Let's see if I can't end February the way I started it - with a post.

This is a picture of me circa 1984 after I made a daring escape from East Berlin over "the wall". Not pictured are several snipers, roving spotlights, and a team of German Guards with dogs, all of which I managed to elude.







In an unrelated story, we just returned from Berlin with Gwen and company (family) and a good time was had by all, despite just about everyone getting sick at some point. Gwen herself is currently afflicted, and unfortunately so, for she has been ill for the past three weeks now with consecutive colds. Only her brother Charles and myself managed to escape without illness, but I suppose that there is still time.

This was my second trip to Berlin in two months and I continue to think that the city rocks. This time we had Nate along, who speaks German, and who had lived around the area for some time in the past. He has a local friend named Christina, who was quite nice and who met us several times and told us about the city, Germany, etc. I definitely continue to enjoy meeting locals and learning the subtleties of the culture. I'm also re-inspired to try and finally learn some more German, though progress on that front has thus far been slow and relatively unmotivated. (You get something wrong, and the tutor inevitably screams, "NEIN!!" It's intimidating.)

Gwen and I stayed in the utterly luxurious Hotel Adlon, which is the nicest hotel I've ever had the pleaure to snobbily look down upon others from. Mere FEET from the Brandenburg Gate, it was a lavish and unapologetic way to spoil fair Gwendolyn upon her return to civilization. (The kind of hotel I normally try and rush past security and into while drunk just to say I used the lobby bathroom.) The service was impeccable, the amenities far-ranging, the spa area exquisite, and the bathroom an Eden unto itself. The price was predictably steep, but ultimately worth it. It will be hard to ever travel back to Berlin and stay anywhere else.

Other trip highlights included the Pergamon Museum, famed for its collection of ancient Greek sculpture and an actual Gate of Babylon. The audio guide was sharp, and it was probably one of the highest quality two hour periods I've ever spent in a museum. (Hard to imagine that the famed Babylon was once the height of civilization - especially given its location about 60 miles from modern-day FOB Falcon.)

The rest of the time was spent meandering about and checking out other parts of the city and its many attractions. Through it all, I was even able to put together a decent smattering of photos for my "Mike is an Idiot" compilation (coming along nicely over the years by the way), a few of which I'll post below along with a handful of others.









From the front of the Adlon




At the entrance to the Lord of the Funboys Museum....

Day 15

Late Day at work. Late Dinner. Minimal Post.

And I start being on call tomorrow. So this streak of posts might end right here....

Day 14

Gwen is back, as evidenced by the picture in yesterday's post. (I knew that one would generate comments!)

Anyway, all is well. I won't bore anyone with too many details. She called me at about 6 am yesterday stating she had landed. While she went through customs I drove over to Ramstein and picked her up. I parked the car and she saw me walking from a distance. She started running over, very 1950's movie on the beach type of scene. ("John!"......"Marsha!"...) There was a big hug, kisses, and some tears, all of it was very happy. In short - good stuff. We grabbed her bags, loaded up the car, and sped off. Deployment - over.

I had the morning off but had to work yesterday afternoon. After work, we went out to eat at a Himalayan restaurant and Gwendolyn dove into her first glass of wine in a long time. Her face told the tale of how much she enjoyed it.

This morning it was back to work for me while she started doing some reintegration (aka "re-indoctrination"). Unfortunately, I'm getting sick and I also start inpatient call this Friday and hence the whole long weekend I have to work. But, I took this call deliberately because it buys me a lot of leave time which I will be using the next few months for traveling, relaxing, and spending time with Gwen.

Man, its such a treat to have her back. This place finally feels like a complete home again. Its been a long, long time.

Day 12 - So Very Close

Gwen is nearing as I type. She's either on a bus ride to the airport, at that dreaded Kuwaiti rest stop right now, or sky high in a plane. Either way, its finally happening, and its pretty damn cool.

I've made the final touches on the place so that its presentable for her return. As luck would have it, the housekeeper showed up today and did some good bathroom/kitchen cleaning and sweeping/mopping which saved me the trouble after work. (Our housekeeper, who's sort of demented, kind of shows up every now and then without warning like a ninja. He's unpredictable, but he does manage to clean the place respectably roughly every two weeks. He doesn't really straighten, but he does hit the floors and bathrooms with reckless abandon, which is the real reason we have him. But, he is literally a little bit demented, and he often leaves cleaning products out all over the place, and once I found a skillet, which was cleaned, sitting on a cookie sheet (also cleaned) in the oven, as if it were a storage cabinet. I'm also not sure he understands the German garbage system. We have five cans in our kitchen, one for each sort of trash/recyclable. But when he cleans, he empties them all out and we then find identical bags (even though there are five different types of bags - one for each type of trash) in each can. Something tells me he thinks that we simply have five garbage cans in our kitchen. Something else tells me that all the work we do to carefully sort our trash is going to waste. But I digress...)

Anyway, the place looks good. The Christmas tree is still up, and underneath it are all the presents from Gwen's birthday, Christmas, and other. Tomorrow WILL be a Christmas of sorts, all things considered.

Yesterday (instead of posting), I read through all my Hidden Lair posts regarding my return from the desert. What a journey that is, and I find myself smiling every time I think of Gwen going through the process. Each step, as long and painful as it is, is one step closer, and that makes all the difference.

I remember sitting around a lot, standing in formation a lot, joking with Jeff a lot, joking with my medics a lot. One of my medics had a MAME emulator on his lap top and it seemed we killed many hours at BIAP and also in Kuwait playing various video games.

The most surreal part of my entire journey home had to be the drive from Ali A'Saleem AFB, where final customs is located, to the actual Kuwaiti Airport. We loaded onto buses, after waiting around the customs area FOREVER, and then standing in formation FOREVER. As Jeff and I got on our bus, we noticed that our bus driver looked like Osama Bin Laden. I mean, he was like a dead ringer only he looked a little younger and had a little bit of a shorter beard. But he definitely had the far away sort of detached look in his eyes which wigged us out.

To make things worse, as our bus pulled out, we noticed that it sounded and felt barely functional. It took about two minutes for the thing to get up to 35 mph, and every time Bin Laden Jr. shifted the whole bus lurched back and forth as if the hulk was grabbing it from the back and trying to shake someone off of it. I thought the transmission was going to fall out on to the freeway.

Worse, either the bus or Bin Laden jr. was incapable of driving straight. The bus would make little S-turns the entire time it was moving, curving back and forth in the lane like a cheap skateboard with speed-wobbles. After a few minutes of this, and realizing this bus and the driver were both jacked up, I got a little concerned. And, to make things still worse, about ten minutes into the drive (which takes about an hour and a half), we had to pull over on the side of the road in our long bus convoy and just wait. We had no idea what was going on. Outside the windows, we could see our Hum Vees driving around a little, but there was no motion or activity which signified anything meaningful about why we had stopped.

I looked around the bus and several soldiers had fallen asleep and could have cared less while others like myself grew concerned. Here we were, so CLOSE to being out of there, but we were stopped for some reason - no one knew why - and Bin Laden Jr. was driving our bus with a look in his eye like he could have cared less about swerving the thing into oncoming traffic. And even if he DID care, the bus might have made up its own mind with one ill-timed shift lurching us into a sharp turn.

After what seemed like forever (about thirty minutes), we finally started rolling again. And again, the bus was a train wreck all over the road, and at this point its performance solicited several comments from passengers like, "Hey! What the f*** is wrong with this thing?!" or "Dude - can this guy not drive straight?"

I remember turning to Jeff and we shared a look that indicated, "Hey, if we don't get out here because of this bus, or because Bin Laden Jr. here does something stupid, then we both agree to kill him before we die, right? Right."

It was all very nerve-wracking. Luckily, once the bus got on the main highway, it didn't have to shift much and then all we were dealing with were the manageable, if not ideal, speed-wobbles. We ended up making it with out much to-do, but I remember that sinking feeling of being so close and just imagining something going wrong.

But, it didn't. And as the ride steadied out a little I remember settling down some and just looking out the window towards the Kuwaiti houses and buildings in the neighborhoods off the side of the road - tired thoughts drifting between relief to be leaving and disbelief at my previous eight months. Mostly, though, I was thinking about how I couldn't WAIT to get the hell out of there, and about how much money they could never pay me to live in Kuwait, Iraq, or any other part of the middle east.


Something tells me Gwen is in a similar state of mind right about now...

Day 10 - The Awakening of My Netflix

I did just about nothing today.

I slept in, getting up around 10 am. After breakfast and checking email, I started a several hour long process of cleaning up the house in preparation for Gwen's arrival. I kept this weekend purposefully lightly scheduled on the off chance that she might get in earlier than planned. Unfortunately, though, she's still at the mercy of Army (Tm) and still stuck in TQ as I type.

After hours of straightening and organizing, a phone call with Gwen, some laundry and a couple of Madden games (I know - thrilling), I made some dinner. I made it out the house exactly once today - to throw out some garbage. It was cold as I recall....

After dinner, still in pajamas, I watched "The Last Picture Show", which is a Netflix rental that I brought to Iraq with me. You read that right. I got the movie here, back in early 2006. When I deployed, I brought it with me thinking I'd get around to it, but I didn't. When I came back, I brought it back. Tonight I finally watched it. The movie itself was solid if a little depressing.

But perhaps not as depressing as my Netflix account. Netflix, which is as most people know, is a cool rent-DVDs-by-internet service, charges you about 20 bucks a month to have 3 DVDs in your possession at a time. You watch one, mail it back, and another one comes. All the mailing is free. Its an awesome service, convenient and easy, and I absolutely love that its given home movie viewers a great alternative to the infernal Blockbuster. (May Blockbuster rot in hell.)

When I lived in Seattle, the turnaroud time for a Netflix DVD in the mail was about two or three days, which was great. Out here, its closer to about a week or more. In Iraq, the turnaround time is about two weeks. (Not that *I'd* know, of course. This is information that comes from Gwen, because she actually used her Netflix account down there. She even expanded it up to 8 DVDs, for more money naturally, because of that vast turnaround time.)

My Netflix account, however, has been dormant for ages. I've taken to calling it my Netflix donation, because that's exactly what its been. For exactly NO service, I've been paying netflix.com about 20 bucks a month for the past 12 months. The last time I sent a movie back or got one in the mail was probably early March of 2006, maybe even February (actually I just checked on the website - it was 2/27/06). Tonight, I watched my first Netflix movie since then. So one could argue that for the three DVDs I have now, and which have been in my possession since March 2006, I've paid about 240 bucks in rental fees. Strong work me.

I don't mind so much, though. Obviously this isn't an efficient use of money, but I've never been known for that anyway. Netflix is a good company, and I like to think of my 20 dollar monthly donation as a big middle finger to Blockbuster, which (as you might be able to tell), I hate. (Though I'm certainly not alone...)

Anyway, its good to have Netflix back in gear. And here's hoping that anyone reading this has a more exciting Saturday night.

Day 9 - My NEXT night off

Yup, sorry.

I'm on the run here. Back from work, out of the shower, and now off to dinner. If I get back before too late I'll try and post something more substantial. For now, just keeping the streak alive.

Now go use this time to learn something.

Or, if you want to see what Europeans love, watch this.

Out!

Day 8 - My night off

OK, brief post tonight. I played hoops earlier, got home late, ate dinner, entertained guests briefly, and now I'm left with no time to post and I have to get up early tomorrow.

You know what isn't fun? Knowing your girlfriend has to get on a helicopter after reading about 38 straight days of helicopter crashes (as a result of enemy fire) in the news. Ugh. BUT, she made it out of Ramadi, and is now in TQ. That means she will no longer be riding any choppers. It's all planes from here. Boo ya.

And with that, I'm off. Don't expect much of a post tomorrow either. I will throw something together, but not much, as it looks to be a busy day and going right into some wicked Euro night-life. I'll be back Saturday, though, probably with something in more detail. Doing daily posts like this is tough! But I'm sticking with it.

Hope you've enjoyed the month so far. Let's end with a random picture - this is a picture of me from January 1st, 2007, in our Pension room in Berlin. I'm wearing Army issue long underwear - which is actually high quality stuff - getting ready for a day and night on the town in the cold. We call this get-up the "Ninja Suit" for obvious reasons. I thought it made me look like a cross between a Ninja and Dieter from Sprockets. And I think the picture bears that theory out...


Day 7 - When Eryn Attacks - Part 3

In keeping with my new blitzkrieg mentality of more frequent, shorter posts, I'm going to begin documenting the rest of Eryn's trip. I won't be doing all of "Part 3" in one big long post, as originally planned, however. Instead it'll be a little bit more of a day by day approach for the remaining five days of the trip.

And with that, I now bring you back to Wednesday, January 3rd, 2007....

Fresh off of our Berlin trip, Eryn and I knew we'd probably be sleeping in the next day. And it turned out to be true. We DID, in fact sleep in. I know, I know - fascinating stuff. Upon awakening, though, we immediately motivated. We made coffee, had a snack, and started up a rousing second game of Twilight Struggle. It was to be a big day indeed. (One of the running jokes of the trip was about how we were such early motivators - out of bed by 5 am, followed by a 60 minute run, etc. , every single day. And funny every time.)

Around 2:30 pm or so, we finally made it out of the house. We went into downtown K-town, and hit up the Brauhaus with our travel guides for some lunch and to map out the last few days of the trip, which at that point were still up in the air. When the surly German (I realize those two words together are starting to sound redundant) waitress heard our order, she paused and gave us a puzzled look. At first it wasn't clear why, but when the food arrived, all was understood. We each ordered a salad and also an entree. Only when the salads arrived, in 14 inch bowls, it became clear that the salads were ALSO entrees. Moments later when the actual entrees arrived, there wasn't even enough room on the table for all four gigantic plates plus drinks. The waitress sported a fairly solid "you guys are idiots" glance in our direction while holding our true entree plates as we hurredly rearranged everything on our table to attempt to make room.

But despite appearing like binge eaters (average Americans), we did manage to map out a gameplan for the rest of Eryn's trip. We paid the bill and headed out.

That night, with no great travel plans on the horizon, we decided to go ahead and do some Go-Kart racing. I had heard from several sources (Pete, Libby, etc) that these Kart races were a lot of fun, and certainly something to see. They were also reported to be borderline unsafe. The Germans, being much less worried about law-suits than we "it couldn't possibly be my fault" Americans, apparently set up a track with uber-Karts where the only limitation on how fast you drive is, as Pete put it, "Your fear of death." Also, there were reports of local Funboys hanging around - guys who did this stuff all the time and brought their own custom Funboy helmets and everything. And best of all, this place apparently had a bar upstairs - thus encouraging drinking and not just driving, but drinking and racing. So naturally we had to check this out.

Sure enough, the attraction did not disappoint. We found the place and walked in to the sounds and visuals of zooming carts going what appeared to be mach 2 around a mini formula-one style track. (At least they appeared to be going mach 2 - but maybe that's just because the last go karts I remembered seeing were the battery powered wussy ones at Family Fun Center.)

Eryn and I went upstairs to inquire about race information. Races are scheduled, and you can pick a 10, 20, or 30 minute race, all for different prices. Not sure on how long of a race to try, we opted for the middle option and got ourselves a starting time for a 20 minute death-match. Along with that, we had to buy these cool Ninja Hoods for a few Euros to go on underneath the helmets for sweat collection. So now we had uber-karts, funboys, ninja hoods, and a bar. We immediately decided that this place rocked.

We waited for our race time and made conversation with some others who were going to be in our race. There were about six or eight others, guys and girls, all appearing to be mid-twenty somethings. We found out that they were all only doing a 10 minute race, so it would be just Eryn and I alone on the track for the latter 10 minutes of our 20 minute race. Now the guys in this group weren't quite Funboys - more like Pseudo Funboys - but once we started driving it became clear they knew what they were doing out there and had been there before.

A few minutes before the start of our race, we went downstairs and got our "rules" briefing. The rules were simple - different colored lights posted around the track and different colored flags meant different things, like caution, or stop, etc. I got the feeling from the Funboy briefing us that the various rules were mostly for show (i.e. he could have cared less), and I was amused to learn that there was one flag, which if waved at you as you drove by, meant something along the lines of, "Get out of the way - you are too slow and someone is trying to pass you - oh and by the way you suck at go-kart racing."

The other chuckle-worthy part of the briefing was how dismissive he was if you wrecked and got stuck on the edge of the track somewhere.

"If you wreck, is best you push yourself out," He explained in accented English. "Otherwise, you raise hand and I have to come over. This takes much time. You are better off getting yourself out."

Translation: Don't bother me unless you're in a fiery crash and may be seriously hurt. Even then, I may or may not actually come over...

After our briefing we got to our respective cars. It turned out that E was in the pole position and I was in the second car. Behind us were all the other drivers. That was probably a mistake. The correct order should have been: 1)Experience Local Pseudo-Funboys first, 2)Eryn and I next, and 3)Timid appearing chicks last. But oh well, it made the race more interesting I guess.

Before long it was time to go and after donning our helmets, fastening our seatbelts, and having our engines started, we were ready to rock. Eryn zoomed out ahead of me and a few seconds later a flagged was waved in my general direction and I was cleared to start as well. The cars all had computer chips on them which functioned as lap-time recorders, so at the end of the race we'd know exactly how fast we'd run every lap - pretty cool. (And thus, given the staggered starts, its not really a race at all in the truest sense - more like a competitive time trial.)

Now the track is sort of hard to describe (see the pictures to glimpse at least part of the track). Most of it was fairly curvy, and there were 2 or 3 legitimate hairpin turns. The middle portion of the track was a large straightaway. This proved to be the most dangerous portion of the drive, because you could slam the gas down here and really open it up. But by the end of the straightaway you realized you were still acclerating and already going at a breakneck pace, and you had to make a hard right. So you'd brake and turn and the cart always felt a little "unstable" to me at this portion of the track. In essence, the straightaway was so dangerous because you could get the MOST speed (you could never get these things to full speed, simply because the track was too curvy) before you had to decide if you wanted to survive the turn (at the expense of losing some of that mind-numbing, euphoric, ludicrous speed, which, I'm telling you, was a tough call on every lap) or not. The critical decision point came when you had to either slow down and be a little safer, or preferred to try and maybe make up an extra split second on your opponent at the possible cost of pitching into a full on roll-over fiery wreck. Either way, I would describe the speeds obtained near the end of that straightaway as "unsafe", at best.

It took a few laps to get the hang of the track, and I think before the second full lap I had already sensed one of the Funboys on my ass and I had to let him pass. My main goal was to keep Eryn in sight, which I did fairly well initially, even getting right up near him, though its hard to tell if that was from my wicked-skilled driving or simply track clutter in front of him. After a few laps people were piled up all over the place and we were all forced to slow down at times. The timid girls especially caused problems with this. (And I'm sure that to the Funboys - Eryn and I were ALSO timid girls of a sort. I was half expecting to hear "Hey Dummkopf, get out of de' VAY - you are SLOW-boy! HAHAHAHAHAHA!" as they neared and ultimately passed me with some techno blaring. Sadly, this didn't happen.)

After ten minutes passed, all the racers save Eryn and I were escorted off to the side, back to their pits, and their race was over. At that point, I felt like my race could EASILY have been over too. These carts had manual steering, and the constant turns at speed had my forearms burning but good. Ten minutes is a LONG time to race. After twenty minutes, I felt like I had spent a weekend rock-climbing.

Eryn was still ahead of me when it went down to two of us, so I set about chasing him down. I started to get close and was feeling good for a bit, but at one crucial point I actually bumped him directly from behind - which slowed me down and sped him up. After that I never caught back up. I may have closed the gap a little, but then he'd widen it again, and so on. All in all, time-wise however, it felt like we had run a pretty even race.

When the twenty minutes were finallyup, we pulled our dragsters into the pits, and got up, forearms absolutely ablaze. We went upstairs and checked the lap sheet. As predicted, we did actually run a very even race lap by lap, with each of us basically splitting the number of laps that we were faster on. We took a few final pics of the place, turned in our helmets, kept our ninja hoods (which we were for the entire rest of the trip), high-fived and took off.







Day Six - The Imminent Return

Gwendolyn is coming home soon. Very soon. There will be more to come about this as the days approach, of course, and I suppose that the very topic will soon come to dominate the rest of this month's posts.

In short time, Gwen will fly away from Ramadi, and then out of Iraq, to Kuwait, and finally to Germany. And then something magical will happen. I'll actually get to SEE my girlfriend again.

When I try to wrap my head around the fact that I haven't seen Gwendolyn since Tuesday, January 17th, 2006, I just can't quite do it. It's too surreal. It seems like a LIFETIME ago. And as her return approaches, my giddiness rises. I'm like a 10-year-old in mid-December waiting for Santa to come. (Only in this case, Army-style, its like Santa is coming in from the desert - not the North Pole - and he has to fly on a C-130 rather than a sleigh. And before he can really get going, he has to wait in formations for hours at a time, only to disband and be told to come back in two hours to wait some more. And he has to wear body armor and a helmet for a large portion of the journey. And of course the date for Christmas isn't fixed. Rather, its being worked out over an interval, and it's dependent on helicopter-friendly winds, military protocol, operation security, civilian charter contracts, gun-truck escorted bus rides to the Kuwaiti airport,German customs, and.... Well I guess its a little different.) Regardless, the anticipation mounts with each passing day, and as I move about the house I find myself looking at furniture and thinking, "Soon Gwendolyn will be sitting in that chair!" or "Soon Gwendolyn and I will be watching movies on this couch!" (or, "Soon Gwendolyn and I will be in this bed and..."), and the like. In short, I cannot wait.

I have been able to sense a distinct elevation in her mood during our phone conversations the past few weeks, which has been awesome. Whether or not she realizes it, she's becoming her old self again. And it's a phenomenal feeling to return from deployment. I can vividly recall my own emotions upon coming back, and I find myself smiling at the prospect of her encountering those same experiences. There are good times ahead.


Today in thinking about all this I went back and re-read my post about when she left. It's a sad post, and it recalls a sad day, and even now when I read that post and I think about that awful night my hands shake a little and I nearly tear up. Feeling helpless to soothe someone you care so much about as they march inevitably toward further misery is a gut-wrenching sensation. But at the same time, there is something to be said for the magnitude of power in that emotion. Because as low as I was that night, as horrible as I felt for her, I know that it will rebound and then some the second I have my Gwendolyn back. And THAT feeling - when we first embrace - is something I'm really, really looking forward to.

There are indeed good times ahead.

Day Five - Super Bowl "Monday"

Perhaps the thing I hate most about living in Europe is that it makes being an NFL fan a complete pain in the ass.

I watched the Super Bowl last night (Monday here), which kicked off at approximately 1 am in the damn morning. Ugh. Having had a long and exhausting weekend, I shunned a couple of parties I was invited to and decided to watch the game miserably from my couch, where I knew it was likely that I'd be napping frequently.

Sure enough, after a flurry of first quarter turnover-based excitement, I found myself yawning more and more frequently until I finally zonked out by the mid-second quarter, only to wake up in a daze (and feeling like crap) to Prince's shimmying hips sometime near the end of half-time.

Last year, I remember watching the Super Bowl here in Germany, at a similar time, but at a friend's house. For Gwen's sake, I was rooting hard for the Steelers, but I remember it wasn't a very good game, being punctuated by poor quarterback play and horrid officiating. By about 3:30 am, I found myself in one of those "moods" one tends to be in when awake needlessly in the middle of the night - bleary-eyed and with headache - and I was even more pissed because I had stayed up so late to see such a mediocre game.

This year wasn't much different. The game was better, or more enjoyable anyway, but by the end I was extremely fatigued and of surly disposition, and found myself half-yelling, half-yawning things like "Just run out the damn clock so I can go to bed you assholes!" while rubbing my eyes in drained disgust.

I was in bed by about 4:30 am. Luckily Landstuhl was kind and gave us all the morning off - literally a Super Bowl holiday - but it doesn't mean that the game is any more pleasant to watch in the middle of the night.

This sort of thing happens all season long, and for the most part, all Sunday and Monday night football games are out. The one exception I make, of course, is for the Giants, and sometimes I can't even manage to watch them, especially if I'm in for a busy day at work the next day. And should I stay up and watch, and should the Giants lose, the depressed anger is amplified because I realize at 5 am that I basically stayed up all night to watch my team lose a football game.

The only other part of my Super Bowl experience that is worth relating is the fact that, like for ALL games I watch out here, I have to watch it on AFN (Armed Forces Network). So instead of getting all the normal Super Bowl mega-commercials (which I hate anyway, come to think of it), I have to suffer through something worse - hours and hours of mind-numbing AFN "ads", which seem extended somehow during the Big Game because there are so many damn TV timeouts.

So rather than watching hot chicks walk around with Dorito bags, I'm relegated to some Air Force Tech Sgt telling me about "Combat Weather Balloons" or some old hag reminding me, in low-budget video, to "eat vegetables every day". There are also a score of ads especially for the Big Game, which consist of NFL players thanking deployed service members for all they do. This is fine, though in standard AFN fashion, they are shown over and over again a MILLION times. (And I can only take Dallas Clark telling me how thankful he is for all that I do - at 3 in the morning - so many times before I want to punch him and every other player right in the face.)

I shouldn't complain TOO much (even though its fun) - I should be thankful that AFN even exists out here to let me watch the games at all. But its hard when forced to be awake at 3 am just to watch the Super Bowl.

As for the actual game, my favorite things were a)the size of Billy Joel's head during the national anthem, b)Rex Grossman being simply awful, and....well, and that's it.

I was too tired to remember much else.

Day 4

I had a great time yesterday.

The shin-dig for Medic Platoon 2-6 started yesterday at about noon-ish. Pete and I rolled in at 1:30 or so. The event took place in a small banquet hall at the Baumholder Golf Course. Within moments of walking in, I had a beer in my hand and was making the rounds talking to everyone, shaking hands, giving hugs, laughing and catching up. I was all smiles upon seeing the guys that I had spent nearly eight months with in Iraq. No longer armed, sandy and tired-appearing in dirty uniforms, these guys were now bright eyed, upbeat, and often proudly holding their small children.

The cocktail portion of the day lasted for a few hours, and then there was a short award presentation for some of the medics and NCOs who were leaving for other units. There were some pretty moving speeches for some of these guys, and at times it definitely got pretty emotional in that room. I found myself clapping vigorously at each award presented, feeling immense pride for recognitions well deserved.

After the ceremony, a bunch of us went out to a bar for a few hours, and then we headed back to the barracks where there was a keg. Pete and I treated whenever possible for the evening and we just had a great time. My PA Jeff and several of the medics got pretty drunk, which was incredibly amusing. Being in the barracks for a party was interesting - like being back in college but without any women.

It was pretty damn cool to see all these guys again, now, in this state. At times during deployment, I had seen them at their lowest, trying to make sense of death and destruction, sometimes with shaking hands and dusty faces having just come back from a mission where someone had gotten hurt or killed. And last night I was seeing them smiling, telling stories, enjoying themselves. Pretty powerful stuff.

I harp on this a lot, but I'm going to say it again. I have a lot of respect for those guys. As medics, they are forced into an ugly situation in Iraq, doing daily patrols in horrible areas. They have no say in anything, because most of them have low rank. They are the victims of our continuing bad tactics (i.e. continuing to "patrol until you get blown up", as we called it down there), trying to function in a situation that is simply an utter mess. They get paid very little. They complain at times, but certainly not as much as they are entitled to. When someone goes down, they run instantaneously to help despite the fact that substantial danger may linger in the immediate area. Many of them saved several lives, and many of them had good friends die mere feet away. There is a lack of pretention in these guys that is rather inspiring. To me, they are an impressive lot, and as I told many of them last night, if and when I see any of them out and about in the future they won't be paying for any of their own drinks.

I realized that almost all of my gnarliest "war stories" come through their eyes and their experiences. And if there is any "Band of Brothers" sentimentality to my own war experiences, then it definitely comes through these guys.

I took some pics of some of the guys I knew best. Some of the guys have myspace pages, and I've linked where I could find them. Check em out if you have a free moment - its a fascinating glimpse of the mentalities of the individual soldiers who are really fighting this war.







SPC Diebold

This guy led the platoon in being on the most patrols hit by an IED. He was hit 25 times, and unfortunately has hearing damage that will last him a lifetime. He's applying to school, wants to go back to San Francisco, and I'll probably be writing him a letter of recommendation. He's not a fan of the war.




PFC Brock

Brock worked predominantly in the TMC with us because a bad shoulder kept him off "the line". One of the best video game players I've ever known. We had many epic battles of Mario Kart in the aid station. (He usually won.)






SPC Fulcher

The best story teller of the bunch, this guy is hilarious. Tended to think he was Rambo. He would come by the aid station and tell us all about his patrols - I learned a lot about what the war on the streets was like from this guy. Was one of the medics on the scene when Doug got killed. Between he and Taylor (below), and by virtue of their horrendous patrol area, saw more horrible war-shit than anybody else in the platoon. By the same token, saved more lives too.





SPC Taylor

The biggest war hero of them all. This guy was put to the test several times and has nerves of steel. Just a stud medic. Was put in for a bronze star with valor for a specific instance of providing life saving care under fire and a secondary blast, but, because of crappy army politics, he didn't get it - which makes me shake my head in disgust every time I think about it. He's being featured in an upcoming documentary.





"Mister" Bailes

He's getting out of the army tomorrow and would be offended if I put his (old) rank. This guy used to run a restaurant and is an amazing chef. He joined the Army out of "boredom" one day and two deployments later, says he's regretted it ever since. One of the most thoughtful and insightful guys I encountered down there. An absolute pleasure to be around.





SFC Harris

Sgt. Harris was our platoon seargent, the head NCO of the platoon. I can't say enough good stuff about this guy. Just a class act and the gold standard of good NCO leadership. I have the utmost respect for him and the way he handled himself and the platoon down there. He also kept me from looking like an ass (as best he could) in front of infantry guys.


More myspace links to some other medics:

SPC King

SPC Gorman

SPC Iga ("Bridges of Madison County..")

SPC Boyd (THEE Halo 2 legend)

Day 3

Today Pete and I are heading into the depths of Baumholder, which is home to the Second Brigade of the First Armored Division - better known as the unit I was in Iraq with (and the unit Pete still unfortunately has to work with). My specific (former) battalion, the 2-6 Infantry, is of course there as well. My specific (former) company, the HHC Company - also there. And of course, the medic platoon, which consisted of all the medics, Jeff, myself, our MSC Officer, and our NCO's.


Today I revisit those guys. Through Jeff and Pete, a little get together has been organized and so we're all heading up there to hang out, tell war stories, and drink some beer. Should be a good time - I haven't seen much of Jeff or any of the medics since "Re-integration" (great eerie military term) completed in mid-November.

I'm really looking forward to it. I certainly didn't love being in Iraq, but I do have many fond memories of those medics and I was always proud of the stuff they were doing, outside the wire, everyday, quite literally saving lives, often while under fire or near secondary IEDs, etc.

They are a good bunch of guys and I can't wait to buy 'em a few drinks and catch up. I'll bring my camera.

More on this in a later post - right now I gotta get going.

Day Two

Man, this is going to be tough.

Got home a little while ago - just had time to shower and now its nearly time to go out to dinner and maybe a bar or two later. This is my ONLY window to post for the day. And I have to do this for a month? Yikes.

February 2nd is Groundhog's Day, which is important to me for two reasons. First, its my sister's birthday. "Little Mal", as she's affectionately known by my San Diego boys, and who probably remember her mostly as a happy-go-lucky little kid who was always running around the house, watching "The Little Mermaid" (seen by her, and by proxy me, no less than a million times), and who was fun to tease and wrassle, is 22 years old today. So happy Birthday Sis! Mally is currently finishing up college (at Baylor in Waco, Texas) and is applying to med school, and having several acceptances already, is waiting to hear from a few more schools before making her decision on where to go. She is nearly ten years younger than me - and the fact that she is applying to med school makes me feel old. It seems like only yesterday I was hot on the interview trail myself, styling about in a new suit and telling my interviewers how much I "liked science and helping people." But that's what time will do, I guess. So anyway, here's to Mal. She's the coolest!

Secondly, Groundhog's Day reminds me of the movie "Groundhog's Day", which is an epicly hilarious Bill Murray flick. Watch it.

So nice work on those two things. And with that - look at the time! I'm out!

See you tommorrow I guess....

The February Experiment

Here goes nothing. I'm going to try something. Something sassy. Something crazy. I'm not sure what inspired it (maybe Iwan's blog?). I think I just want to try and post more.

And here it is: For the record, I'm going to try and post every single day in February. I promise nothing, of course - I might bail out by February 3rd. And I certainly don't promise a slew of meaningful commentary. But I'll give it an effort. Let's see what happens. (And its likely best to prepare for some uber-mundanity... "Today, I brushed my teeth BEFORE showering - can you believe it? " etc...) Hopefully it won't be that bad, but one never knows.


February is a good month for this sort of thing, I think. It's shorter, first of all. This month is also special (read: rocks) because Gwen is coming home and that'll be pretty effin' cool. I'm also still working on that last part of Eryn's trip (Yes, still. The trouble with that is the pictures need some re-sizing because they are all so huge [see the berlin pics] courtesy of my new camera. Also, I have video, actual video, of a club in Munich, so I need to get that up here somehow. So there's some technical issues. But its coming. Some day. I promise.) Then there's the Chamonix ski trip I never fully documented. Oh, so much to do. But with a post a day, anything's possible.

All right, with that I'm out.

If you're a Sports Guy reader, make sure and check out his Photo Diary of Media Day at the Super Bowl. It definitely had me cracking up a good bit.


Also, this is one of the last pics I took in Iraq. Bullet in my teeth. Bad haircut. Got it.