Today, Some Bangs

No crashing, though we finish up the driver training today. Everyone has learned to be 100% paranoid of every vehicle, pedestrian, trash can and pothole. We're probably not the people you want in the passenger seat while you're driving, if we ever were. Of course, it's doubtful all twenty of us would have fit in that seat anyway.
Driving a Humvee was fun. A little slow on the steering, but the brakes were excellent, and it's got more pickup than my 11-year old Ford had. It also has a gun turret, which my Ford did not have, though that was probably because I got the cheap sedan model.

We watch a car blown up with eight ounces of explosives in the ashtray. The roof was peeled back like a banana. Lesson learned: keep your ashtray full of crap like candy wrappers and smashed beer cans, so there's no room there for someone to put in half a pound of explosives.

Tomorrow: shooting things.

Recent Developments

It's been a week or so since the last entry. It has not been a week of inactivity. I spent six days in Indiana somewhere riding around in armored humvees, wearing battle vests and helmet, and witnessing sights in the latrine no mortal should ever have to see. Plus, I didn't have my laptop, nor have I gotten around to uploading photos yet. So information on the Indiana portion will have to come later, perhaps this weekend. In the meantime, today began the "Crash and Bang" course. I still believe "Crash and Burn" is more accurate in most cases. Numerous conal homicides were perpetrated throughout the course. I personally am responsible for three, though I don't think the one in reverse really counts, since even in real life driving conditions, you're allowed to run over pedestrians in reverse, especially if they're just sitting there right in the middle of the damn road. I discovered I am pretty good at emergency braking and slaloms, as well as Y-turns. I am reminded that I am not good at driving in reverse at over 25 mph, since I can't keep the car straight. Another car had an "incident," as the instructors called it, with the restraining wall. Overall an enlightening day - we got to practice what to do if the driver is incapacitated, which works even in non-war zones. Say, for example, he had a heart attack, or perhaps dropped his beer and was determined to retrieve it. Either way, the front-seat passenger must take the wheel and even control of the pedals.
Also, burning tire rubber is not as attractive a smell as it may sound.

Wolf, Wolf, Goose

The last time I was at the Foreign Service Institute, the State Department's training facility, there were geese everywhere, especially outside the buildings. They were so omnipresent that "husa" is the Czech word most indelibly imprinted upon my memory, except for "pivo." The funny thing about a campus with dozens of geese - there is also goose shit everywhere.
Well, no more. Scattered across the campus are cardboard cutouts of wolves (or maybe coyotes, I am told, but first, who cares?, and second, what's the difference?). And the geese stay away. And there are remarkably few goose droppings, at least near the doors where the wolves are.
There's got to be a parallel here I can use against my neighbors; I'm really getting tired of their crapping in my yard.

Fairy Boats

Anyone can make a typo. We can all forgive the occasional mix-up of words like "discreet" and "discrete." It drives me crazy, but I must admit that it's common for some people to screw up "it's" and "its." And then there's this category.

During a presentation today - Power Point, of course; I think it must be in the Constitution somewhere that anytime a DoD representative talks s/he must be accompanied by a Power Point show - we see images of a team advancing across desert terrain in southwestern Afghanistan. When they come to an unfordable river, what else can they do but seek riverine transport for their heavy vehicle? So the first time I see the text informing us that the troops have taken a "fairy boat" to cross the river, I assume that the author was simply in a hurry, or has a quirky sense of humor.

Then comes the next slide with the lesson learned regarding this unforgivable terrain. "When in this part of the country, remember - you must use a fairy."

I guess that don't ask, don't tell policy really is gone.

Psy Ops

It's a little frustrating to be a State Dept public affairs person when listening to a military representative explain his viewpoint on "public affairs," which really doesn't mean the same thing in the two bureaucratic worlds. First there's the beauty of the phrase "psychological operations," which doesn't sound like persuading people you're friendly and that your policy is right/reasonable. Then there was the moment when the presenter discussed identifying the people who, in public diplomacy parlance, would be called the "audience," perhaps the "target audience." We describe figuring out who these people are as "identifying influential audiences." Maybe we'll say "influence multipliers." Rarely, however, do we call this process "non-lethal targeting," as the presenter termed it. It sounds like we're only going to shoot him in the crotch or something. It might hurt like hell, but it won't kill him.

Malaria Pills and Side Effects

As I pick up the malaria pills, the nurse and I have a discussion of possible side effects of the various options. I choose the one that does NOT induce hallucinogenic dreams; no sense in having more of those than usual. But this leads me to believe that ALL medications should come with a choice of side effects. Bean-O, for example, should not just impede flatulence; why not have it also produce Cialis/Viagra-like effects? That way, your enjoyment is doubled, and there are no embarrassing moments when you're sitting in the side-by-side hot tubs on the lawn, as you're apparently expected to do when taking Cialis.
I think the same principle of patient choice should also apply to the method of ingesting. Maybe I don't want the elephant pill stuck in my throat, nor, God forbid, introduced as a suppository. Why shouldn't I have the right to demand an injection, or perhaps absorb the medication through some sort of Edgar Cayce, subliminal, stick the pill under my pillow means? Same rule applies to timing. It's not sufficient to be told to take the pill after a meal. I want the label to say, "Take after a heavy meal of roast suckling lamb and several bottles of red wine."
Medicine should be not just efficacious, but also pleasant. The people who conduct prostate exams should think more about this. These are the kinds of things I think about during class breaks.

Bearding the Lion

We are told that those with a white grizzled beard are usually accorded more respect, and encouraged to grow one, as long as we are comfortable with that. Many of the men in the room thoughtfully stroke their chins; the younger ones consider dye. Nearly all the women recognize this a bridge too far for them.
I haven't decided yet. From experience I know that beards are not necessarily comfortable, especially in hot/humid weather. On the other hand, I also already know from experience that mine will have its fair share of white in it. If I decide to grow it, I will post before, during and after photos.

Drunks et al

Here is the initial list of possible end states (other than metabolically challenged, which doesn't rhyme and so is omitted):
- Hunk. This person spends every possible moment working out in the gym.
- Chunk. Takes excessive advantage of the free food from the cafeteria.
- Drunk. Takes normal Foreign Service reception behavior to an unacceptable extreme.
- Monk. Retreats to his/her hooch or room and avoids all contact with society.

To which is added a fifth:
- Skunk. Neglects, to a woefully offensive degree, all concepts of personal hygiene, and/or becomes a total skank/slut. I don't want to think about the person whom this person who combines both traits manages to shack up with.

This strikes me as terribly unimaginative pigeon-holing. We can do much better than this.

For starters there are additional combinations:
- The Drunken Monk. Who says the guy alone in his room is sober?
- The Monk Skunk. Who says he's not getting busy with himself?
- The Chunky Hunk. Hell, Reubens found this person attractive; who's to say others won't?
- The Chunky Drunk. Eats AND drinks to excess.
- The Chunky Monk. Usually named Ben or Jerry.

Even now, we have not exhausted all the possibilities.

- Punk. When good diplomats go bad.
- Junk. Keep yours covered at all times, lest the previously mentioned EEO concerns arise.
- Funk. The chronically depressed co-worker.
- Flunk. PNG'd or fired. See also "Sunk."
- Bunk. One who is full of it. Though a rare phenomenon in the Foreign Service, his/her existence has been documented on occasion.
- Thelonius Monk. Spends entire tour learning to play a musical instrument.
- Slunk and Thunk. The past tense of "slink" and "think," according to the Dizzy Dean Dictionary.

Earthquakes, Cows and Drunks, Oh My

Earthquakes rank about 114th on the list of things to be concerned about, plus we were in Chile, so a tremor or a moderate shaking wouldn't be a new thing. So on to the next issue.

In a fascinating session on Afghan agriculture, we learn that a US cow typically produces 30 liters of milk a day. We are shown a photo of a "typical Afghan cow" and told that this one produces only 2 liters of milk a day. On balance, it doesn't seem that bad since, as one of the alert students points out, the "cow" is in fact a bull, judging by the photographic evidence. Either that, or a cow with issues. I vow not to drink any "cow" milk unless I see the source.

For the second time we hear the list of "drunk-hunk-chunk" etc options for how one can spend the tour there. This is so long it deserves a separate post.

Resiliency in a High-Stress Environment

This session is important. You don't want your co-workers going crazy, especially if they are likely to single you out as the reason for their troubles since you happen to be the supervisor.

Perhaps the highlight is when the presenter declares, "You are statistically more likely to be killed by your roommate than by an insurgent." Somehow, this is not comforting, even if true. We're also told that the best exercise to relieve stress is sex.

Postscript, 30 minutes later: I find out my roommate assignment - it's Mullah Omar. There are all sorts of ways this could be bad. I can't help but wonder - how will this be tabulated in the statistics?

Tuesday EEO Notes

The EEO trainer shares a number of hilarious, if unbelievable, stories, and I learn the phrase "elevator eyes," which is something inappropriate in a work setting. Most enjoyable is the one about the male who repeatedly pestered the woman to go out with him, and she repeatedly refused. Finally he chose his only remaining reasonable recourse - sashaying up to her cubicle, unzipping, and showing her the goods. The woman inexplicably not only did not agree to date him immediately - she pointed and laughed. The aggrieved male did what any true-blooded American would do in such a situation - he immediately filed a complaint of sexual harassment.

I am saddened to confess that I have worked with a number of dufuses capable of this behavior.

The Classes Begin

Some more administrative details, and then, out of the blue, some guy comes in and tells us the place is dangerous. Really, more of this information should be available before we accidentally bid on one of these jobs. Apparently, there are people who want to kill Americans - even me, and I'm about as likable as they come.

Day One, the Afternoon

Over to State Department for the rest of the day. We fill out about 20 forms. I take unnecessarily long figuring out which side to use for the digital signature equipment, then successfully stay awake during nearly the entire computer network safety/security presentation required for access to DoD systems when I'm in the field. I also forget my sunglasses; these are undoubtedly now the coolest-looking sunglasses inside the Department. I see few people walking the corridor staring down at the floor. Either the culture has completely changed, or else everyone was taking Friday off. We are, mostly, completely "processed" by the in-processing office. A restful weekend, and courses start Monday at FSI. Minor disagreement with the OIP staff over training schedules, since I prefer my name of "Crash and Burn" to theirs of "Crash and Bang" for the driving/explosions course. I foresee that mine will prove more accurate. Time will tell.

Day One, All Bureaucracy - The Morning

Another auspicious beginning when the shuttle bus to the Pentagon never shows up for the first hour. Plus, my paperwork for the CAC ID card has been repeatedly screwed up - the latest has somebody else's name and SSN, so at least I can steal his ID if I get desperate. Miraculously, once we get through the Pentagon's public screening area, things move smoothly. My info is already in the system, and it takes 15 minutes to process the card. The holdup was the delay in capturing my fingerprints; they have to try 3 fingers on each hand before getting a clear print. This could be useful in the future if I decide to resort to cat burglary, since apparently I don't leave clear prints.

Not a Good Start

Three hours sitting on the plane and in the terminal waiting for thunderstorms to pass west of Washington so our flight could take off from Atlanta. Even though waiting involves no exertion at all, it is somehow one of the most tiring things to do.
Finally rolled into DC hotel after 9 pm.

The destination, by the way, is Afghanistan.

Almost Ready to Start

We begin the bureaucratic check-in procedures tomorrow, after our flight arrives in Washington. First a thorough review to make sure all the paperwork is in order; then the almost certainly longer-than-necessary in-processing and standing in line at the Pentagon for an ID card. The flight leaves in 16 hours.