Hot enough for ya?

Monday, May 1st, Deployment Day 37

Baghdad, Iraq


Another day in paradise.

We are starting to get a whiff of what full blown summer will be like here. Yesterday, according to our GI Joe super-action wet-and-dry bulb Army thermometer (translation: lowest bidder piece of crap) that we have set up outside the aid station, it was about 105 degrees. That's hot. How hot? Well, I guess hot enough that the 4-minute walk to the room from the aid station is enough to sap the life out of me. Hot enough that the wind makes it feel hotter, not cooler. Luckily, we're only required to wear full length pants, jacket, hat, and boots. Wouldn't want to get cold.

That said, I must admit that one of my new favorite annoyances out here is talking about how hot it is. Sadly, I'm prone to do it just like anyone else, but in a group I always end up kicking myself because the conversation inevitably turns into somebody saying how "this is nothing" and "last time I was here, it reached 150 degrees in the shade!" or some such similar thing. Then it becomes a pissing contest between people who have been previously deployed, and stubborn Army-guy A refuses to be outdone by stubborn-Army- guy B and what ensues is a ridiculous exchange along the lines of: (there has to be cursing, or this wouldn't be an accurate descpription of infantry guys)

Guy A: "Shit, this ain't nothing, last time I was here it got up to 150 degrees in the shade!"

Guy B: "Yeah, back in Kuwait, though, that shit'll hit 165 degrees like what happened to us..."

Guy A: "Hell, I think one time we was at like 170 degrees in our barracks..."

Meanwhile, I just kind of shake my head and try and stop myself from interjecting with something like, "Shit, one time I tunneled to the center of the Earth and my face melted off - that was hot." Only I'm afraid that the conversation would stop, both parties would stare at me, then after a brief silence, Guy A would say, "Shit, that ain't nothing, sir - one time we was convoyin' in the center of the sun and..."

So anyway its hot out. But apparently not that hot. Yet. Dually noted.

The dogs are no longer a problem in the FOB. I spoke with Ronnie about the resolution of the situation. He was happy they were gone, but he sounded unsatisfied. I guess he and some Seargant went out in a Hum V and Ronnie clipped two of the dogs with his pistol. The other dogs supposedly escaped through a hole in the wall of the outer perimter of the FOB, which is apparently the entry point those dogs were using (i.e. planning their tactical ops from). That's all well and good, I suppose, but the tale raised my eyebrows because there was a "hole in the wall" in the first place. And if those dogs could come in, then what else could? Anyway, the problem has been addressed and I think there shouldn't be any more dogs j- or anything else - coming through the opening. But who knows?

And that's it. Just a quick update today. Also wanted to give a shout out to all my package-senders (Mama Stup, Gwen, Eryn/Liz/PPR, Johny Lesh (Postcard), and James Martin - who wins the head-shaking "what the hell?!" package award. Of course, despite him sending pantyhose, a reggae hat, a coloring book, hair dye, GAY PORN (I'm NOT kidding - I didn't even know there was a magazine called Blueboy....) and other random stuff just for giggles, he also sent multiple books/DVDs/Computer stuff/PSP games most importantly a large bottle of "Listerine" which smelled funny, tasted weird, and tasted strangely well with coke... so awesome work. Boy, did we use that stuff up quick - and our breath has never been fresher. People keep asking what I need - but I don't NEED anything. All the necessities are covered.

Oh, and my unofficial email award of the week goes to Chris Vinnard, who wrote the following line:


"i was eating a steak last night in brooklyn, right after enjoying a
cold beer in my favorite neighborhood bar, and i thought to myself, "you
know, i feel like my freedom isn't quite defended hard enough right now". so
get to work on it mike."

Nice work, Chris. I'm going to re-double my efforts. Jerk.

OK, I'm out - more later.