To all the Debbie Downers

To all the Debbie Downers: Yeah, I know the war isn't over. Thanks for the fucking update.

That's not the point. Today is a symbol of victory and revenge against a man who who carved into history a tragedy that defined the past 10 years of our lives, killed innocent civilians, twisted and bastardized Islam to support his evil ends, polarized a nation, and hid just out of reach from our grasp until he was killed in a damn MANSION by silent professionals who may never be able to tell the story that we all want to hear.

Today is a day of joy for all those who lost friends and family, brothers and sisters in arms, and grew up with the images of the attacks burned into their brains.

You can't take this moment away from us.

Sizing up the Competition

So, I am currently competing for a slot on one of the teams at work. Without saying too much, let's just say that this team is really physical. Thanks to the fact that many people do not know how to use BCC on email, I also know that there are 30 other individuals in the running. While that doesn't seem like much, that number is around 3% of individuals who would be eligible to apply. Seems a lot bigger now, huh? I think in personally know 8 or 9 of them.

So what do we have to do at the tryouts? No one really knows. There are no published standards, except for one shooting test, which is standard for our job. All we have is a packing list, a date, and the fact that it will take 36 hours. We were also told that water would be involved.

So you have 30 guys, all doing whatever training method that they can, with no metric to compare themselves to, outside of themselves. Some do Crossfit, Military Athlete, Ladder 25 (just heard about this today, but have no info on it), some do workouts that have been floating around and are designed for trying out for another team, which is harder to get onto. It's insane.

So you may wonder, how many slots are there for this team? I have no idea, but as far as I'm concerned, there is only one slot.

That's really the mentality that I have to go into this thing with. I mean, if there are 5 slots, you can't shoot to be the 5th best. That's just lazy. You want to coast past the others and gain a slot without any worry. You have to want to crush the competition. I'm literally sizing up the status of every other person that I came across. What's their workout, who do they know, what do they know about the workouts of others.

We're all just waiting and wondering.


And working out.

Pain Redifined

The other night, during my workout, I had to do some psychological evaluation of my definitions of pain.

Now, there are different types of pain. There's the physical type that is caused by actual damage or stress to body parts. For example, I don't use Nike sneakers, because they cause a huge amount of pain to the bottom of my foot, under the arch. Anyway...

Due to tryouts coming up in May, I have begun ramping up my physical training. What this amounts to is usually 2 workouts a day, plus martial arts training on Monday and Thursday. Physically, I'm not going to die, but I'm feeling something I haven't felt in a long time.

It's probably due to the fact that I am generally in better shape than your average person, outside of the military. When you compare yourself to the people around you, you feel really good, because they are generally out of shape. However, this leads to a level of complacency. I haven't had to push myself like this in a while, so I'm starting to hit those walls that I haven't hit. There is also the matter of learning that I can easily function through that pain, as long as I psychologically identify it for what it is: not the point of failure for my body.

As badly as this training is kicking my ass, it's necessary. I know that this year, the deck is stacked, and I know some of the people trying out. I know I have my work cut out for me.

Wayback Wednesday: National Strike Day & the new apartment in Italy

This post originally appeared on November 30, 2004. It was my introduction to the lazy life of the Italian in Italy. I mean, this is just the tip of the iceberg, because over the next 3 years, I would suffer to many more mildly inconveniences. This also contains the first pictures of my apartment.

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After a workout that enhanced both my abs and my abs, I went to the chow hall to get some breakfast, and found that only paper plates and plastic utensils were being used today. Why? Because the Italians are taking a day off for, (stop drinking anything) NATIONAL STRIKE DAY!!! I have yet to visit a lazier country than Italy. Seriously, this country should have a national Go do your damn job day, in which work actually gets done. In case you missed an earlier post, let me enlighten you. The typical Italian business opens at 1000, and stays open until 1200. From 1200 until 1500 (that’s 3 hours or 300 hours for you military people), most businesses are closed, except for restaurants. That’s because the Italians like to take their time for lunch. I mean, you have to since every meal is required to have a minimum of 4 courses, plus wine. So the store reopens at 1500 and stays open until 1800. That means these people have a 5 hour workday (unless you work in a restaurant, in which case, you stay open for long periods, because people take forever to eat). Also, never count on a business being open on a Sunday. Lastly, businesses are required to be closed for one day of the week, which varies from business to business. So that comes out to being open for 5 days a week, 5 hours a day, for a 25-hour work week. I think this country needs a National “We lost World War 2, so we should speak English” day.

Okay, so then it rains all day. Surprisingly, this is also the day where I have to do a lot of walking outside. You feel kind of bad when you have to walk to a place in sideways falling rain, and notice that one half of your uniform is a lot wetter than another side. However, you feel better when you realize that it will all even out when you walk back in the other direction. Damn Infantry. I'm a man, who can't wear rain gear because of my branch. Most people in the Infantry don't acknowledge that it exists, unless you have to spend a long period standing in the rain. Also, if it’s just YOU that have to be in the rain, you don't wear the wet weather gear, or you'll be called various 4 and 5-letter words, mostly in jest.

I was promoted today to First Lieutenant (1LT). Technically, my date of rank is 1 December (and so is Eddie's, Heather). It just means that I get a pay raise ($343.40 per month, plus the 3% pay raise at the start of the year thanks to cost of living) to spend money on new rank, and that I've been commissioned for 18 months. No real changes. 6 months until my next pay raise (2 years in the army means another raise of 362.40 a month, or $705.80 more than I currently make). Combat will mean that I'll have to pay no income taxes for a year.

Lastly, I had to go out to my apartment to have it inspected before I move in, so I took some pictures while I was there:

This is my Kitchen area. Note that the stove is kind of small. That’s just how it is in Italy. I have no idea why, especially when they cook such large meals. The fridge hides away, looking like a cabinet and tricking hungry thieves into thinking that I have no leftovers. The last picture is the view from the Kitchen.

This is my large bathroom, and the shower. I didn't include a view from the bathroom, because no one really looks out of the bathroom window. Maybe I should have checked to see is there might be someone looking in. Maybe I could charge for shows.

This is the small bathroom. And,... um,... yeah.

This is the small bedroom. It is where other will be sleeping, unless there is some reason they want to share the large bed (lightning, etc.). The last pic is the view (in case your perspective is off, that is not a wall behind the trees. It's an open field or something. Look at the distance on that view.

This is the big bedroom, aka My Room. That is my bed, and a picture of me taking a picture. Once again, the view. There's a third room, but there was nothing in it, so I took now pictures of it.

This is half of the living room. I forgot to take a picture of the other half of it, which is where the couch and two comfort seats (I think that's what you call them) are. Finally, this is the view from the window. The first pic is what's to the left, the second is straight ahead, and the last is what's to the right. Now you may be asking, "How much does this cost?" 850 euro a month, which is a little over $1,000. Now, guess how much the Army give me for rent, ON TOP OF my paycheck: 850 euro (non-taxable income). Can you say free housing? I know I can.

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Flashback: Inprocessing in Italy

Like I said last time, I would be reposting some of the best stuff from my old blog. I'm going to make this on Monday's (Memory Mondays?). Honestly, the day of the week that this will happen will be based on what say I believe will give the best name (e.g. Time Machine Tuesdays, Wayback Wednesdays, Flashback Fridays). I'm actually trying to figure out which day is the most boring. Ok, I've decided. Once a week, in the middle somewhere, with one of those names (also Time Machine Thursdays).

This was originally posted on November 8, 2004, and was around the time that I arrived at my first duty station in Italy. After 3 years there, I can't say that my perception changed much. However, if you got away from the base, you could partake of some fun stuff.

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Holy crap, I'm tired. And it's only 1355 (that's 1:55 PM for you civilians). The jet lag must be hitting me pretty damn hard. Either that, or it could be because I didn't go to bed until 0130, and then woke up at 0525. Maybe it's because I had that Grande Soft Taco from Taco Bell, and my body doesn't know how to deal with that much food.

Today was pretty interesting. We started it off by having a health and welfare inspection for knives. Apparently a soldier went downtown with a huge knife on him, and there was some kind of incident. So all of the leadership had to go and search all of the rooms for knives, which would then be tagged and stored in out arms room. Can you believe it? Thy're taking knives away from the Infantry. It's funny because my platoon alone is issued 40mm grenade launchers (imagine a machine gun that shoots grenades), 50 caliber machine guns, 7.62 M240B machine guns (7.62 or .308 for you civilians), Squat Automatic Wapons, and enough ammunition to level a small town.

BUT, we can't have knives. I mean you should see the stuff that some soldiers had. There were a couple of tomahawks, switchblades, and my favorite, knives with blades 8 inches and larger. Hell, I heard one guy in Iraq basically carried around a katana on his back.
On a lighter note, today started the first day of official inprocessing. This is a huge part of why I'm sleepy. Some of the classes are interesting. I've learned that in Italy

1. Recycling is part of the law, and the fine is HUGE.
2. Italy is about one-third the size of Florida, yet has a population of 60 million, and it's very packed.
3. The Pope is apparently mad with Northern Italy for having lots of sex for purposes other than procreation.
4. Apparently, this place is the "World capital of fashion", which is supposed to explain why the guys dress like they're gay, and the women refuse to wear anything except pointy shoes with heels (apparently some refuse to wear a pair of tennis shoes).
5. It's not uncommon to see women walking around holding hands, or walking arm in arm. Apparently. the Italians are very physical, and have no idea about what personal space is. Apparently, it's not uncommen to see a father-son combo walking with arms linked, either. This seems to go "hand in hand" with the way that they dress.
6. Italian drivers SUCK. Seriously. Imagine the worse driving you have ever seen. No imagine a whole country drives like that. Welcome to Italy. There are almost no lights for crossing the streets. Pedistrians just eventually cross when the chances of death are minimized.

If there's one thing that I have definately learned at these briefings, it's that if you're married, you have a whole assload of paperword to do. This has led me to a couple of conclusions about a few choices in life:

1. While in Italy, don't get married to someone in the US who will want to come over to Italy and live with you.
2. Don't marry a native Italian woman, because that will only lead to more paperwork.
3. If you are married and your family stays in the US, you can bank off pretty well on the fact that the army will pay you to compensate for rent back in the states where your family is, AND what your housing costs here.

Lastly, I learned not to make a Voltron reference when the Company Commander is talking about Brigade Combat Teams and says "and it's all modular, so you can combine them and they form together," all while making some kind of combining motion with his hands.