Bad Navigation

When I say "today" it's a relative term. I honestly couldn't tell you the day of the week or the date without really thinking about it. But, "today" is supposed to be Columbus Day when we celebrate bad navigating. The beautiful part of it all is that in Afghanistan we don't celebrate it by taking off work. We work and get paid Holiday pay. Of course, to save money, they pay us for our holiday on Sunday so they don't have to pay us Sunday Premium. So instead of getting paid for a holiday on Monday, we're paid for it on Sunday, but being 8.5 to 11.5 hours ahead of the rest of the country that means that get paid for our holiday before Sunday in the States.

Columbus, who didn't know where he landed, is celebrated by people, who don't know what day it is, on a day that doesn't match up with the day that people on the land Columbus didn't know he found.

Why does this make perfect sense to me?

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Cut Fruit

I don't often preface my work, either you get it or you don't. Sometimes I reiterate where I am or what I'm doing, but very rarely prefaced. This is an exception. This post was started on 12 Aug. I posted it in draft form on my blog on 8 Sep. When I wrote it I noticed I had a similar post entitled Smoking a SIGAR. Same topic, different observations. The SIGAR post may come out later, but for now, there's Cut Fruit. In light of the actions of our elected officials in Washington, D.C. I think it's appropriate to share now, at a point that Congress has collected over $2 million dollars in salaries while not operating because of funding squabbles. It isn't this Congress's fault that while no other part of the government is funded completely or at the adequate amount that their paychecks still go into the bank on time, but they aren't bothering to fix that for the next one either.

So, with no further ado, Cut Fruit:

Not long before I headed home for R&R I was talking with Pat (because, again, first names are for officers) and he commented on the cut fruit. Now after two months of talking with him I have no idea why I haven't heard about the cut fruit before.

Pat is an engineer, too. His dad was an engineer. It's in the blood. He jokes about hating spreadsheets, but I suspect he has a spreadsheet he uses to track all the spreadsheets he doesn't use. It's in the blood.

Not all engineers are in touch with their artistic side like me. Not that my projects look artistic, I'd still build the world out of cinder blocks (kind of like we do in Afghanistan), but I can take a big picture and pare it down to an anecdote or small example. This comes in handy in my engineering job because of how I describe things. I consider a major part of my job to be taking the people who talk french and the people who are talking German and get them communicating with one another using English. My ability to touch the human side of things means I know which group to say is using English and which group is using German. Sometimes people are touchy about such things, especially the french.

I don't catch them all, but Pat, who usually compliments my ability to catch the macro and describe it with the inane, absolutely nailed one of the biggest things there is to grab and explained it with cut fruit.

Every morning Pat walks in to the DFAC (dining facility for the un-acronymed) and sees cut fruit. This starts off the day poorly and he can't get over it. Cut fruit is wasteful. If all the fruit isn't eaten, it will get thrown away. And it's never all eaten, there's simply too much. To cut the fruit takes a lot of man power. All morning long there are people cutting fruit, putting fruit out on the bar, and later on throwing out the uneaten, unused cut fruit. We are in a war zone. There are people coming through the line with weapons, that will be getting into an armored vehicle and going on patrol, or training the Afghan army, or just plain run the risk of meeting up with the bad guys and getting a street named after them, or a building, or some other piece of infrastructure that is named to memorialize a fallen soldier. Some of these soldiers get cut fruit but most of the fruit does not go on patrol. It goes into the trash.

Every day, we spend money on cut fruit, and Pat can't get over it. He leaves from the cut fruit and comes in to work, where we argue over how to more efficiently spend the government's money. The money that Congress wastefully blows by appropriating it for causes and getting bent out of shape when it is wasted because the system they installed for controlling the spending of the money is inefficient because that is the way they wanted the system. I would say they spend it like a drunken sailor, but I don't want to insult anybody that's ever served in the Navy, after all, even drunken sailors stop spending money when their wallet's empty.

Congress wants cut fruit.

I had to come to grips long ago about the way the federal government spends its money. Congress gives up efficiency in order to maintain control. Congress does not want efficiency because the most efficient way to spend money is to not allow Congress to spend it.

If you don't learn anything at all from reading my blog, learn this. Send it to people who don't read it, never ever forget it. And the next time you hear of some wasteful expenditure of money remember it:

Congress gives up efficiency in order to maintain control.

A subsidiary effect of this is that Congress gets bent out of shape when their money is spent inefficiently--the way they want it. Congress does not want to admit that they spend it inefficiently, that would be asinine and a sure-fire way to not get re-elected. So Congress spends money to investigate the inefficient way they spend money. They then get reports from their inefficient investigators that say the money was spent exactly like Congress wanted it to be spent. Of course their reports don't say that, their reports say that it was spent in accordance with some bloated, asinine, inefficient system. The report doesn't say that Congress invented the system.

Pat can't get over the cut fruit. I can. I can because I have to. I can't do my job hung up on the fact that it is a dumb system. All I can do is spend the government's money like it is my own. My efficiency with the government's money pales in comparison with Congress's inefficiency. I can never catch up to their stupid. But I couldn't sleep at night if I didn't do all I could to try. Do not ever mistake my ability to get over the cut fruit as agreement with the system.

There's an awful lot of stupid, I've mentioned it before. Unfortunately, there isn't just cut fruit on the bar. There is a wide variety of cut fruit on the bar.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

The Open Closed Door

Today is a day of frustrations. In the United States the only open government doors will be the doors that allow people to pad the politicians who are supposed to keep the other doors open but won't. It is a day of anger and strife. Some people will be told that because our overpaid, bloated Senators and Congressmen who wouldn't vote to put themselves out if they were on fire if it somehow gave a benefit to the other political party's trite banality, didn't do the job they were elected to do. Once more the United States enters the beginning of its fiscal year without a budget and it is on pace to do so without even a Continuing Resolution--that political ploy that is supposed to send the message of "we didn't get it yet but we're almost there." A general consensus is that 2009 is the last time we had a budget passed. I'm not sure that's correct, but the point is the same CR after CR is no way to fund anything. Most CRs are used to simply fund the government at the level it was last year. If you got $100 last year here's $100 this year. So clearly the reason the fat bastages can't agree how to tie their shoes this year is that one group wants to fund something we have never had before. Simultaneously funding at the same level as year and providing new funds, what's the harm in that?

I rail against stupidity and stupidity has a name. It is the United States Senate. It is the United States House of Representatives. It is the Democratic Party. It is the Republican Party. It is the President of the United States. This is the face of stupidity and it is not in any order.

And on this day of utter stupidity, where the only people who will make a buck working for the government in the United States are the assholes that aren't allowing anyone else who works for the United States government to make a buck today, I am proud to be an American.

Proud! To be an American! Smile on my face proud. I mean deep-seated, no sarcasm, stand tall in the saddle, bleed red, white and blue, proud to be an American! American by birth, Southern by the Grace of God. Both are why I am here. And that is why today is a day of frustrations.

You see, today is the first day that my office will be working without Raziq. My office is one of only two I know in Afghanistan to work with Local Nationals day in and day out. I have several Afghans who come in, work a full day, and go home at night in my office. It allows me to mentor and train the Afghan Engineers who will carry on the work of building and pushing this country forward after we leave. It allows me a chance to learn about the local cultures, traditions, and to eat some local food (the grapes are fantastic). But Raziq is relocating.

A few weeks back, Raziq hosted a gathering in his house. Where he made some less than flattering remarks about President Karzai. Someone recorded it, and now Raziq and his family are not safe. He is relocating away from his home, Herat, because he is not safe. He doesn't have a job where he's going but he's moving his wife and children. Because he can't speak his mind about his government the way every political pundit, analyst, newscaster, businessman, little league ball coach, military member, or unemployed person can in our country.

Rail against the government, it's your right. Be proud you are American and can rail against the government. And pray for my friend Raziq as he starts his new life where he continues to not be able to do the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Which Side of the Line

It's been said there's a thin line between genius and insanity. What's unsaid is that the only way you know which side of that line you're on is if its the former though sometimes the genius is in questioning which side you're on. Not just a philosophical moment, I'm struggling with a question and that might be the answer to it.

New Ixeveh

It's been said that the United States doesn't have royalty (we did after all fight a war to keep from having them) but we do vicariously have a Queen. We celebrate our aristocratic family in a slightly less open way than our true founding fathers, the British. And yes, true founding fathers is a stretch since I come from an area more proud of its Spanish and french founding fathers than their English heritage (I still think that D'Iberville and Bienville spoke with a Southern drawl). Whether you agree or not, there is unquestionably some degree of interest in the British Royal family. Maybe we don't treasure the Queen or mourn the loss of the Queen Mother. Perhaps there isn't much speculation on whether or not the Queen really wants to hang on until she can give her grandson the throne rather than her son (a topic I did discuss with an actual Englishman en route from Bahrain to Heathrow). But we keep track of our cousins the Brits. Twice in my life I've woken up to watch a Royal Wedding, maybe I don't care about the Prime Minister or his politics, but I still track the Queen.

In the same way, The South has New Orleans. Eclectic, original, historic, any city in the United States can claim the same things, but New Orleans revels in it and just puts it out to say love us or hate us, you know where we are. New Orleans is the heart of the South, the screw it all, I want to be just like it was South. The heat, the humidity, the old sidewalks, dangerous and non-ADA compliant. Buildings that look like they'll fall down at any minute, yet they house new restaurants, new bars, new antique shops.

Growing up within 90 miles of New Orleans, I went a lot. I remember a trip at the age of 5 with my Aunt Susie, I remember trips to the Audubon Zoo in just about every one of its renovations and stages. I recall when the Aquarium of the Americas was built, the 1984 World's Fair, my first NFL game when the Vikings beat the Saints by three points because Tony Galbreath cost them the game with Archie Manning as quarterback. I recall Bobby Hebert's less than stellar return to the Superdome when everyone booed as he took the field and he cheered them on thinking them cheers. I recall three plays later when they did turn to cheers and in typical Saints-fan fashion they loved him again. I recall the first time I saw the no longer there swinging legs at Big Daddy's, my first underage Hurricane at Pat O'Brien's. Well, underage because you could drink at 18 but you couldn't buy it until 21, last State in the country on that one. I recall getting caught in many a torrential downpour in Jackson Square that lasted only as long as it took to get under cover, a tour of the Papal Portraits in St. Louis Cathedral. So much history, mine, and the country's.

New Orleans is the heart of a lot of things. Some stuff that they claim started here didn't but they claim it all the same. No one corrects them, they just add to it. I heard a guy explaining how Basin Street was filled in starting in the 40's. That part is probably true, but the remainder of his explanation, that it was done as they started building the interstate system, not so much, since Eisenhower didn't sign that act for a few years yet. There are lots of other stories, not so factually off, about interstates such as The Second Battle of New Orleans was fought by people who didn't want an elevated interstate going through the heart of the Heart of the South (a fascinating story that's really, REALLY off-topic, and if I say it's off-topic, wow!).

Despite my love of Biloxi, my love of my new home Fairhope, and despite the fact that I have never "loved" New Orleans, it has always held a place in my heart as well. Not the decadent, debauchery associated with Mardi Gras, not the party all day, every day feel of New Orleans, the real part of the city. The quiet, heartbeat of the city.

New Orleans has made appearances in my blog even though this it the first time I have visited the city proper since before Katrina. It is the model for New Ixeveh from my novella. When I was told that novellas are too hard to publish as a first work (unless you want to self-publish), I chose New Ixeveh as the part of my novella that would be expanded in my work in progress. So yes, the plan is to publish the novel simply to generate interest in the novella. Backwards, perhaps. Impossible, highly likely (though impossible is a synonym for unimaginative in my book). But it is the plan. New Orleans lies at the heart of the plan.

William Faulkner wrote his first novel here in a small unassuming little house on Pirate Alley. The Nobel Prize winning author began the leg of his career that 30 years later would earn the award in New Orleans. For all that I've ever done in New Orleans, the one thing I haven't done is write there.

Until today.

The heartbeat of the city pulses underneath me as I sit on the second story balcony of the Dauphine Orleans. The heat presses down from above as I view the varied and changing skyline from my metal deck chair. One of St. Louis's spires sticks above the roofline as the humidity envelops me. The Macbook in my lap burns my legs as I watch the city sleepily prepare for another day, and another night.

New Orleans lives and breathes. It gets in your blood, in your soul. It inspires. It is.

~~~~~~~~~

After I returned home to Fairhope I started reading New Orleans Sketches by William Faulkner. They were short pieces he sold to make money while living in New Orleans. I bought the book in the Pirates Alley Bookstore in one of the two rooms he rented while living there. In many ways these sketches show the transition from poet to novelist he made while living there. In typical form, he succinctly said what I prolifically (and ineptly) said above:

New Orleans . . . a courtesan whose hold is strong upon the mature, to whose charm the young must respond. And all who leave her, seeking the virgin's unbrown, ungold hair and her blanched and icy breast where no lover has died, return to her when she smiles across her languid fan. . . .

New Orleans. 

 From "New Orleans" in New Orleans Sketches

~~~~~~~~~         ~~~~~~~~~

Before I found the Faulkner bit I was going to end with: And, it's like my home in Afghanistan, because you are afraid to drink the water straight from the tap.

Rolexes, Carpets, and Scarves; Oh My!

So in my last post I mentioned a story about how Super Watch cost less than a Rolex. An odd statement (unless you know me I suppose). Lots of things cost less than a Rolex. I've bought many cars that were less than the cost of a Rolex. In fact, I've bought many cars for the price of a Rolex. Super Watch cost 20 bucks.

My first trip to the Bazaar in Camp Stone was an informational jaunt. My second trip was a fact gathering mission. The third time I bought a bunch of stuff to send home for when I arrived to give as gifts--among them Rolexes.

On trip two, I was perusing the wares. While our bazaar is a bit of an open-air mall, it is also closed in. Weird that it has a gravel floor, but it is Afghanistan. The vendors hang out on the "exterior" of their stores until a customer comes up, then they follow you inside and start haggling over quality and prices. Even in that exterior area, there are other vendor's wares. It is an experience all on its own.

As I looked over some carpets and scarves I asked the proprietor where they were made. When he told me India I asked if he had anything made in Herat. He did not.

Walking on around to the next shop, the owner, who had heard my question followed me in and said, "Here's something made in Herat." Excited I looked to see what he had grabbed and handed to me. It was a beautiful Rolex.

It looked like a Rolex, felt like a Rolex, it even moved like a Rolex. It has scratch-resistant glass, hefty weight, gaudy size, nice band, it is a pretty nice watch all on its own. I didn't have any money this time, but the guy kept coming down on his price anyway as we haggled. It didn't feel right to say I was Jewing him down, but that ethnically insensitive term was exactly what I was thinking.

Fast forward to Trip Three. I went to Tawab, the guy Marlon-jon told me I needed to see. I picked out a nice Rolex for my mother-in-law and one similar to the one I had looked at before. Then Tawab threw in one for free. Who wouldn't want to say they bought 2 Rolexes and got one for free? The quality of these was not quite the quality of the one I saw on Trip Two, but the price was less than that one as well. Still, all things considered, I factored the price three ways and paid about 30 bucks per watch.

Not a Super Watch, but a Super Priced Watch.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

Irony or Mere Juxtaposition?

On this day most of us remember where we were when we still had a World Trade Center in New York, New York (the town so nice, they named it twice). For my part, I was going in to work late because I had something to deliver for work in downtown Birmingham. I was going to give my brother-in-law a ride to his condo in Dirt Pile (known to everyone besides he and I as a little burg named Mountain Brook). I stopped at my normal gas station, a Jet Station. You cannot make up the good stuff.

When I went in to pay the clerk told me that an airplane had flown into the World Trade Center. Now this did not concern me one little bit. NOT IN THE LEAST! Because I am a Civil Engineer, at the time I was still in school, in fact, I was taking my Structural Steel class. But I wasn't worried because I know that skyscrapers are designed to withstand an airline collision. Of course, that design is predicated on the fact that the pilot realizes he's headed for a building and is attempting to avoid it. The Empire State Building was hit by a B-25 in 1945. It is, to my knowledge, the highest fire that has ever been successfully put out. But when the pilot realized a collision was unavoidable he was still trying to avoid it.

Getting back into the truck we continued on and heard that the second tower was hit. Immediately I realized, the first plane wasn't trying to miss and we were in for a bad day. Modern sky scrapers are not made to hold the weight of the floors above them. The floors are designed to hold up the weight of the floor, the weight is then transferred down. It is a fascinating concept that is a part of the reason I never wanted to be a structural engineer, however, no engineer can ever look at a structure without thinking load transfer ever.

As the radio told us the second tower was hit I turned to my brother-in-law and said, "Johnny, some country just used to exist." I was as positive of that then as I am now. While I am rebuilding that country.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~