messiestobjects

A Ruminous Bandersnitch

    It's been a busy year, including banner trips to the Mile High City, Dublin, Alaska, and New Orleans. School kept me hella busy on top of work, and my blog pays the price. I took a lot of math classes this year, which left me without fun school papers or class arguments to post. But on the bright side, math no longer intimidates me. In fact, I've discovered that I'm actually pretty good at it. The secret, which I heartily ignored in my high school days, is to apply yourself. Who knew?

        Julie and I went out to the Starlight diner in Allentown to meet her college friend for an annual cookie exchange. Overhead was this massive flock of birds. They seemed to be flying north, but maybe they were just milling around. It made me think of something I'd read that said that, before the Europeans got here, massive flocks of birds were an extremely common sight. The pictures don't really convey the size of the flock, but I'd never seen so many in one formation.

    Nature has gotten a bit more removed in the present day, encounters with it more unusual. Not to sound like some hippie douchebag. But it was pretty cool.

    In the New Year, I'm looking forward to more cool trips—including another upcoming New Orleans-for-fun-trip—and finishing up my Associates degree with a 4.0. Also, I need to decide whether to go into deeper debt for my Bachelor's degree. The problem with online classes is that there are very few options; I haven't found an online Bachelor's degree that's anything other than a general liberal arts sort of thing or a too-specific-field sort of a thing that I'm not really interested in. I sort of would like to continue in the maths and sciences, but there don't seem to be any colleges that offer those online. Decisions decisions.

The Sheepdog Mentality

    Have you ever wondered what soldiers, cops, and other protectorly types really think of people who don't like guns? Several years ago, I found a transcript of a speech given by Dave Grossman at a military base while I was there for a job —I was not present for the speech itself. When I read it, my initial reaction was extreme indignation. I was going to post it then, but I decided to sit on it instead. The transcript fell behind my desk and escaped my memory for a few years until this past week when, during an intensive office spring cleaning, I rediscovered it. As I read it, I found that age hadn't changed my perspective very much. In it, he refers to the non-gun-toting 53% of Americans as "sheep," and tells any gun-owning citizen with a concealed weapons permit that if he leaves his home without his gun, he may as well say "baa."

    Now, by pulling that out of the context of his speech, I expect any non-gun-owner to be sufficiently outraged. It's insulting. But putting it into the context of his larger speech, it is slightly less insulting. Slightly. He actually makes some good points, and it's easy to see why he believes what he believes. But there are a couple of fundamental problems with his assertions, and there are some frightening implications, not least of which is that in my job I come into contact with a lot of people who are rabid gun-carriers, and who clearly have a sense of righteousness about the idea of carrying a concealed weapon. Many of those types of people that I talk to tend to be middle-aged overweight white men with average intelligence and an apparent sense of impotence. I don't mean sexual impotence; I'm talking about that feeling you get around someone who clearly thinks of himself as a hero, yet has never had the chance to be one. There are of course many heroes in the cop and soldier business, and I don't mean to denigrate noble action. But there are many, many more frustrated, unactualized, would-be John McClanes who yearn for the chance to use their weaponry and prove to everyone that they are worth something.

    At any rate, I get the feeling that Grossman and his views have had a large impact on the "responsible" gun-owning society that seems to exist largely behind the scenes to many people in America, particularly to liberals who don't have much contact with those types. So I'm going to post the transcript in full and discuss the issues I have with it in between in blue.

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     Everyone has been given a gift in life. Some people have a gift for science and some have a flair for art. And warriors have been given the gift of aggression. They would no more misuse this gift than a doctor would misuse his healing arts, but they yearn for the opportunity to use their gift to help others. These people, the ones who have been blessed with the gift of aggression and a love for others, are our sheepdogs. These are our warriors.

     One career police officer wrote to me about this after attending one of my Bulletproof Mind training sessions:

     "I want to say thank you for finally shedding some light on why it is that I can do what I do. I always knew why I did it. I love my [citizens], even the bad ones, and had a talent that I could return to my community. I just couldn't put my finger on why I could wade through the chaos, the gore, the sadness, if given a chance try to make it all better, and walk right out the other side." -Even the bad ones. This is the first indicator that it is normal to label certain people as "bad." I'm not saying that there aren't bad people, I'm just saying that it's unwise to make such judgements without more qualification. What does he mean by "bad?" Gay? Muslim? Shoplifters? Welfare recipients? Or does he mean to suggest that he even loves terrorists? It's all very condescending.

     Let me expand on this old soldier's excellent model of the sheep, wolves, and sheepdogs. We know that the sheep live in denial; that is what makes them sheep. They do not want to believe that there is evil in the world. They can accept the fact that fires can happen, which is why they want fire extinguishers, fire sprinklers, fire alarms and fire exits throughout their kids' schools. But many of them are outraged at the idea of putting an armed police officer in their kid’s school. Our children are dozens of times more likely to be killed, and thousands of times more likely to be seriously injured, by school violence than by school fires. -This is an interesting point, or would be if he compared school violence to something a bit less controlled than the school system's gigantic efforts related to fire prevention and emergency evacuation. How about prescription medication overdoses? I get that he's talking about just that, the need for preparedness in the case of school violence, but it's not clear that having armed guards in every school is actually a proven way to deter violence.

     But the sheep’s only response to the possibility of violence is denial. -So then the sheepdog's only response to the possibility of violence is more violence? Hmm. Did he steal that idea from the Bible?- The idea of someone coming to kill or harm their children is just too hard, so they choose the path of denial. I'd like to see some evidence for this claim besides a bold assertion. As near as I can tell, most parents worry themselves to crow's feet and grey hairs about their kids' safety. Grossman chooses to interpret a distaste for armed security guards in schools as denial rather than as a healthy skepticism of the effectiveness of such methods. Homes with guns in them are associated with an increased risk of firearm homicide and firearm suicide in the home itself. There is no reason to suspect that it would be any different in schools with guards, what with them leaving their guns laying all about for any depressed or homicidal student to pick up.

     The sheep generally do not like the sheepdog. He looks a lot like the wolf. He has fangs and the capacity for violence. The difference, though, is that the sheepdog must not, cannot and will not ever harm the sheep. Any sheepdog that intentionally harms the lowliest little lamb will be punished and removed. The world cannot work any other way, at least not in a representative democracy or a republic such as ours. Ugh. This metaphor is perhaps meant well, but if Grossman really believes that all types of people have a place in society, that everyone has something to offer and that "sheepdogs" are merely another such type, I find it disingenuous that he would choose to use such denigrating language.

     Still, the sheepdog disturbs the sheep. He is a constant reminder that there are wolves in the land. They would prefer that he didn’t tell them where to go, or give them traffic tickets, or stand at the ready in our airports in camouflage fatigues holding an M-16. Or not search your adult diapers at the airport, nor make obnoxious comments about your private items, maybe even don't arrest journalists covering events that the government doesn't like, or not pepper spray students SITTING DURING A PEACEFUL PROTEST. The sheep would much rather have the sheepdog cash in his fangs, spray paint himself white, and go, "Baa." Yes, clearly our distrust for authoritative gun-toting security types is all about a sheep-like denial of the possibilty of violence. Grossman seems to be in denial about the fact that we are too often at the mercy of the idiocy of people given sheepdog-like authority.

     Until the wolf shows up. Then the entire flock tries desperately to hide behind one lonely sheepdog. As Kipling said in his poem about “Tommy" the British soldier:

While its Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall behind,”

But it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind,

There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,

O it’s “Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind.

     The students, the victims, at Columbine High School were big, tough high school students, and under ordinary circumstances they would not have had the time of day for a police officer. They were not bad kids; they just had nothing to say to a cop. When the school was under attack, however, and SWAT teams were clearing the rooms and hallways, the officers had to physically peel those clinging, sobbing kids off of them. This is how the little lambs feel about their sheepdog when the wolf is at the door. Look at w hat happened after September 11, 2001, when the wolf pounded hard on the door. Remember how America, more than ever before, felt differently about their law enforcement officers and military personnel? Remember how many times you heard the word hero? Here he makes his strongest point. Yes, absolutely, when bad things happen it is good to have a strong good-guy around. It is not denial, however, to recognize that the last time that Homeland Security created an entirely new nation-wide security team in response to a threat, we got the TSA, an amalgam of untrained security guards whose ineptitude has been a constant source of amusement, scandal, and ineffectiveness ever since. Yeah, let's do that again, but with children and inept guards with guns instead. I agree, it's a subject worth discussing, but I find it odd that the regulation of gun sales in a manner similar to the way we regulate driver's licensing is somehow more worthy of the sneering claim of "denial" than the idea that more guns won't solve the problem of violence.

     Understand that there is nothing morally superior about being a sheepdog; it is just what you choose to be. Also understand that a sheepdog is a funny critter: He is always sniffing around out on the perimeter, checking the breeze, barking at things that go bump in the night, and yearning for a righteous battle. That is, the young sheepdogs yearn for a righteous battle. The old sheepdogs are a little older and wiser, but they move to the sound of the guns when needed right along with the young ones. He's really stretching this metaphor. I wonder how he deals with the cognitive dissonance in stating that there is nothing morally superior about yearning for a righteous battle while the sheep go stick their heads in the sand. Perhaps he simply doesn't really mean what he says, and is just trying to downplay the aggravated sense of moral superiority that he actually seems to have a very difficult time hiding.

      Here is how the sheep and the sheepdog think differently. The sheep pretend the wolf will never come, but the sheepdog lives for that day. After the attacks on September 11, 2001, most of the sheep, that is, most citizens in America said, "Thank God I wasn’t on one of those planes." The sheepdogs, the warriors, said, "Dear God, I wish I could have been on one of those planes. Maybe I could have made a difference." When you are truly transformed into a warrior and have truly invested yourself into warriorhood, you want to be there. You want to be able to make a difference. Most of the Citizens of the US are sheep. Well, on that we can agree, though perhaps for different reasons. I'd like to know, though, why he thinks that most people pretend that the wolf will never come, or that bad things will never happen. I think he misunderstands the motivations of people who aren't crazy about guns and violence. For myself, I know that bad things will happen, that there are batshit lunatic jihadists out there who want to kill me for saying that Mohammed was a murderous pedophile, and more charlatan than prophet--as are all prophets. The difference is that I choose not to live my life in fear. I am glad that there are men out there who want to prevent crazy people from destroying the lives of normal people, but the problem is that they are not always the best types of people to perceive where the actual threats are. To hijack Grossman's metaphor, I once saw a sheepdog bark at a squirrell in a tree for ten minutes while a fox happily kept an ear on him from the safety of the henhouse.

     While there is nothing morally superior about the sheepdog, the warrior, he does have one real advantage. Only one. He is able to survive and thrive in an environment that destroys 98 percent of the population. Besides admitting that a sheepdog's only advantage doesn't necessarily have anything to do with critical thought, I think he again underestimates common people. I have been in some scary situations: I've had a gun pointed at me outside of Saddam's gigantic mosque, I was 100 yards away from an explosion in Iraq, and I walked weaponless down Karrada street, by myself, in Baghdad in broad daylight during the spring of 2004 to get some schwarma at a popular restaurant. I also used to drive a bus full of Iraqis every day down route Irish, the most dangerous road in the world at the time. I knew that something bad could happen, but I've always believed that if you live by the sword, you die by the sword. If I had had a gun when that Iraqi security guard caught me taking pictures of the mosque, he probably would not have stopped me to ask questions.

     There was research conducted a few years ago with individuals convicted of violent crimes. These cons were in prison for serious, predatory acts of violence: assaults, murders and killing law enforcement officers. The vast majority said that they specifically targeted victims by body language: slumped walk, passive behavior and lack of awareness.  They  chose their victims like big cats do in Africa, when  they select one out of the herd that is least able to protect itself.

     However, when there were cues given by potential victims that indicated they  would not go easily, the cons said that they would walk away. If the cons sensed that the target was a "counter-predator," that is, a sheepdog, they would leave him alone unless there was no other choice but to engage.

     One police officer told me that he rode a commuter train to work each day. One day, as was his usual, he was standing in the crowded car, dressed in blue jeans, T- shirt and jacket, holding onto a pole and reading a paperback. At one of the stops, two street toughs boarded, shouting and cursing and doing every obnoxious thing possible to intimidate the other riders. The officer continued to read  his book, though he kept  a watchful eye on the two punks as they strolled along the aisle making comments to female passengers, and banging shoulders with men as they passed.

     As they approached the officer, he lowered his novel and made eye contact with them. "You got a problem, man?" One of the IQ-challenged punks asked. "You think you're tough, or somethin'?" the other asked, obviously offended that this one was not shirking away from them.

     "As a matter of fact, I am tough," the officer said, calmly and with a steady gaze.

     The two looked at him for a long moment, and then without saying a word, turned and moved back down the aisle to continue their taunting of the other passengers, the sheep. I love this story. I've heard a hundred blowhards tell stories exactly like it. I'm not saying it's not possible, I'm just saying that 9 times out of 10, this is the way the guy imagines it will go down the next time, or if he had had his gun on him, or if New York street punks were still living in bad 1970's movies. I've also often noticed that stuffy authoritative types frequently mistake kids acting in a macho or overly confident manner--or who are simply having a noisy good time--as punks who are trying to throw their weight around. People who follow authority like sheep...dogs... don't like people who question and/or disrespect authority. Think I'm just making shit up? Hey, my anecdote is just as good as his.

     Some people may be destined to be sheep and others might be genetically primed to be wolves or sheepdogs. But I believe that most people can choose which one they want to be, and I'm proud to say that more and more Americans are choosing to become sheepdogs. Stats, please. Although, I don't disagree. There is a definite mindset in government offices that I see more and more of.

     Seven months after the attack on September 11, 2001, Todd Beamer was honored in his hometown of Cranbury, New Jersey. Todd, as you recall, was the man on Flight 93 over Pennsylvania who called on his cell phone to alert an operator from United Airline about the hijacking. When he learned of the other three passenger planes that had been used as weapons, Todd dropped his phone and uttered the words, "Let's roll," which authorities believe was a signal to the other passengers to confront the terrorist hijackers. In one hour, a transformation occurred among the passengers--athletes, business people and parents-- from sheep to sheepdogs and together they fought the wolves, ultimately saving an unknown number of lives on the ground. Grossman is kind of all over the place with his sheepdog stuff. But I want to draw attention to the way he claims Todd Beamer as a sheepdog here. Beamer was a Christian who graduated from Wheaton College. He was a field marketing rep for Oracle, and he was not in the military and as near as I can determine, he never carried a gun. Now, he does fit the sheepdog mold in that he was ready to go into action, but as we will see, he also fits the sheep mold according to Grossman.

 

"Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?"

"There is no safety for honest men except by believing all possible evil of evil men."

- Edmund Burke

Reflections on the Revolution in France

     Here is the point I like to emphasize, especially to the thousands of police officers and soldiers I speak to each year. In nature the sheep, real sheep, are born as sheep. Sheepdogs are born that way, and so are wolves. They didn’t have a choice. But you are not a critter. As a human being, you can be whatever you want to be. It is a conscious, moral decision.

     If you want to be a sheep, then you can be a sheep and that is okay, but you must understand the price you pay. When the wolf comes, you and your loved ones are going to die if there is not a sheepdog there to protect you. If you want to be a wolf, you can be one, but the sheepdogs are going to hunt you down and you will never have rest, safety, trust or love. But if you want to be a sheepdog and walk the warrior 's path, then you must make a conscious and moral decision every day to dedicate, equip and prepare yourself to thrive in that toxic, corrosive moment when the wolf comes knocking at the door.

     For example, many officers carry their weapons in church. They are well concealed in ankle holsters, shoulder holsters or inside-the-belt holsters tucked into the small of their backs. Anytime you go to some form of religious service, there is a very good chance that a police officer in your congregation is carrying. You will never know if there is such an individual in your place of worship, until the wolf appears to slaughter you and your loved ones. I wonder if Jesus wished that he and his disciples were packing that day in Gethsemane?

     I was training a group of police officers in Texas, and during the break, one officer asked his friend if he carried his weapon in church. The other cop replied, "I will never be caught without my gun in church." I asked why he felt so strongly about this, and he told me about a police officer he knew who was at a church massacre in Ft. Worth, Texas, in 1999. In that incident, a mentally deranged individual came into the church and opened fire, gunning down 14 people. He said that officer believed he could have saved every life that day if he had been carrying his gun. His own son was shot, and all he could do was throw him on the boy’s body and wait to die. That cop looked me in the eye and said, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself after that?" Hey, that's a nice anecdote. I've got one too. One time this guy brought his gun to church, and he accidentally shot a young girl (the pastor's daughter, actually) in the head and killed her while showing it to a friend. He had a concealed weapons permit and everything, and being such a well-trained individual he was thus a guaranteed deterrent against church violence. I wonder how hard it was for him to live with himself after that?

     Some individuals would be horrified if they knew this police officer was carrying a weapon in church. They might call him paranoid and would probably scorn him. Weird. Yet these same individuals would be enraged and would call for "heads to roll" if they found out that the airbags in their cars were defective, or that the fire extinguisher and fire sprinklers in their kids' school did not work, or if some lunatic didn't have to pass a psych test before getting a concealed weapons permit. They can accept the fact that fires and traffic accidents can happen and that there must be safeguards against them. Their only response to the wolf, though, is denial, and all too often their response to the sheepdog is scorn and disdain. But the sheepdog quietly asks himself, "Do you have any idea how hard it would be to live with yourself if your loved ones were attacked and killed, and you had to stand there helplessly because you were unprepared for that day?" Or how hard it would be to live with yourself if, as a church pastor, you encouraged your "flock" to bring their concealed weapons to church and then some moron shot your daughter? "Shit," you'd say, "If only guns were better regulated."

     The warrior must cleanse denial from his thinking. Coach Bob Lindsey, a renowned law enforcement trainer, says that warriors must practice "when/then" thinking, not "if/when." Instead of saying, “If it happens then I will take action," the warrior says, "When it happens then I will be ready."

     It is denial that turns people into sheep. Sheep are psychologically destroyed by combat because their only defense is denial, which is counterproductive and destructive, resulting in fear, helplessness and horror when the wolf shows up. Yes but, there are many truths about life which one can deny. If you deny that more guns mean more death, period, are you really a sheepdog? This denial turns you into a sheep of another kind. If you deny that US policies have had a direct effect on the desire for terrorists to attack us in the first place, what kind of sheep are you then? (I don't like Ron Paul, but when even right wing nuts like him start accepting facts, gun nuts like Grossman ought to do some soul-searching.)

     Denial kills you twice. It kills you once, at your moment of truth when you are not physically prepared: You didn't bring your gun; you didn't train. Your only defense was wishful thinking. Hope is not a strategy. Denial kills you a second time because even if you do physically survive, you are psychologically shattered by fear, helplessness, horror and shame at your moment of truth. This is where he really begins equating sheepdog-ness with gun-carrying. If you don't know how to use a gun and you don't have it with you, you are a sheep. Granted, he appears to be addressing cops and soldiers and if he was talking only about cops and soldiers being prepared in the line of duty then he would be far more difficult to argue with. But Grossman goes on the circuit on a regular basis in favor of the second amendment and more guns more guns! Guns in schools! Guns in church! If everyone had a gun and was prepared to use it, what could go wrong?

     Chuck Yeager, the famous test pilot and first man to fly faster than the speed of sound, says that he knew he could die. There was no denial for him. He did not allow himself the luxury of denial. This acceptance of reality can cause fear, but it is a healthy, controlled fear that will keep you alive:

     "I was always afraid of dying. Always. It was my fear that made me learn everything I could about my airplane and my emergency equipment_ and kept me flying respectful of my  machine and always alert in the cockpit."

-Brigadier General Chuck Yeager

Yeager, An Autobiography

     Gavin de Becker puts it like this in Fear Less, his superb post-9/11 book, which should be required reading for anyone trying to come to terms with our current world situation:

".. Denial can be seductive, but it has an insidious side effect. For all the peace of mind deniers think they get by saying it isn't so, the fall they take when faced with new violence is all the more unsettling. Denial is a save-now-pay-later scheme, a contract written entirely in small print, for in the long run, the denying person knows the truth on some level."

     And so the warrior must strive to confront denial in all aspects of his life, and prepare himself for the day when evil comes. How about confronting the denial that the world is an extremely dangerous place in large part thanks to US policies? And that perhaps the best way to get terrorists to stop being terrorists is to stop terrorising them?

     If you are a warrior who is legally authorized to carry a weapon and you step outside without that weapon, then you become a sheep, pretending that the bad man will not come today. No one can be "on" 24/7 for a lifetime. Everyone needs down time. But if you are authorized to carry a weapon, and you walk outside without it, just take a deep breath, and say this to yourself... "Baa." Todd Beamer walked out without a gun, and so did Chuck Yeager, two men he held up as prime examples of sheepdogs. Apparently you don't need a gun in order to combat either fear or terrorists, after all. I get that he's making a larger point about readiness, which I actually agree with. But his point about weaponry is erratic and full of bullet holes, and he is trying to falsely equate the two things. Bad things will happen, yes. But be strong and face life with your chin up and your eyes open, not with your mind closed and hiding behind a gun. In any case, Grossman's attempt to claim every hero as a sheepdog and then to turn around and say that real sheepdogs all carry guns is schizophrenic.

     This business of being a sheep or a sheepdog is not a yes-no dichotomy. It is not an all-or-nothing, either-or choice. It is a matter of degrees, a continuum. On one end is an abject, head-in-the-grass sheep and on the other end is the ultimate warrior. Few people exist completely on one end or the other. Most of us live somewhere in between. Since 9-11 almost everyone in America took a step up that continuum, away from denial. The sheep took a few steps toward accepting and appreciating their warriors and the warriors started taking their job more seriously. The degree to which you move up that continuum, away from sheephood and denial, is the degree to which you and your loved ones will survive, physically and psychologically at your moment of truth. Ah, the halcyon days of post 9-11. If only people lived in fear like that every day, and more easily allowed the eroding of civil liberties and the ascention of authoritative fascists bent on manipulating us through those fears. It's true, if I don't have a gun I might be less safe from terrorists or mass-murderers. But with a gun, I've surrendered my confidence to a piece of metal. I choose to carry my manhood somewhere else. Speaking in terms that Grossman would understand, I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees. In any case, there are no easy answers to Dave Grossman's deep and disturbing fears, but he is in a denial just as debilitating as that he envisions the rest of us are in when it comes to the reasoning of "wolves" and the best options for solving our problems of violence. He clearly holds a simple view of good and evil, cannot conceive that his "side" is not the Light Brigade, and thus can abide only a simple, aggressive solution and will deny that anyone who thinks differently is anything other than a sheep.

Ode To Motel Malibu

   EDIT: Julie and I just spent the weekend in glorious Cumberland, Maryland. It's a sort of could-have-been kind of town, with a seemingly pleasant pedestrian district where there are far too many skinny tattooed cuddermen wandering around with their shirts off, and a bank lobby that looks like they built it as a set for Mad Men. At any rate, I only bring it up apros pos of this older post because we stayed in a shitty Holiday Inn right next to a train station, where we heard the constant chugging of trains all day and all night! It was terrible! We loved it! It reminded both of us of our 3 week honeymoon in Europe, which we spent predominantly riding on trains.

"I Don’t Know Why People Are So Keen To Put The Details Of Their Private Life In Public. They Forget That Invisibility Is A Superpower." - Banksy.

"People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you're not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are The Advertisers and they are laughing at you.

You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity.

You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don't owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don't even start asking for theirs.

Any advertisement in public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It belongs to you. It's yours to take, rearrange and re-use. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head" - Banksy

"The Art we look at is made by only a select few. A small group create, promote, purchase, exhibit and decide the success of Art. Only a few hundred people in the world have any real say. When you go to an Art gallery you are simply a tourist looking at the trophy cabinet of a few millionaires..." - Banksy

After checking out the aspens, I drove down into Park City, Utah. I almost decided not to even stop in town because from the road it sort of looked like a typical cutesy American main street chock-a-block full of quaint shops, which depresses me. So many American towns sell themselves as Historic or as a good tourist destination when in reality all that they have to offer is a short stroll past shop windows and Galleries full of crap. However, the Sundance Film Festival is held in Park City every year, so I figured there might be something worth seeing. I parked on a hill, walked down some steps that led to an alley which exited out onto Main Street Park City. And just as I was getting to the end of the alley, before I even really caught a glimpse of the town, I did a double, triple, quadruple take at the above work of graffiti on the wall. I recognized it immediately as a Banksy! Well, and not just because the locals framed it with a big BANKSY nameplate, neither.

"The human race is an unfair and stupid competition. A lot of the runners don't even get decent sneakers or clean drinking water. Some people are born with a massive head start, every possible help along the way and still the referees seem to be on their side. It's not surprising some people have given up competing altogether and gone to sit in the grandstand, eat junk food and shout abuse. What we need in this race is a lot more streakers." - Banksy

Needless to say, I stood around that corner for about a half hour taking shots, not even really noticing that my assessment of Park City as yet another whimsical trade street was otherwise entirely correct in my desire to use it as background.

"You're mind is working at its best when you're being paranoid. You explore every avenue and possibility of your situation at high speed with total clarity." - Banksy

Although I love Banksy's work, embarrassingly it was a bit of time before I came down off of the high of discovery to actually think about the meaning of the piece very deeply. I mean, my initial assessment was that it was a sort of anti-film industry statement and I left it at that. Then when I'd gotten off a few shots and calmed down a bit, I started to feel a bit stupid as I began to suspect that the joke was on me and my need to photograph everything, and that's the type of mania that Banksy was lampooning. I got a little shy and surreptitiously looked around to make sure that the locals, who were probably in on the joke by now, weren't laughing at me. Nothing too overt, but a girl walked past and I swear that she snorked at me.

"We can’t do anything to change the world until capitalism crumbles. In the meantime we should all go shopping to console ourselves." - Banksy

Then I decided that I had better study it more closely. I slowly began to realize that maybe it was more of a comment on places like Park City; People find a beautiful bit of nature and WHAM! Ruin it by plunking down a town full of boutique shopping, ski slopes, spas, gigantic resort hotels that resemble Hogwarts and a million vacation houses which, due to the non-stop real estate frenzy, wind up all facing and contemplating each other, thus destroying the open natural beauty that had made the area a popular destination in the first place.

"People say graffiti is ugly, irresponsible and childish. But that’s only if it’s done properly." - Banksy

Feeling satisfied that Banksy wasn't necessarily having a laugh at my expense and being happy with my pictures, I wandered through town for a bit casting internal aspersions on the stupid snorking girl and continuing to contemplate the piece. One thing that Banksy is right about for sure; seeing a work of art in context is much more thought provoking than seeing it on a wall in a highly secured building, or in a book. I imagined that there was a reason he chose to paint that particular piece in a town where the rich and famous gather in obnoxious droves every year to celebrate themselves. I eventually decided that perhaps it was a comment on art and celebrity in the media, how in the race to put something under the microscope and on film for exploitative purposes, you destroy what may or may not make it valuable. Then I saw some photographs of aspens in the shop window of a gallery. I "ooohhhed" and "ahhhed" in the privacy of my hypocritical head, and went in to see. Inside is where I learned about aspens, and also that the reason that Banksy had been in town was for the opening of his film "Exit Through The Gift Shop". He street arted the place up, and then later on the locals framed it with pride for him. I'm not exactly sure what Banksy's current stance on permanently framing his work and hanging his name on it is, but I suspect he has complicated emotions about it. The gallery attendant told me of another small piece that Banksy had left behind (and also locally framed), and where to find it.

"I'd been painting rats for three years before someone said "that's a clever anagram of art" and I had to pretend I'd known that all along." - Banksy

He's famous for his rats. They're a bit of a trademark; better than a tag, really. At any rate, by the time that I left town, I'd decided that the main piece could probably mean any or none or all of the things that I went through thinking it might, which is the great thing about seeing it live. Though the Banksy book that Julie has will always be one of my most treasured rat books, isolated on the page I got much less highly dignified contemplation out of his hundreds of great pieces than I did from seeing that one where it was meant to be seen.

"Sometimes I feel so sick at the state of the world I can’t even finish my second apple pie" - Banksy

The only other thing in town that tickled my fancy was an advert for a certain beer in a bar window. Normally I wouldn't have cared much, but being in Utah, with the Mormons and all, I was compelled.

"I used to tell everyone I met to be an artist..... I don't do that any more." - Banksy

Rockets Rockets Everywhere, And Not A Spot To Think

I went on a couple of jobs this month to places that were interestingly related. I was in Minot, ND a few weeks ago, giving a computer security exam on the Air Force base there to military personnel responsible for well, computer security, on the base there. Minot AFB is one of two bases in the US which apparently contain our largest stockpile of Nuclear Bombs. They proudly display an old Minuteman I Missile as you enter the base.

I didn't know that before I got there, that I was going to be aiding and abetting our Nuclear arsenal personnel, and I admit I felt a keen sense of ambivalence when I found out. (That sounds like nonsense, doesn't it? A keen sense of ambivalence?! Kind of an oxymoron; however if you've ever had that emotion you'll know what I mean.) I mean on the one hand, I will always feel the guilt of aiding and abetting our previous administration's dishonest and uber-destructive war reconstruction in Iraq. And so here I was again, in a position of compliance with the most immoral weapon yet conceived by humanity's spinal column thinkers. However I also feel that as long as nuclear weapons exist, well then by gum they oughtta be secured and if my small presence there as an exam proctor allows those with the crucial duty of keeping our warheads safe from being hacked to do their jobs better, then I suppose I feel good about it. Much as I hate nuclear weaponry and wish they'd go away, I don't want them getting lost or stolen!

Wait, what? Uh... do you guys remember that 2007 incident where some nuclear warheads went missing? Yeah, it happened at Minot. They were transporting some ICBM missiles (just the missiles, without the nuclear warheads attached) from Minot to the other big nuclear bomb site in Louisiana, so they loaded them up onto a B-52 for transport, and forgot to remove the warheads. A little bit later, someone was doing their, what, Bi-annual inventory checklist? And said "hey uh, where're those, um, y'know, nuclear warheads that are supposed to be on that shelf over there?"

Meanwhile, there were some very surprised cargo unloaders in Louisiana. "Hey uh, dude? Are we getting paid danger salary today? Do you know how to unscrew a nuclear warhead? Well, I'm sure we can figure it out."

Jesus. Here's a nice shot of some B-52s I got from the public highway.

I hope I don't get in trouble for posting that photo. I shouldn't; like I said I was on a public highway and it's public knowledge that they have bombs and B-52s there, and if they can't be bothered to hide their runway from view on the highway, then I can't see them being bothered to worry about the occasional photo showing up online.

ANYway, so my next job this month was to Huntsville, Alabama, also known as Rocket City. A different kind of missile history, home of Marshall Space Flight Center (itself the original home of NASA) and Space Camp. I had a job for a company that is involved in space and defense contracting, and that was a much better feeling. I think Space is really really cool. I don't know if you know that about me. I got to go to the Rocket museum there.

That was sweet. I did all the kid stuff; saw a 3D movie about Mars, an Imax about our moonwalk missions, and climbed around in old rockets and spacejunk. They obligingly placed some of their items in such a way that taking a wry picture was possible. Space rockets, War rockets, and a carnival ride; whee America!

Barock The Votebama!

Nothin'. I got nothin'. I just wanted to put my little play on words out there. You know, for happy election day. Which, by the way, is today if you're voting for Obama, and next Tuesday if you're voting for McCain. Yeah, it's a new rule. Like early voting and superdelegates. It's a new rule that's going to be used by the losing side to accuse the winning side of vote fraud. If Obama wins, you watch; FOX News will be making innuendos, (In your endos) if not outright accusations of electoral fraud related to early voting or perhaps, ironically, some sort of shady business at the polls in Ohio & Florida. That would be awesome. And if McCain wins, FOX News will be all like what? That was fair.

On the other hand, if McCain wins, that's exactly what me and Oliver Stone will be saying. Or perhaps not... I did go see W. last week, and it's disappointingly short of conspiracy theories. He didn't even try to cover the shady business in Ohio or Florida back in 2000, Ted Kennedy's accusations of fraud in 2004, or that day with those flying tin can thingies and the buildings that fell down and went boom. Maybe he's saving those subjects once the not-as-crazy-as-they-once-seemed conspiracy theorists get a chance to self-publish their investigative material.

But what was great about W. was the Rorschach Test that is Dubya. On the surface of the movie, Dubya came across as a pretty normal guy who constantly has more food in his mouth than a person normally should. Interesting depiction, by the way. Even while he was making the worst Presidential decisions imaginable, he seems pretty well meaning, even affable, if misguided perhaps. But hardly the demon he seems like from a distance. But if you look closer, after the credits roll and you've thought about it a bit, it's a more damning portrait than you might at first glance think.

I'm not going to say much about it though, because like I said, it's a Rorschach Test and the important thing is what you take away from it, if you ever see it, not what I think. I'm sure you can guess what my opinion of the man is. The one thing I do want to say though, is that even though it's a cliché, the road to hell is, in fact, paved with good intentions; Even Hitler believed he was doing what was right, all the while using his feelings and his guts as his guides, ignoring the evidence that was all around him that what he believed so strongly was only what he wanted to believe.

Of course, the movie is still merely an interpretation of the events. My gut tells me we shouldn't be so kind to ickle Georgie in the history books. I strongly believe, in the absence of any real evidence available to me, that he purposefully misled the nation and probably has nonconsensual sex with goats while feeding on aborted baby fetuses. But that's just an opinion, you know, don't take my word for it.

I guess the real point of this post is how different types of people interpret things, and how this election seems to have polarized people into two major groups of different interpretive capabilities. Is this an election which has polarized the Good from the Evil? The intelligent from the deeply stupid? The authoritative from the nonauthoritative? The butter side up from the butter side down? None of the above or all of the above? Humanity confuses me, and while I strongly believe that Obama is the right choice and that the McCain camp is only preying on one type of humanity's inability to deal with their inner conflict of Mind Vs. Fear, that's just my interpretation. I've been wrong before. Besides, it's also entirely possible that by even participating in this election, I have also succumbed to the fear by way of the terror that Palin inspires in me. I mean come on, do I really believe that she's Satan's goat-whore bride? That's just silly.

The brave thing to do might really be to sit it out, since what my actual leftist beliefs tell me is happening is that Obama and McCain are the left and right hands of the Military-industrial complex which murdered JFK, RFK, & MLK. After beating us with the stick in their right hand for eight years, they might let us rest up with a nice carrot from their left hand for a bit.

I know, I know, it's all a bit radical. But I'm feeling quite philosophical this morning, this election day. All my life I've been told that voting is the most sacred duty of every American, and to be fair I've never really believed that so my opinions are already coming out of left field. But I am voting today, for Obama, and it's not because I think Obama is going to save us, and it's mostly not because I think McCain and Palin are going to be another 4 to 8 years of happy-go-lucky skipping to Gomorrah, but because I'm simply tired of being beaten with a stick. Time for some Beta Carotene in my diet.

Getting It Backwards

For some inexplicable reason the other day, the words "You got served" came out of my mouth. It's really about the most horrifying thing I can imagine, linguistically speaking. I don't remember what happened that elicited that appalling phrase from my head, but even at the time that I said it I had no idea where on Earth my brain got the idea that it was an acceptable response to anything. And then I realized I had recently seen a TV show where, and not to be overly descriptive but there's a point to this, some portly black woman had used that phrase. It had stuck in my mind because she had at first been an extremely annoying character, and she'd been "talking smack" about someone who'd "been served", which made me want to plug my ears. But during the course of the show, she became a much more interesting character and I found myself liking her, despite myself. She was smart, witty, and other than the occasional unpalatable urban street slang thrown in the mix, extremely engaging.

So I then realized that I'd probably used said horrific phrase because I'd found this TV show character funny, and that offhand phrase of hers which I'd found repugnant must have retroactively stuck in my addled brain, and that's when I realized that even though I have been watching zero to even less TV, I was still watching too much if my speech patterns were being interfered with in such a manner. It's amazing how little it takes to affect human behavior, isn't it?

But then something even more shocking happened. I'd had a picture of this character in my head, and her saying about someone or other getting served, but I couldn't remember what the hell TV show I'd been watching that she was on, or what the show was about, or maybe it was a movie she was in? It was one of those niggling little things that drives you crazy because you can't stop thinking about it until you figure out the answer, and I was extremely irritated that I was wasting even this fraction of brainpower on something Hell-evision related. When I eventually figured it out, I had a lot of soul-searching to do: Turns out she wasn't a character on a TV show. She was an actual real person who had been hired from my company's Human Resources department to come to our work retreat and give all the employees a two-hour lecture on Harassment, sexual and otherwise, in the workplace and why one should avoid it.

I'd garbled a two-day old memory from a real live person into a TV show. I'm mistaking real life for TV. It's the opposite of the usual problem people have (mistaking TV for reality), but still, it's worrying. I feel a bit panicky about it, if the truth may be told.

By the way, the reason her character... dang it! I mean, she, the actual human being, was so engaging and funny as a Sexual Harassment lecturer was because she was one of those people who pretty much broke every sexual harassment law in the book during class in order to show us what we shouldn't be doing. Very effective technique.

In other exciting events, Wall-E is a great movie. Don't let those Right-Wing Republican nutjobs tell you otherwise. (If you haven't seen it, that link provides not only hilarious fat complaining Republicans, but some major plot spoilers.) I think my favorite line from that article is: "Stolyarov cites the fact that fast-food restaurants are serving “health foods,” “landfills are remarkably effective at storing garbage,” and that traditional farming is, like, hard and stuff, as flaws in the film’s logic."

Back To School: My Book Report & How I Spent Four Summers

Hey guess what? I'm having my Groundhog day. I'm in Virginia again, for the third week-long assignment in a row. Ick. If anybody ever wants to travel to Vienna, VA, I know all the good restaurants. I forgot my camera, so even if I wind up doing something interesting, I won't be able to share any images. I'm probably not going to do much though. I might go see another concert on Saturday; there's a band I really like named Louis XIV playing.

But I finally got around to reading a book which I'd touted here waaaay back in October aught 6. I'd been wanting to read it for a very long time, but I think I felt like I was still too close to my own experiences in Iraq, so I kept putting it off. I don't know exactly why I finally decided to pick it up, other than that I just needed something to bring to Virginia with me. At any rate, after I finished reading it, I went to the author's website and dropped him the following note:

I just finished your book... I lived in Baghdad (successively in a hotel in the Karradah district, the VVIP airport terminal, and in the Green Zone) for three years, from August 2003 through October 2006. Since I left, the level of both stupidity and insanity which I witnessed there slowly seeped away from my daily consciousness, until I was almost fit for normal human company again. Reading your book was an extremely engaging experience for me as it not only brought all of those old emotions back, but additionally shed some new light on the chaotic events that went on around me which I did not fully understand at the time.

Uh... thanks?

Which about sums it up. It's an excellent book in that I believe he really went out of his way to be as impartial and as nice as possible to the people he was writing about, which in the end only made their grand stupidities even more painful to read. Having lived there during the period about which he wrote, (The CPA's tenure in control of the reconstruction of Iraq led by Paul Bremer from 2003 to 2004) it added another layer of emotion which I find to be inexplicable. For instance, there was an incident near my company's compound in the Green Zone one time while I was covering for Rodney there while he was on his vacation. Rodney was the Irish scalawag friend of mine who'd had a friend working in Iraq who got us all jobs there in the first place back in August aught 3.

Anyway, one night the Green Zone incoming alarm went off, followed by a warning to all CPA employees to stay out of the streets of the Zone. Word came down to us that an American had been stabbed right out in the open inside the Green Zone and that the army was searching for the terrorist that had somehow snuck in and done it. We never heard anything else about it and, with so many other crazy things going on all the time, it was quickly forgotten about. Well, Rajiv wrote about that incident in his book. Apparently it had been quickly discovered that the stabbing was done by a fellow American; the two men had been having a drunken brawl or something. This news was hushed up, and that was that. It seems that the powers that be would rather have had us believe that an insurgent was loose in the Green Zone than admit the truth, and I'm not even really sure why. But I'll tell you one thing, when I read that, I laughed my ass off. I'd always kind of wondered about that stabbing, and it was an unexpected release of, something, when I read what had really happened, over four years later now.

That was one of just a few incidents that I was around for which he writes about from an insider's perspective. He wrote about the bombing of the United Nations building, which had happened just a week after my arrival in Baghdad. One funny incident that he wrote about was when the Iraqi Soccer team won an important match against Saudi Arabia. That night, the Americans inside the Green Zone freaked out when they heard an insane amount of gunfire coming from the city just outside their 12 foot high protective barriers; they all ran for bunkers and basements thinking that this was it, the Iraqis were storming the Green Zone. It was my second night in Baghdad and we were staying in a hotel downtown, NOT protected by the concrete blast walls of the Emerald City. We were inside, probably playing cards or eating strange and greasy local food or who knows what, when a CRAPLOAD of gunfire began right outside on our street. Dave, Scott and I were kind of like, aw hell, we're going to die on our second night here? Rip off. Ironically, my future boss-who-is-now-in-prison was there too; it's where I first met him. Dave tried to lock himself in the bathroom, Scott was standing in the hallway trying to figure out what good hiding was going to do, and I was under me bed. Phil (my future boss) was in his room, gesticulating at all of us urgently (and creepily) to come into his room while holding out a bottle of Jim Beam; I think that he was thinking that hell, if we're going to die we might as well party first. (That, incidentally, should have tipped me off about him right away.) We heard someone walking through the courtyard of our hotel, bullet shells dropping onto the tiles. Oh God oh God oh God, this is it. Phil's security guard walked in with a big grin, because he'd just been outside joining in with the celebratory gunfire over Iraq's victory in the soccer match. I wrote about that in less detail at the time here.

One that really got me was the bombing of the Green Zone Cafe and then the Market on October 14th 2004. I knew that date off the top of my head, and could have told anyone who asked when that happened without having to look it up. I'd quit my first job in Iraq and began working for Phil on October 12th, 2004. Rajiv called the market and cafe bombings the beginning of the end of the CPA staff's illusions in the Green Zone (I'm paraphrasing). I'd been to the cafe with Scott a few times, and we'd frequented the market during that summer. I think I also wrote about that in a mass email at the time, here. (This other page that I keep linking to by the way is a companion blogpage where I posted a bunch of mass emails I'd sent to friends and family from my early days in Iraq, before I had a blog) I was two blocks away from the market when a suicide bomber blew himself up, along with one of my favorite shops there; A tent where a nice old Iraqi man and a young Iraqi John Lennon lookalike sold songbirds and various other bric-a-brac.

It was a sobering omen of what was to come, and it certainly saddened me in ways that few other bombings which I was around for did. For the remaining two years that I was there, every time I drove by the area where the market used to be, I shook my head like an old man, and even indulged in a tut-tut occasionally.

But these are some of the moments I felt while reading his book because of how I experienced them, not what the book is really about. It's really about how the Bush Administration not only did NOT have a real plan for Iraq after his wrong-headed war, but how even more egregiously they sent people over to fix the country they'd just demolished who were chosen for their jobs because of their affiliation and loyalty to the Republican party. People who actually understood Iraq and what needed to be done were short-shrifted, shunted aside, even fired and removed in favor of Bush loyalists, most notably Jay Garner for Paul Bremer but also hundreds of others. Quoting from the book jacket:

...the case of the 24 year old who had never worked in finance put in charge of reestablishing Baghdad's stock exchange; a contractor with no previous experience paid millions to guard a closed airport; a State Department employee forced to bribe [other] Americans to enlist their help in preventing Iraqi weapons specialists from defecting to Iran! (that's my favorite one, by the way); Americans willing to serve in Iraq screened by White House officials for their views on Roe vs. Wade; people with prior expertise in the Middle East excluded in favor of lesser-qualified Republican Party loyalists. Finally, he describes Bremer's ignominious departure in 2004, fleeing secretly in a helicopter two days ahead of schedule.

Of course I wasn't even close to being directly involved in any of that stuff, but I was around for it and witnessed a lot of the side effects. I heard all the talk... the Green Zone was a small community in those days. I highly recommend 'Imperial Life In The Emerald City'  by Rajiv Chandrasekaran as a clear minded journal of one of the most embarrassing moments in American history. And yes, I was a part of it in my own small way. Yay.

On a final note, I want to say that one of my proudest moments in Iraq was when I got to be rude to Paul Bremer. Dave, George, Scott and I were eating dinner in the CPA building when who should walk right by our table, but Paul Bremer and Dan Rather, followed by a gaggle of reporters and suck-ups on their way to a quiet corner of the Republican Palace for an interview. As I saw him coming, I loudly whistled Darth Vader's theme. For my trouble I was rewarded with a sharp look from Bremer and some very frightening glares from his body guards. In retrospect, especially after reading this book, I realize that he was not so much a Dark Lord as an opportunistic incompetent, and it would have been more apropos to whistle the Animaniacs' theme.

Way Too Self-Aware To Honestly Attempt Writing Crap Like This. Or, So Long, Baghdad, And Thanks For All The Dust.

Well, this is likely to be my last post from Baghdad, so I better make it a good one, right?
Um.
Sorry, I can't take that kind of pressure.
I leave early tomorrow morning, and arrive in Istanbul in the afternoon. That's all I have to say about that for the moment.
I am having really mixed emotions about leaving; On the one hand I'm ecstatic and simply can't keep my stomach from jumping around in that exuberant manner it has when something really great is about to happen. On the other hand I'm also way too relieved about leaving someplace I've lived for such a long time. ... Oh wait, guess I'm not feeling all that mixed after all.
I guess I have to say, though, that I am getting pretty nervous about what's next. I have some big travel plans, and one of those big life-events staring me right between the eyes, but I don't have a job or an idea of where I want to live while I work at that job lined up, and that's kind of scary. Sure, I've saved a little pile of money, but I know only too well how quickly money can disappear.
I've also been thinking a lot these past few days about the depressing situation in Iraq. I've seen it go from pretty bad to really bad to awful to god-awful to absolute s***. In the early days I had hopes that things would get better gradually, if not extremely realistic hopes. Now I don't think anybody really believes that it will for decades, and what's worse is that America's presence here, and therefore MY presence here, is directly related to the failure of Iraq. I often think about whether the very tiny amount of good I tried to do helps get me get out of being a part of the problem, and then I wonder if the very tiny amount of good I tried to do even comes close to mattering when I've been getting paid to do it. It's a really depressing thought, on my last day here.
I don't deny that I came for mostly self-serving reasons, but that didn't bother me when it seemed that things could possibly get better here; after all, everybody in the world goes where they think it will help them do better in life. Now that Iraq pretty much seems to be a dead dream, it feels worse.
Ok dammit, there are those mixed feelings rearing their ugly heads after all. I'm happy that my Iraqi friends don't think I'm a bad person for coming here, and that they like me and stuff, and that I was able to help them out in the end. I'm just not sure that it's enough so that I can feel justified about it, ever, and hope that I am able to sleep at night for the foreseeable future.
The only reason that I am being so open about my inner conflict and contradictions is that I understand the larger context of it; If you are American, you are also reaping the benefits of this mess. Wartime economy is good economy, although apparently, Bush has managed to blight even that part up. And you are also suffering the consequences of it, the National culpability and guilt. Granted, if you didn't throw yourself into the thick of it, the way this idiot did, you are not reaping either in a personal way, unless you voted Republican in which case all you get is the guilt, but the context is there.
On November 7th vote Democrat and help to end this nightmare!


P.S. If all this strikes you as utter bull**** rationalization, please don't tell me so; people need their illusions.

P.P.S. For all my talk of being in Iraq, it ain't nothing compared to stuff like this.

A Dream Of Injustice, My Moral Dilemma, And What It All Means

I read 'Almost Home' last night, which is the autobiography of Damien Echols, the most prominent of the West Memphis 3. He's not necessarily a great writer, although the closer he gets to the main event that has shaped his life, the more eloquent he gets. But man, his story and his attitude on death row are incredible. Obviously, the saga of the WM3 has left a lasting impression on me. I had a dream last night where I was accused of something, I can't really remember what, but something to do with my fat ex-boss (not Phil; he's too shark-like to ever be fat) which I hadn't actually been involved in. Anyway, there was a "trial" (In the woods?) which was more like a kegger and nobody would listen to me... the drunk judge at one point told me that all this didn't matter, it didn't matter what I or anyone said, I was going to prison for this crime, it was decided before the alleged crime was even committed and this was all for show, allbeit a rather poor show.... well it's obvious where that dream came from, having just finished that book. But what was really neat about that dream was how it really suffocated me. I mean, really. I woke up taking deep breaths, and with the realization that the right to a fair trial was more than just words... it's something you hear all your life as an American, but until you actually suffer the injustice of being falsely accused and railroaded... yes it was only a dream, but that is sometimes what is so great about them. If you are deep enough in it, you really feel what's happening, and it doesn't matter that it's not something you've ever experienced in actuality. You are watching a movie in which you are the principle protagonist, and you forget that you're in a cinema until the lights come on.
The range of your emotions in dreams can be quite surprising, also. Usually dreams are fluff; odd and interesting but ultimately very easy to slough off. But occasionally... I woke up from this one with an incredible amount of rage, which was I think the true cause of my breathlessness. It's hard to feel that kind of rage about anything in normal day to day life, even for someone like me who enjoys a good rant from time to time. It was the rage of personally feeling my right to exist taken from me... My first rational thoughts, after all the dream events and emotion began slowly sliding away, were of this: This dream wasn't so much about the WM3, although obviously inspired by them, but about the feeling of terror and helplessness that is going through the internal systems of mine and everyone else who understands what is going on as our rights and dignity are being slowly (or not-so-slowly, as it were) stripped away by the Red Administration. Granted, most of us may never be affected by the atrocity of a Senate-approved interrogation tactic, or a House-approved listening device in your overhead light. But they are still your rights that are being taken away, and as 3 extremely normal boys (even though they were not considered normal by their own hometown, they could have been dropped anywhere on either coast without making so much as a dribble) in West Memphis, Arakansas could tell you, you never know when it might be convenient for someone with more power than you and something to hide to use those stolen rights against you, or someone you know.
Anyway, as some would say, who am I to complain? Well, they'd be right. I've been thinking about my moral quandry quite a bit recently. An old friend of mine basically called me a baby-eater for being here, and while I could never see it that way, the very fact that someone could think that about me has given me pause... There are three main reasons why I have continued to stay in Baghdad. 1) The money, hence, baby-eater. I no longer view the money as a reason to stay... honestly. If that was the only thing I had, I would leave this week. I don't need more. 2) My Iraqi friends. I am paying them very decent salaries, and they were unlikely to find other work if I'd have left prematurely, given the overall situation in Baghdad, and I've come to care for them quite a bit. Scott picks on me and rather derisively says I have a false Great White Hope attitude, but I fail to see how caring about your friends merits that. Anyway, I was able to, through a contact, find employment for most of them with a US contract in Kurdistan! So, my friends are about to begin a very decent-paying job in a very safe place... many of them will be moving their families up there. So, very shortly, reason #2 will be out of date! That's 2 down, one to go.
The third reason is more personal and less easy to write about, but suffice it to say, with reasons #1 & #2 down, #3 will be much easier to handle, and I am going to start making preparations to leave this month, actual date of leaving to be determined, depending on some mundane logistical issues. Definitely by December. Will keep you posted, of course.

Messiestobjects' Messy Morality

I love Keth Olbermann. His latest Special Comment, regarding the ambush of Clinton on Fox News and his rather appropriate reaction, despite what "the other side" is saying; namely, that he came off poorly because he lost his cool. What kind of idiot values composure over the truth? When someone is being attacked and having their contributions to history re-written, I think that a bit of loss of cool is extremely justified. It was actually very nice to be reminded of what it's like to have a real man, a real human being, as President.
Anyway, I suppose I don't really have the right to take a side against the current administration. It was recently pointed out to me that, being a contractor in Iraq means that I am being very hypocritical when I rail against Bush and his war. I admit, I don't know how to counter this charge, or if there even is one. I've found myself in a very strange place, and I'm not sure how to resolve it. I mean, as the talented Mr. Ripley says, nobody thinks they're a bad person.
I have admitted the amorality of my position before; specifically in my June 15th post after reading Riverbend's book. I don't suppose admitting it is enough to justify it, though. What I'm trying to say is that, even though I am here, and, while maybe not necessarily getting rich, certainly getting middle class off of this war, I don't feel that I've given up the right to my humanity, which allows me to take a position against outright evil. Is there a taint on my soul which I will be called to account for one day? Certainly. Regardless of my original motivations for coming here, I have long outlasted my justifiable rationale for staying.
In this I can judge myself. In this, all of the human race can judge itself! Everyone has found themselves somewhere they don't belong, at one time or another. However, does the guy that designs websites for a souless corporation give up his right to be angry at the way souless corporations are gobbling up the world's recources? All I'm saying is, I've come to terms with my mistakes, and I will pay for them. In the meantime, I am here, and I have a pretty unique view of what is going on, and I feel I have the right to talk about it. Since I can't really leave right now, my only other option at this point is to cave in and be evil. Since I can't really do that, I'll continue being hypocritical until the time comes, soon I think, when I can shake the dust of Iraq from my feet.
Please feel free to comment on this one, everybody, as I realize I must be sounding like a crazy person, and probably need to take a good slap upside the head.

In Which I Try To Prove To Myself That I Am Not A Narcissist. I'm Not, Am I? I Don't Know, Maybe I Am. Perhaps I Should Devote This Post To I Instead So That I Can Say For Sure Whether Or Not I Am... What Do I Think About That?

Something I was thinking about this morning has been bothering me, and so I figured I'd just go ahead and attack it here: A lot of times when I post about things here I sort of perform this censorship when it comes to the Iraqis I know. I often would like to say things about them, or things that happen involving them, as it's hardly balanced to be trying to give a picture of what it's like here without including the local populace. I don't have any pictures on my smugmug page of the Iraqis I've known for three years now, though I view some as friends as close as any I've had. But I tend to write them out, for a very good reason actually. Iraqis that work with Americans, especially in the Interzone where the entry/exit checkpoints are presumedly closely watched by the bad extremist element, tend to be very shy about letting other Iraqis know where it is that they spend their days. They ebb and flow, but attacks against Iraqis helping Americans are unfortunately a routine circumstance. Praise to Allah none have happened to my friends, (KNOCK THE HELL OUT OF SOME WOOD FOR ME!) but there have been a few on people of a more passing acquaintance nature.
Anyway, my constant fear is that by putting too much of a face to them will, however unlikely as my web page hits are mostly limited to friends and family of the Western persuasion, lead to a vengeful Iranian/Islamic nutjob discovering them. (That post about Abu Anwar, you might be asking me, gives a name though! But Abu (father of) Anwar is equivalent to like, you know, Mike. Or Mohammed. There's a million of 'em.) Even Riverbend, as much as I admire her, seems to have, at best, contempt for Iraqis working in the Interzone. While I don't feel that any opinion I have can really be objective in this matter, I have to say that's rather elitist of her. She obviously comes from a relatively well-to-do family in Baghdad and I think may not understand what less fortunate families need to do to get by, and honestly we rich American pigs provide an alternative to boiled shoes for dinner for a lot of people. I don't mean to be on any high horse; regular readers know that I am much more ashamed of what we've done here than proud, but I am happy to be able to help out in as small a way as I can, and people have to find work where they can.
Anyway, I've actually gone rather far afield from where I'd intended.
My point was that I wanted to try and put some perspective on my Iraqis. My Iraqis. Ok, I really hate it when I write that, but I do it often. I mean obviously they're not MY Iraqis. But still. It's their country, I'm the intruder, but I'm their boss. If I were in the States I'd say 'My employees'. But sometimes it feels like you need to make the distinction, you know? Still, it makes me uncomfortable, and I do it anyway. And also, many of the tiny anecdotes that do slip in, like in the comments from my last post where I'm all like, "Sometimes I would come out and say something funny and my Iraqis would laugh, because it was genuinely funny and not just because I was the boss, so there. And they don't even speak English, so you know I was damn funny if they got it." That dumb joke I made there feels like I'm all like "Duh, they don't speak English. They're so dumb, I was speaking English when I was like, 2 years old! It's so easy! Don't they get it?" Now, obviously, If you de-construct it that's not what I'm saying at all. I mean, what that stupid joke is saying is that they are servile and are kowtowing to their American master! Duh. But that's not true at all either, it was just a stupid joke, like all of my jokes, and while nobody reads it and really takes it that way... still.
I just wanted to give a better picture of what they're really like than what comes through from stupid jokes.
So let's start with S. - S. is my main guy. He actually does my job. It's great! He also speaks awesome English. When I first met him 3 years ago, he had fairly broken English. Better than many Iraqis, but nothing fantastic. He's been studying and watching TV and he picked it up really fast. He's way smarter than me. I don't do anything without consulting him, first. Well, that's not entirely true, but near enough. He's got a brother, R., who also works for me. He speaks English also, though not as well. Although I suspect he speaks better than he lets on, so he can pretend to not understand when you tell him something he doesn't want to hear. Without these two guys, I'd have to pack up and go home; GBG wouldn't have lasted a week without them. S. has the biggest office in the camp, which also doubles as our TV room; there's a thousand inch plasma TV with surround system in there. He's got the best office in the camp, and it's not as much as he deserves. When you walk in there, it looks like an operation to take over the world; it's great! Scott and I often joke about being afraid to piss S. off, and that we really shouldn't do anything about whatever the situation happens to be without clearing it with him first for fear of making him angry at me. Actually, come to think of it, there's more truth than joke to that.
A while back, my boss in Romania wanted me to fire the Iraqis that work in the 100 man camp as we weren't really operating anyway, and what were we paying them for? I refused on the grounds that if there are no Iraqis working here, then there are just like three Americans here with no security. Ok fine, he says, keep a few gate guards and S. No way, I says. I don't care if the 20 Iraqis I've employed here are sitting around getting paid and not doing anything, I want them here, because the less people in the camp, the more vulnerable and exposed I feel. I feel safer surrounded by Iraqis than without them! Go ahead, ask any other American in the Interzone if they feel the same way, and %90 of the time you'll get a racial, redneck response, and the other %10 will just be like "Are you freaking crazy?" Which is a stupid way to look at it. Iraqis by and large just want to live their life. The insurgents, terrorists, etc. are pretty much never Iraqi. The Sunnis and Shiites blowing each other up are largely Iranian instigated. Iraqis, until recently, didn't give a damn whether their neighbor was other than their own religious persuasion.
Another Iraqi whom I've known these 3 years, H., often brings me food because she feels bad that I only eat bad cafeteria food all of the time. Her aunt, I. who worked for the first company I worked for when I came here, makes Briani, which is my favorite Iraqi dish ever. It's fairly simple; a base of rice with slivers of lamb or chicken, mixed with nuts, peas, watercress, raisins, fried potato chunks, and lots of other tasty stuff. Her uncle works in the tailor shop where Scott, Dave, Rodney and I used to go to get those custom-tailored suits, back when it was safe, relatively, to walk the streets of Baghdad. We ate dinner at their house once back then, also, the first time I encountered and fell in love with I.'s Briani.
I'm going to marry H. She's awesome. Mmm, Briani.
There are others, but that's a good start, I guess.

I Can't Wait!! or, Signs, Coincidences, And Other Hopeful Superstitions

I was in the Port Authority bus terminal in New York City, looking for the bus to Seattle. I was on my way to Petersberg, Alaska for my second summer gutting fish for 16 hours a day at minimum wage plus overtime. I couldn't wait! Anyway, I saw a guy sitting in a chair, reading. I recognized him immediately; his name was Justin and I knew him from the previous year's fishgut-flingin' festivities. I went over and said hello. It turns out he was on his way to Portland, Oregon. He wasn't going to Petersberg to work the fishing industry again this year as I'd initially assumed; He was from New Jersey and was riding to the West Coast to see some friends. It was just a freak coincidence that we were going to ride the same bus all the way to Portland, so of course we became bus buddies for the three day/three night bus ride. No comments about 'bus buddies', please! I know how it sounds, but I don't care... a three day & night bus ride on a dirty Greyhound 9 years ago made me extremely grouchy, and I still haven't recovered. So BACK OFF! Grr.
Anyway, we talked quite a bit on the ride, but what makes this whole thing a significant event for me is that I had already decided that when the summer was finished and I'd saved up, I was going on a trip to Europe for as long as my money would last. Justin had spent the past year in Europe, so of course we discussed it quite a bit. He gave me a list of places he had run across where an American might find work in order to lay low for a bit and extend his time over there. One of the items on the list was the Armed Forces Recreational Center (AFRC) in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany... Well, after I blew too much money in London, Edinburgh, and Amsterdam, I took a train to Garmisch and wound up staying in Germany for 6 years. At the end of that time, the hotel in Chiemsee where I was working was about to close permanently. I'd saved no money from the pittance I was paid there, mostly due to lots of drinking and travelling, and I was a bit panicked about having no prospects, when I met Rodney. He had come to Chiemsee to work for the last 6 months or so that the hotel would be open, as he had worked there many years before, and wanted to be there for the end. He had a friend working for a company in Baghdad who needed some people... and here I am.
Anyway, my point is that I think that running into Justin was the happiest coincidence of my life. Or at least the most significant... It's amazing how one small event can change the course of your life. Of course, I would never have gone to Alaska in the first place had I not been delivering auto parts in Tannersville, PA, trying to decide whether or not I should just pick up my dull pathetic life and leave for the unknown. I was turning over the idea of my recent research into a fishing cannery in Petersberg, Alaska, when I drove by a house that had in it's driveway, parked quite inexplicably, a small freezer-truck with the words 'Petersberg Alaska Seafood' painted on it's side... so I do know a bit about signs from above, oh yes I do. From that truck to Justin to Rodney... I wonder if I'll get another chance at seeing such a signpost, or if I'm on my own now, the universe being tired of leading me around by the nose.
We are three days away from our latest eviction date, and once again I have no idea what's going to happen. I think I'm ready to go... it's getting pretty heated up around here again. I've been hearing loads of mortars and rockets the last few days... Insurgent attacks on the Interzone are like stock funds; they're cyclical. Months will go by and you won't hear a thing, and then a time will come where for about 3 weeks they're lobbing ordinance at us on a daily basis. And then it'll stop again for a while. I'm not worried about getting hit by anything; the insurgents have notoriously bad aim and pretty much never hit anything of signifcance. There are loads of king size potholes around, though. But it's that, plus being tired of not really having anything to do and never knowing what is going on, plus being guilty by association, and feeling like I can't accomplish anything here. I mean, if we win our property battle someday far in the future, this could again become a good job, but it just seems like it can't happen, and it keeps getting pushed back. 
Send me a sign! Actually, getting escorted out of Interzone at gunpoint on July 27th would be a good sign. I can't wait!

Questions In A World Of Blue

There was an incident two days ago where one of my Iraqi employees was caught unescorted in the Interzone. For anyone unfamiliar with Interzone escorting policy, I'll spare you a migraine and give you the basic idea: Everybody in the Interzone must have an approved ID badge. If you don't have one, especially if you're an Iraqi, you must be escorted everywhere you go inside the Interzone by someone who has escorting privileges on their badge. Now please take the time to pray and give thanks that I did not give you more details, as Interzone policies on any matter would give Byzantium a run for their money, and the Interzone badging policy is the worst of the worst causes of spontaneous aneurisms around here.
Anyway, my employee Abu Anwar, (Which actually means 'Father of Anwar... it's the local version of a nickname) actually had a badge, but it had recently expired and some busybody from some office of the Embassy (hereafter referred to as "The Castle", re: Kafka) saw him and I received a phone call asking me to make an appearance. When I arrived on the side of the road where they had snagged him, that same busybody (who wasn't a part of the Interzone police force, although the gentlemen from the Interzone police were there also) began asking me alot of questions and it quickly became apparent that he didn't actually care about the escorting violation as much as he cared about giving a GBG employee a hard time. That's been happening more frequently lately as it seems that someone in The Castle has a personal vendetta against GBG, and they are getting panicked as apparently we are getting closer to saving our property and remaining in operation.
Well the point of all this is that this agent of The Castle was a real colostomy bag and was trying to accuse me of something, although I'm not sure what. He apparently was happy being pugnacious and insinuating, hoping I would crack and tell him where all Phil's Gold was or something. While unjustly acting as though I was a criminal, he accusingly asked me if I felt comfortable working for a criminal. I have to say, as sensitive a subject as my former boss is with me, it was all I could do not to laugh in his face. And I mean one of those laughs where spit comes out of your mouth all accidental like, and you and the guy the spit landed on try to pretend it didn't happen. I asked him if he or his colleagues had found any Weapons of Mass Destruction yet. I asked where the billions of dollars of Iraqi money formerly in the care of The Castle went to. Luckily he wasn't smart enough to retort, because such questions really are unpatriotic, and as this gentleman from The Castle was kind enough to remind me, there still exist those people who unquestioningly believe in America's moral superiority, and he could have possibly given me a much harder time. We are all working for criminals.
Speaking of which, I received a phone call last week from Phil. I was sleeping the deep sleep of the mid-afternoon nap, and I answered the phone before I was really awake. When I heard Phil's voice on the phone, I think I lost 5 years of my life before I realized it was just a dream. When I realized that in fact it wasn't a dream, I lost two more, but I have to say that a phone call from your boss in jail who you haven't spoken to since he was arrested nine months ago is a more effective wake-up than Turkish Coffee.
Anyway, he was calling to thank me for not abandoning him... at this point I'm actually the only American left working for him. Everybody else has left or found other jobs. I must admit that, if I hadn't remained, his company here would be a total lost cause at this point. As it is, I've probably only delayed the inevitable for a few months, but I'm proud of having been able to hold things together somewhat. HOWEVER... as I voiced empty responses to Phil, I was thinking that the reason I didn't "abandon" him had nothing to do with him... at all. I owed Phil some loyalty, it's true. He hired me on at a salary that is more than usual for someone of my experience level, even here in Baghdad, and gave me a chance to prove myself. It's been a great opportunity all around and even apart from the money I've set aside, the experience is invaluable and my resumé looks great. But as far as I'm concerned, after our 600 Man Camp contract went down in flames, my debt to him is repaid and concluded. Now it's all about salvaging what's left, and hoping that when I do leave, I can leave things better for my Iraqi friends than they were when I arrived.

You Should Never Blog When You've Had A Glass Of Guilt To Drink

I ordered the book they printed from Riverbend's Iraq blog, 'Baghdad Burning' last week. I just finished reading it in less than a day, and in addition to making me feel angrier than I've ever been, (which I seem to feel a lot lately) it also made me go back and read a lot of the emails I was writing to friends and family from when I first arrived in Baghdad. Riverbend began writing her blog online on August 17th 2003, just 3 days after I arrived here. While she was busy pouring her heart out and crying about all of the atrocities going on around her, I was writing glib notes about how much fun I was having. I never have thought of myself as naϊve, but going back and seeing what I was thinking about and what she was thinking about during that same time period made me seriously consider the adjective. It's not that I ever approved of what was going on here; behind alot of my snarky comments was a real cynic of Bush and his illegal war... but I now think that being a snarky cynic is the most shameful thing I've ever been. I can't possibly re-create the emotions which Riverbend was able to get across with her very real, very immediate expeiences as an Iraqi writing about the occupation firsthand, but it made me see myself as she probably would have seen me had I been sending those emails to her, and it made me wonder why my Iraqi friends here hadn't strangled me a long time ago. I don't believe I was ever intending anything other than sympathy and support for this country, but it was all an adventure to me... hell, it still is. That's one of my main reasons for coming in the first place, and I won't make a self-deprecating comment here about the money, because I'm trying to give up the snark. But it's fact; I really made the decision to come primarily for the sake of adventure and something new... it's true that the money is mostly why I'm still here 3 years later, mercenary that my grandmother says I am, but it wasn't the whole of my original intent. But having a grand old time, even while trying to do good by the Iraqis I know, and hating Bush and the evil that governments do, is a slap in the face to someone who had to cower with her family in her house for days while we 'Shocked and Awed' the crap out of her city, or who watched American soldiers raid a neighbor's house and throw the 16 year old girl into Abu Ghraib, all because the CIA was tipped off by a vindictive neighbor who had had some sort of domestic dispute with them the year before. And that's the light stuff. Her book has really affected me, and there is alot of really scary crap that's been going on the whole time, some things I was aware of, but much I wasn't. When you put it all together in the same spot, I begin to see my place here a little more clearly, and I have more reasons to stay up late wracked with the guilt of my nation. It doesn't change anything: I still have reasons for staying, beyond even money. Someday, when I'm gone from here for good, perhaps I'll even be able to explain it.
Speaking of which, we are getting close to the end of the month, and I still don't know whether it will find me starting over here, ready to go back to work, or on a plane to Thailand. I should find something out...well, before the end of the month. I've said it before, but either way brings it's own brand of relief and dread... so toss the die, cross your fingers, pray to God... but que sera, sera.

EITHER This Entry is a Dull Rant, OR it's an Ad for Better Blogs

So we just had a visit from the son of GBG's owner, whose name is Chris and is now running the company. After everything that's happened, we are just now FINALLY coming to our crossroads. We were served eviction papers saying that we have to vacate this property by June 30th, because the US is turning it back over to the Iraqi government. So, if we can continue to lease the property from the Iraqis, we will stay and continue to rent this camp out to clients, which means I could be here for a long time yet. OR, the Iraqis say "Screw you evil American opportunists, whose leader is in jail for stealing money from us!" and I'm outta here!
I figure it's 50/50. Either way I'll be happy and sad. It's a win/win lose/lose!
At least I finally have an either/or situation. I'm really happy about that. It's been nerve-wracking not knowing if or when something is going to happen.
Otherwise, it's slacking as usual. I finished Buffy, and have started watching 5 seasons of Smallville. It's not as cool as Buffy, and the writing is often clunky, but hey, it's Superboy and it kills time.
Hmmmm... I guess after that last paragraph, my whole case for the waiting being nerve-wracking kind of crumbles, doesn't it? But I'm actually really ... well, I don't know what the word is. Agitated? Unsatisfied? Meh... I'm really really tired of being so inactive. My gaze seems to be unfocused from too much screen time, and I feel icky from the lack of excercise. I'd actually be working out these days due to all the free time, but there's no good place where I'm at to do that. Oh yeah, and I'm lazy. That's the nicest either/or thing about June 30th; either I'll be leaving and getting ready for some intense travel, or I'll have a real job again. So I'm really looking forward to it. It's been awesome to sit here for 2 or 3 months and get paid stupid money to do essentially nothing... a Gen-Xer's dream come true, actually. But apparently that life style is bad for you. Well, bad for me. Who knew?
Oh, you should go to davidleeson.com, or his blog. He is a professional photojournalist whose pictures I'd found on a CD here and posted on my smugmug page. When TF recently notified me that they belonged to one David Leeson, I contacted him and he was extremely cool about it and let me keep his photos on my site. He was in Iraq in 2003 during the invasion, embedded with the military, and at great personal risk took some incredible photographs.
And speaking of other bloggers; a friend of mine who likes to communicate with me through vague blog entries of her own because I'm really bad at emailing and deserve to be boiled in my own pudding for my lack of response because I can't seem to make myself write an email any more turned me on to a blog written by a 24 year old Iraqi girl. It's an incredible website; She's been writing on it since August 2003 (The same month I arrived in Baghdad!) and her intelligence, english and writing skills are better than almost any native english speaker I know, certainly better than mine. If you're curious how this whole Post-American invasion of Iraq event looks through an Iraqi's eyes, it's an awesome place to go. They've actually published her blog as a book which you can purchase at Amazon. Anyway, the blog is called Baghdad Burning, and it's seriously worth spending some time with.

Non-smokin' Gun At The IZ Corral

Today is my one year anniversary! On this day in 2005, I was so sick with a bout of the infamous Baghdad Special, I couldn't even smoke. I was laid over with the squirts, a fever, sore throat... you name it, it was bad. This went on for three days, by the end of which, I had completely forgotten I was a smoker. Slipped my mind. So I am here today to tell you that the crapping your brains out method really works, folks. I might have to patent that.
So things is gettin' interestin' here at the IZ corral... We are now 3 days away from the official end date of our contract, and we have heard exactly nothing from our client about what our status is. Either they are incredibly incompetent, or are about to do something incredibly illegal. Either way, we're more or less prepared, and it's about to get very interesting, finally.

it's a messy casserole, after all

So that friend I mentioned a few posts back got back to me! Very nice e-running into old friends. Anyway, he gave me a good topic for this one; "So, like, what the hell you doing in Baghdad? That is quite a place to be at this moment in time. what do you think of the war? what kind of work is it you're doing? You probably guessed I'm against it like the majority of people on earth are, I only hope you are there trying to do some good...?" ... erm. I get this alot... and it's really bothersome for me. I am on the Bush Bashing Bandwagon, no doubt about it. Every time I see his picture on CNN or FOX or some other entertainment network like those, I want to vomit. Well, okay, not REALLY, but the man makes me sick. And yet...
And yet. Here I am, livin' large offa the cash flow tricklin' down from the blindfolded lady of justice's now-covered nipple. Alot of people here feel pretty much the same way... Love my country, Hate my Government, but money's cool, too.
So the burden of guilt is on me, and now I hafta explain myself. See, this is why I shouldn't be blogging. I've got too much to answer for, and I'm a terrible liar.
Anyway. I'll tell you what I told him. (But with alot more words, 'cause I've had time to think about it...) I am a migrant worker. I'm a migrant worker because for as long as I can remember, I've always wanted to travel. I've travelled lots of places simply by finding a job in some far off place and tramped around on my time off. It's awesome! I can't imagine my life up to this point having gone any other way. Baghdad was simply the next logical step in that series of steps that  I was already, well, you know. Stepping...on. Or something. I try not to say things like 'Path' or 'Life's Journey', because even though Bush won't make me actually vomit, gay cliches like those just might.
Well. Baghdad. Next logical step. And believe me, I've seen some things and changed in ways I never thought I'd be lucky enough to experience. Or unlucky. Your choice how to take it.
I have a similar relationship with my job that I have with my country: Love my work, hate my boss. I'm Project Manager of a large camp for security teams! WOW! I started as a Housekeeping supervisor at my last job. I get to make decisions and stuff, now, like a real grown-up person! If the guy who hired me had known me better, well, let's just say I got real lucky. Still, this will always look awesome on my resume, no matter how it ends up. But my boss drives me insane. He's one of those guys that thinks he knows something about work, even though he's had a silver spoon up his butt for most of his life.
I have met alot of friends here in Iraq... There is a family that I've been working with since my first week here. I brought them with me when I changed jobs. When I leave, likely I'll never see them again. That's true anyway, even in America... It's rare that you ever again meet up with people you knew in a certain setting (school, work, etc..) once you leave it. But the difference here in Iraq is that the departing is much more stark. Every time I go on vacation, my Iraqi friends make a point of making me promise to come back...
There's also a very real excitement that comes with being in the middle of the world's most watched TV drama. I've met ambassadors, seen really big explosions, and whistled 'Darth Vader's Theme' while Paul Bremer and Dan Rather walked by my dinner table, back in the CPA days. I've eaten dinner Iraqi style in the home of some Bona Fide Iraqis... That family I was telling you about. I've driven in a not very sober state alone at high speeds down Route Irish, 'The Most Dangerous Road in Iraq'. Okay, yes I'm stupid.
The money. It's great. I can buy a chicken farm with a fireplace, now.
  But let's get right down to it. There is not one single reason named above keeping me here, in and of itself. They do make a fine casserole, though.
And what do I think of the war? The war sucks. All the lies, which are more obvious than George W. being a throwback chimpanzee, they suck too. You know what else sucks? The insurgents. They suck pretty bad. They kill more Iraqis than anyone else, in the name of God. Alot of my employees have had to quit because someone found out they were working for Americans, and were threatened. One of Scott's employees was actually kidnapped and ransomed for $30,000 or so. That sucks. My best Iraqi friend, Steven, was afraid to tell his new girlfriend that he worked with Americans until 2 months or so had passed and he made sure she wouldn't be the type to tell someone. Pretty sucky. If you check out some pictures I found on a disc here, you'll see lots of other sucky stuff related to the war.
Anyway, not sure where I was going with that.  I'm not sure that there's anywhere to go with it.
  So as you can see, if nothing else, my reasoning certainly is pretty messy. Good thing I named my page the way I did... so Apropos!

Seasoned traveller contemplates an end to his travelling days

The original header on my site read "Seasoned traveller contemplates an end to his travelling days"  I didn't really know why I did that... I just kind of typed it out and there it was. Then my friend Jen wrote me to ask what I'd meant by it, and at the same time offered the explanation! "what's this about?  Is it the trip to space (or close to it), that has got you feeling like there's nothing left to do?"
Damn good point! After riding to the edge of the Earth in a super-sonic jet, where can I go where I won't be a trifle bored? That may sound jaded, but I've actually experienced this before. On my first vacation from Baghdad, I was in Germany and the U.S.... I really felt kind of out of things... Everybody in the States drives so tamely, 55 mph, straight lines, no bombs or gunfire, not zig-zagging under every bridge in case someone standing on it throws something down at you, not constantly looking in every direction for people who might look like they want to kill you... there was a kind of decompression. It's a cliche, but everything looks alot smaller once you've travelled in big places.
Now, I think I'm getting ahead of myself a bit; I haven't even made it to Russia yet, let alone the cockpit of the Mig-25, but believe me, my imagination has covered every aspect of the flight. I aleady know what I feel like back in more normal parts of the world, and I'm sure Jen is right; that's exactly how I felt when I wrote that... plus I've been thinking about buying a pension or a hotel or something, which means I'd have to stay there and run it... who knows.
I really hope my travelling days aren't over... i need to do South America yet. Then I'll only have to hit Australia and Antarctica to get all of the continents. At least I'm getting the atmosphere out of the way!
(Excuse me... I just got excited enough that I have to go to the bathroom again...)