Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Camp Gannon 08182008, 08192008 & 08212008
Went out on my first mission today. Toured the port from inside a Hummvee. Went inside the admin building and shook a couple of hands. Tomorrow the replacements arrive, so I'll probably stay here. Day after? Who can tell? Tonight, I found the chow hall, where we have one hot meal a day, the evening one around 1700. Also found the showers. The facilities are decent, though there's a strange smell inside the back of the showers. I think there are toilets there, though you're not supposed to use them. Doesn't mean someone hasn't, hence the strange aroma. Might also be from stale water in the toilet plumbing. The laundry is right next to the showers, so I brought back my clothes. Bad timing- lots of people with the same idea, including two guys, one of whom flew with me in the leaky Sea Stallion from Al-Asad to Al-Qaim. That sorta broke the ice. They're building the helipad on the other side of our berm. And I made not one but *two* trips to the internet facility. The keyboards are sticky- gotta type very slowly. The computers are even slower. Yahoo mail won't load, so I use the old mail. Got a nice email from Chuckles, telling me that he's read my blog and that I should think about a career in writing when I'm done with DynCorp. His girls are all well. And he reminded me, I have an invitation to visit him anytime. I ate, showered, but didn't do a laundry. All in all, not a bad day.
Gannon, 08192008
At the 0800 meeting, the First Sergeant made vehicle assignments- I stayed back with Gerald. The rest of them took five vehicles and drove to Al-Qaim to pick their replacements. Gerald and I talked about the port's operations. He and Hector are DHS-CBP on six-month TDY. During their absence, I did my laundry. That took a while, since the two operating machines stay pretty busy. I checked the internet, but it was full, with three or four people waiting. I finally got a washer and came back for a few minutes to help Gerald while it was cycling. I watched the radio while he went to get some lunch, then when he came back, I put my clothes in the dryer and nuked some frozen chicken drumsticks. Around one-thirty, the group got back, but by then Gerald had gone down to Golf Company to see if one of the regular marines could make our radio work. The radio seemed to work, but didn't. Finally our guys got back and one of them reset the control- seems as though the radio lost a code of some sort. The First Sergeant had an all-hands meeting, doing a PowerPoint presentation about camp and team procedures-wear a blouse whenever you're not in "our" area, keep a weapon on your body, etc. The new guys wanted to meet me, so I told them that I'm retired from US Customs, yadda yadda. After the briefing, we split up a bit, wandering over to the MWR for some Olympic coverage and some social chit-chat. When the generator went out, I went outside and sat under a shade canopy of camoflage netting. One or two of the new guys came over and got acquainted. Around five, a captain and I walked to the chow hall, but food wasn't ready because of the power failure. He selected some cereal instead of hot food and almost left it there becausethere wasn't any milk- that gets put in the fridges only for breakfast. I told him I thought we had some in our fridge, so he brought his cereal back. He ate his cereal while I watched the Olympics. At six, I walked over with the new gunny and another sergeant and we had some pasta with chicken, barbecued chicken and peas. I got some fruit cocktail for dessert. We ate outside, under the canopy. As the sun went behind the horizon, the Iraqi evening heard us talk about lots of things. From behind the berm, we heard the mosque's call to prayer.
Around eight, it was fully dark and everyone had something to do. I finished my cigar out on the big chair and looked at the stars. Across the sand road, the peaks of the camoflage nets poked up into the blue-white horizon. I tried to see if the peaks resembled a woman's torso, but they didn't quite have a feminine silhouette. Even with my libidinous imagination, I couldn't do a Mount Tamalpais kind of silhouette. I wanted to read my trashy novel, something about a woman forensics sculptor, but it was too dark. So I came into the hooch and read a chapter. I read one chapter and started falling asleep, but I wanted to write something here.
Gannon, 08212008
Yesterday was of little consequence. More of the new guys got a ride to the port. Today, another short mission to the port, sans moi. That "sans moi" should indicate to the perspecacious reader that moi isn't happy with the lack of activity. As icing on this boredom cake, today was a dust storm. You can't see well 100 feet in front of you. It's constantly hot, too- the screen of dust didn't block the sun. You can taste the dust everywhere. Your skin gets grimy from being outside, damp from the heat and grimy from flying dust. The camo net fell down. I volunteered to help lash it back up, but no one is interested because the winds are still blowing pretty hard. I checked emails this morning instead of eating. I skipped lunch because of a lack of interest. I won't skip dinner tonight because skipping too many meals isn't good for moi. Nothing to do but watch the Olympics with guys who think a girl likes girls because she looks like she likes girls. I keep telling myself, "$400 per day." It's my mantra to endure this place. The old guys are tuned to teaching the new ones what they've been doing and the new guys are tuned to learning from the old ones. No one seems to take much interest in me- Do I have something to occupy my time? Anyone want to get some chow with the DynCorp guy? The new Doc showed me how to take apart my M-4 and we spent the morning cleaning our weapons. Then the new warrant officer opined that we shouldn't do that on the table where others might eat. Good point, I can't fault that. But that took the wind out of my sails once more. "$400 per day." I'm here so Richie and Kimmie will have a place to live, our house, until they can find jobs on their own. A half-hour more and I'll go get some chow. I may eat there and then see if I can't snag my alloted 30 minutes at the internet. "$400 per day." I'm here so I can make the mortgage until the market bounces back and I can sell with some equity. I have sheets on my bed, the ones I found as extras at Camp Mesa, washed and put in my footlocker. Should have put a pillow in there, too. Blanket? None issued here. They ran out. I found two half-blankets with holes in them that had been used as doors. One I put up for my own door, the other I washed so I could have a half-blanket. Last night, my footlocker from Al-Asad arrived. And so did my sleeping bag which makes a fairly decent blanket. "$400 per day." Well, I ran the calculations, and it's really more like $424. Seems like a lot. But I have to endure a lot to earn it, too. I guess the cadence is better: "Four hundred twenty-four dollars per day" sounds better as a mantra. Out of desperation, I went to find Ernie, the DynCorp guy that Johnny knew from Klecker. He was gone, out on a mission. So I lay here on my thin foam mattress, with my back damp from the heat because the air conditioning isn't on right now. Only 20 minutes until I stroll over for chow. "Four twenty-four" is my mantra. We'll see how long my mantra suffices. If things don't get better, when I leave here for my vacation, I'll make sure I leave nothing here that I really care about. If I went home on vacation today, I'd be brainstorming with Richie about how we could survive with what I've already earned and leave this behind. My hope, if the reader understands the full concept of the word "hope," is to be able to buy a home much like the one in Llano- $116K, five acres, 1200 square feet. Take Last Resort there, fly back and do what I can to load all my stuff into a container and get it trucked there. If it took two containers to load everything, I'd be OK with that, too, as long as I had the money to buy the container and pay for the trucking. Maybe food will brighten my outlook. Fifteen minutes until I stroll through the dust storm and find some chow.
Gannon, 08192008
At the 0800 meeting, the First Sergeant made vehicle assignments- I stayed back with Gerald. The rest of them took five vehicles and drove to Al-Qaim to pick their replacements. Gerald and I talked about the port's operations. He and Hector are DHS-CBP on six-month TDY. During their absence, I did my laundry. That took a while, since the two operating machines stay pretty busy. I checked the internet, but it was full, with three or four people waiting. I finally got a washer and came back for a few minutes to help Gerald while it was cycling. I watched the radio while he went to get some lunch, then when he came back, I put my clothes in the dryer and nuked some frozen chicken drumsticks. Around one-thirty, the group got back, but by then Gerald had gone down to Golf Company to see if one of the regular marines could make our radio work. The radio seemed to work, but didn't. Finally our guys got back and one of them reset the control- seems as though the radio lost a code of some sort. The First Sergeant had an all-hands meeting, doing a PowerPoint presentation about camp and team procedures-wear a blouse whenever you're not in "our" area, keep a weapon on your body, etc. The new guys wanted to meet me, so I told them that I'm retired from US Customs, yadda yadda. After the briefing, we split up a bit, wandering over to the MWR for some Olympic coverage and some social chit-chat. When the generator went out, I went outside and sat under a shade canopy of camoflage netting. One or two of the new guys came over and got acquainted. Around five, a captain and I walked to the chow hall, but food wasn't ready because of the power failure. He selected some cereal instead of hot food and almost left it there becausethere wasn't any milk- that gets put in the fridges only for breakfast. I told him I thought we had some in our fridge, so he brought his cereal back. He ate his cereal while I watched the Olympics. At six, I walked over with the new gunny and another sergeant and we had some pasta with chicken, barbecued chicken and peas. I got some fruit cocktail for dessert. We ate outside, under the canopy. As the sun went behind the horizon, the Iraqi evening heard us talk about lots of things. From behind the berm, we heard the mosque's call to prayer.
Around eight, it was fully dark and everyone had something to do. I finished my cigar out on the big chair and looked at the stars. Across the sand road, the peaks of the camoflage nets poked up into the blue-white horizon. I tried to see if the peaks resembled a woman's torso, but they didn't quite have a feminine silhouette. Even with my libidinous imagination, I couldn't do a Mount Tamalpais kind of silhouette. I wanted to read my trashy novel, something about a woman forensics sculptor, but it was too dark. So I came into the hooch and read a chapter. I read one chapter and started falling asleep, but I wanted to write something here.
Gannon, 08212008
Yesterday was of little consequence. More of the new guys got a ride to the port. Today, another short mission to the port, sans moi. That "sans moi" should indicate to the perspecacious reader that moi isn't happy with the lack of activity. As icing on this boredom cake, today was a dust storm. You can't see well 100 feet in front of you. It's constantly hot, too- the screen of dust didn't block the sun. You can taste the dust everywhere. Your skin gets grimy from being outside, damp from the heat and grimy from flying dust. The camo net fell down. I volunteered to help lash it back up, but no one is interested because the winds are still blowing pretty hard. I checked emails this morning instead of eating. I skipped lunch because of a lack of interest. I won't skip dinner tonight because skipping too many meals isn't good for moi. Nothing to do but watch the Olympics with guys who think a girl likes girls because she looks like she likes girls. I keep telling myself, "$400 per day." It's my mantra to endure this place. The old guys are tuned to teaching the new ones what they've been doing and the new guys are tuned to learning from the old ones. No one seems to take much interest in me- Do I have something to occupy my time? Anyone want to get some chow with the DynCorp guy? The new Doc showed me how to take apart my M-4 and we spent the morning cleaning our weapons. Then the new warrant officer opined that we shouldn't do that on the table where others might eat. Good point, I can't fault that. But that took the wind out of my sails once more. "$400 per day." I'm here so Richie and Kimmie will have a place to live, our house, until they can find jobs on their own. A half-hour more and I'll go get some chow. I may eat there and then see if I can't snag my alloted 30 minutes at the internet. "$400 per day." I'm here so I can make the mortgage until the market bounces back and I can sell with some equity. I have sheets on my bed, the ones I found as extras at Camp Mesa, washed and put in my footlocker. Should have put a pillow in there, too. Blanket? None issued here. They ran out. I found two half-blankets with holes in them that had been used as doors. One I put up for my own door, the other I washed so I could have a half-blanket. Last night, my footlocker from Al-Asad arrived. And so did my sleeping bag which makes a fairly decent blanket. "$400 per day." Well, I ran the calculations, and it's really more like $424. Seems like a lot. But I have to endure a lot to earn it, too. I guess the cadence is better: "Four hundred twenty-four dollars per day" sounds better as a mantra. Out of desperation, I went to find Ernie, the DynCorp guy that Johnny knew from Klecker. He was gone, out on a mission. So I lay here on my thin foam mattress, with my back damp from the heat because the air conditioning isn't on right now. Only 20 minutes until I stroll over for chow. "Four twenty-four" is my mantra. We'll see how long my mantra suffices. If things don't get better, when I leave here for my vacation, I'll make sure I leave nothing here that I really care about. If I went home on vacation today, I'd be brainstorming with Richie about how we could survive with what I've already earned and leave this behind. My hope, if the reader understands the full concept of the word "hope," is to be able to buy a home much like the one in Llano- $116K, five acres, 1200 square feet. Take Last Resort there, fly back and do what I can to load all my stuff into a container and get it trucked there. If it took two containers to load everything, I'd be OK with that, too, as long as I had the money to buy the container and pay for the trucking. Maybe food will brighten my outlook. Fifteen minutes until I stroll through the dust storm and find some chow.
# posted by rich @ 2:08 AM 
