladder to the dusty ground. I now know exactly what aliens feel like when they lower their ramp and encounter humans for the first time. All these dudes just stared at us with no sound... just stared. Granted the tight tribalness of the Hazaras might make the Taliban unwelcome here, but it isn't super friendly seeming to me either. Well, lets drop some Dari on these cats!

"Salam Alekum." I say. (With appropriate gestures)

"Wah Alekum a salam." is the reply. (Accompanying appropriate gestures.)

That worked! Great! I'll try some more! After all the standard greeting phrases that I know are exchanged... we are at least friends enough to exchange the cheek-kiss-hand-shake move. (note: this is well past the hand up, palm out transition to hand on heart move)

"Hey! where is our interpreter!" By the time the interpreter makes it out of the helicopter, everybody is cheek kissing, hand shaking, and talking in Dari way faster than I can keep up with anything.

After a few more minutes, talking to the lead guy through the interpreter, we are now invited to the provincial governor's house for tea.

I figure it would be rude not to go... Who am I to refuse the provincial governor's invitation to tea? After figuring out the fuel leak we pile into the trucks and head down into the main part of the village. The guy that was driving the truck that I was in seemed to have absolutely no sense of self-preservation when it comes to driving. The primary means of vehicle control for this guy was the horn. A tight blind corner at high speed, no problem a few angry horn honks can't solve! WEEEEE!!!!!!! It's not like the road was gravel, edged with cliff. I think the horn actually increased traction for the tires too.

Gravel ricochetting off the wheel wells, children leaping out of the road like pigeons being harassed, the horn blasting to warn trees to get out of the way... the interpreter, Sophi, shouts to me, "we go now, Buddhas!"

Fuck Yea! I am really going to get to see them!

We drive up to the base of them. I am more than a little trilled! Never did I dream when I was in school discussing the Taliban destroying 6th century monasteries did I ever expect to actually find myself there in person. It didn't stop there. The crazy driver guy has the keys... the keys to the archaeological site itself! Granted he had the key to what amounted to a chicken wire fence with a few posts that is meant to keep keep trespassers out... but either way, we were about to get the grand tour!

This is the base of the larger, female, Buddha.

Me, in front of the male buddha. I have pictures of other people, but for security conserns, I don't post them.

Up inside the monastery. These carved stairways into the rock are pretty steep. They must be about 60 deg or so. It is like being in a giant ant farm. This place is not for people with bad knees or shortness of breath. The entire mountain seems to be tiny crumbly sandstone stairways, all at 8400 feet. It seems designed to make you dizzy and fall to your death.

Looking out on Bamyan Valley from one of the carved caves.

To end the day, we came back with no further problems.

I am pretty sure that this is the area that gets described in the Christopher Moore book, "Lamb."

As I have been thinking about it. It almost seems that the buddhas are more powerful in their destroyed form. I am sure they appreciate that.

For the junior anthropology students out there.

2008-06-27T09:30:00.003-06:00

For those of you that have been curious about the nomads. I took this picture about a week ago. These tents are all over the place randomly in the countryside. Sometimes they are in groups of them up to 5 or so, sometimes single. There are usually people around herding sheep or goats.

Click on the picture to see all the details:

"Holy Airborne Particulate Batman!" or "...tastes like dirting"

2008-06-22T06:10:00.011-06:00

This is posted purely because of my own ego and because I look so good and want you to see too. I could get a grooming standards waver if I needed, but unfortunately my guys all wear big mustaches instead of beards so I would be the odd one if I had a beard. Maybe this winter I will be able to take advantage of it, but I think beards have lost a lot of popularity among guys that want to look young since the Taliban left.

What do they say... "if you are scared of something, the best thing to do is face your fears." That's what this is. Lets combine Hot, High, and Dusty all at once. Can you feel the chest hair growing already!

This series was taken by one of the ANA pilots that was on the ground. We are practicing landing in dust... so we were expecting all this. Though pretty much everywhere around here you should expect this sort of thing to happen... even on the FOB's. My impression so far is that snow is worse to land in... but that may change the more I do this. It seems to me that you loose all the texture of the ground in the snow, and it doesn't quite happen as severely in the dust.

I know, it is pretty picturesque around here... (if you blow this one up, you can see some nomad tents in the background along the horizon.)

A rooster tail, but with out the threat of sharks!

Like being inside the ping pong ball... but orange, and a gritty.

Good, we are still upright in there!

Ok, today some pictures.

2008-06-21T01:42:00.003-06:00

"SPLASH 6"

2008-06-18T08:30:00.002-06:00

I became a confirmed "ACE" today. A few weeks ago i flew through a group of fighting kites. I have no doubt that I took out four of them in one pass. I thought there may have been a fifth, but today for sure I made ace.

Some background information:
Apparently kite fighting is the national pastime around here... along with a horse game like polo but with a dead goat. For kite fighting, they make these kites and glue broken glass and razors on the string. Then fly them over their neighborhoods looking for a fight. If the challenge is accepted, more kites join that one. They fight each other by trying to cut the other kites out of the air using the razors and glass that are glued to the string. The last kite still flying is the victor. From what I hear it is biggest at the end of winter. Then, there can be thousands of kites. Right now it is to hot so there are only a few kites fighting.

Let me put these stories in proper aviation format...

First bout with the Kabul fighting kites!

"So there I was... Low over Kabul. (hands demonstrating low over Kabul) I was looking down into peoples houses and yards thinking thoughts like, 'if only we were in suburban Atlanta there would be hotties topless sun bathing,' and 'what the hell are those sheep eating; dirt, or rocks?' when for no reason but pure pilot instinct, I look up. My first though was "Shit! BIRDS!!!" about a millisecond later my eyes focused on the vertical strings that they were attached to. The thought instantly changed to "Shit! Kites!!!" My body tensed. You can imagine that about the time you are close enough for your eyes focus on kite strings at 200 km/h you are a little to close to effect the outcome to much. There was nothing I could do now... brace myself... nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn't feel it, the aircraft kept flying... nothing at all. That wasn't all that bad. Though I have had uncomfortable dreams about hitting kites several times since then. I survived my first encounter with the fighting kites of Kabul"

New jet, new day.

"So there I was... in a turning rejoin low over a different neighborhood of Kabul. (hands demonstrating a perfect turning rejoin) This one, I saw from a ways off... sort of... My brain saw them and understood them as brown plastic bags. It is windy here a lot so it isn't inconceivable that there could be garbage blown high up into the air. No problem, I'll be passing under them... "Fuck! that's a Kite, nope two of them" was the thought I had in my head, though all I actually said out loud was, "KITE!"

Again, right through the strings damn it.

I looked over at the other pilot. He looks at me and just shrugs.

I just shrugged back. "Thats 'splash six' for us now Hey?"

"TWO... IN... IS?" he says.

"Yep, 'two is in' ...did you see those kites?"

"Dari... dari... dari... dari..." is the reply.

"I don't know what you just said dude, but we are still here so I guess we win today.""

There you go... My two stories of aerial combat above the mud brick walls of Kabul that make me a kite ace. As thrilling as all that is, I don't think I will be looking to tangle with them again. I will also be keeping my hands inside the window when I am low. I don't really want to see what glass shards do to my forearm at 200 km/h.

Some gratuitous helicopter photos... photo.

2008-06-17T05:31:00.007-06:00

I know it has been a wile since I have posted pictures of machines in action. Today though! you are in luck!

...Alright, here is the only picture of helicopters I seem to be able to upload today. I guess that is what happens when your internet is actually just carrier pigeons carrying torn up notebook paper with ones and zeros scribbled on it.