Random Thoughts of the Day

Before diving into the main topic, I'd like to inform the world that Afghanistan stole my Zune sync cord. I used it in Kuwait and packed it up before leaving. Now, all of the sudden, it's gone. Just goes to show you nothing, including land, is above thievery.

My time at Bagram Airfield has been interesting. I've met people from all over the world, and they were kind enough to introduce me to whatever pathogens they brought from their home countries. I occasionally have a Frank Burns moment and ponder at all the foreigners on base. Then I remember I'm one of those foreigners. I get a good chuckle at the irony of it all, but folks walking by tend to get freaked out when they see an armed man laughing to himself.

I've taken quite a few pictures so far, but haven't been able to upload them due to the connection speed being on par with glacier retreats. Trust me, they're great pics! If you've never seen Bagram on a map (and chances are you weren't interested until just now), it looks like it's in a valley. I assure you that's a lie. We're completely surrounded by mountains. It's like that movie The Running Man, but instead of a futuristic wasteland, it's just a bunch of tall mountains. I'm not sure if people run for their lives through the mountains wearing spandex, but I wouldn't put anything past the crazies among us.

I guess that's it. When you're as serious as I am, you seldom have random thoughts. But I'll leave you with this bit of “WTF?!”: I ran into U.S. Coast Guard personnel the other day. Look at a map of Afghanistan, and laugh to your heart's content.

ckj

The People Wearing My Socks While I'm Away...

While I'm over here doing my thing, there is a great bunch of folks back home waiting for me. Most of them snore, and one spends a little too much time licking herself, but all in all...I'd say they're swell. Since the internet is filled with crazies who do nothing more than read blogs all day, then try to track down the subjects in order to fulfill some lifelong fantasy they've only had for two weeks, I'll use codenames for my family's safety. You may remember these a zany characters from TV shows of yore.

Chesty LaRue...NO...Busty St.Claire (the wife)

My marriage to Chesty has spanned three decades. It only adds up to 15 years...but still. Chesty and I are the perfect match. Oh wait, it's Busty. Anyway, Busty is a real go-getter. She works as hard as anyone I've ever met at everything she does. Busty has an unfortunate tendency to beat herself up when she shouldn't. It's my hope that one day she will cut herself some slack.

You're doing a great job, Busty. I love you!

Stay off my side of the bed!

Slim Goodbody (the oldest boy)

A father looks at his firstborn son and says “that boy is going to grow up to be something special.” It's only when they become teenagers that we realize “something special” is the guest of honor in a shallow grave out back. Slim has quite a few things going for him. He's smart, he's handsome (you're welcome, son), and he has a mostly friendly disposition. He also has the decision-making skills of rancid horseradish.

If you read this son, remember two things:

1. Mom and I love you.
2. As a high school graduation present to you, we're changing the locks.

Punky Brewster (my baby girl)

Punky isn't a baby anymore, which I think is completely unfair. My daughter is growing up to be a beautiful, intelligent young lady. She's finally embracing sports, after many mornings of her giving me the 'glare of death' on our morning runs. Yes indeed, Punky is headed for greatness.

That's assuming she isn't eventually swallowed by her messy room. Prior to my deployment, I had only seen her completely uncluttered floor a grand total of three times in a year.

Punky, Punky, Punky...

Incredible Hulk (the baby...HA!)

We knew Hulk would be a handful the day he was born. 11.5 lbs; natural delivery; no time for drugs...give Busty some props! At two minutes old, he captured the delivery room's attention when the doctor said, “holy $%!@, he's holding his head up and looking around!” For all of you sexists out there, the doctor was a woman; now apologize for thinking some crusty old man used crude language in the delivery room.

Hulk's destiny has been clear for many years. He will take over some small-to-medium sized South American country and rule with an iron fist. I estimate this to happen in roughly 25 years, so plan your vacations accordingly.

Oreo (the dog)

Oreo is the dog's real name. No...I don't care about her safety. She licks herself and leaves fur all over the house. She also has a nasty habit of shoving her nose in your crotch...even when she's not invited.

I considered adding my mother, sister, niece, and nephew to this blog; but securing their permission from the other side of the world is a little difficult. However, if any of you read this blog and wish to be added to the Chris Jones Roast Series, shoot me an email.

Until next time!

ckj

Welcome to Bagram Airfield!

Before I go any further, I think it's best to address the question you're dying to ask, “how did you end up in Afghanistan, Chris?” I said the same thing to those gypsies once they finally let me out of that musty duffel bag. They muttered something, but it was hard to understand since I was falling out of the truck...and by falling, I mean pushed. The gypsies got a new toaster out of deal. A four-slicer!

Joke! Should anyone from the Air Force Personnel Center (AFPC) read this blog, I'm only kidding. Kind of like AFPC during assignment cycles. Another joke...put away the dartboard with my picture on it.

Anyhoo...I'm over here on behalf of an agency that would prefer to remain anonymous. No it's not the CIA, or the FBI...or even the EPA. It's not cool, and I'm not ruining my awesome blog by naming those geeks. I will be serving as a quality assurance representative. Without seeing your reaction to the previous sentence, I'll bet it's the same as every other person's reaction, “good gravy, that sounds all kinds of sexy!” Before you go out and demand that you too are given the opportunity to be a QA rep, put away the picket signs and let me explain. I'll be performing audits. Not the kind where a person or company has met all legal requirements, but since I don't care for the cut of their jib I send them to jail anyway. The IRS saves that bit of despotic power for itself. Boy if I did have that power, I'd catch the first plane to where ever Nicholas Cage lives and audit him to the lengthy jail sentence he so richly deserves. But I digress.

Four-Star Amenities

I'm hanging out at Bagram Airfield for some training until I head out to my forward operating base (FOB). Let's discuss my accommodations at this fine intermediate stop. I'm staying in a containerized housing unit, or CHU. A CHU is essentially a subdivided shipping container. Before you laugh at my Hobo Hilton, consider the environment. Having your own CHU room is akin to finding a new $20 bill in your pocket EVERY DAY. Yes siree...I'm a big man round these parts!

Unfortunately, my CHU lacks indoor plumbing. Very few buildings have an integrated bathroom (latrine)...and by few, I mean the couple I've been in. Instead we have consolidated latrines and porta-terrors. The area I'm staying in, let's call it Camp Squirrel (to protect the innocent-me), has two seven-stall latrines. 14 chances at relief. How is the shared toilet situation working out? You'll love this...

Imagine living with roughly 100 raccoons. In case you're unfamiliar with the hygienic habits of racoons, they crawl into the garbage to eat. They're nearly as bad as opossums. The cool Hamburgler eye mask and hair on their tails are the only redeeming factors. Is the picture clearly etched in your mind? Well now imagine those are man-sized racoons. Yep...horrifying.

The shower situation is 180 degrees away from the latrine situation. Clean, plenty of hot water and never a wait for a shower stall. Remember...racoons.

The chow halls are great. You can eat four times a day if your dream is to become the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. Some people write blogs, others eat pounds of chicken wings. To each their own.

State-of-Some-Art Technology!

Wireless internet is available on a pre-paid or monthly basis. Remember the terms 'pack mule' and 'unionized'. After arriving at Bagram, I purchased 10 hours of standard 64K/sec broadband internet service for $5. That's right...ONLY $5! I'd pay that for dial-up. Granted, I won't be surfing the web at the roughly 200G/sec I get at home, but I'll be fine.

Thirty years ago, Einstein (or L. Ron Hubbard) decided that all internet data will travel at the speed of light. I don't think this service provider got the memo. Though I'm not a fully licensed electrical engineer, I'm fairly certain the data on this network travels by pack mule (memory jogger #1). Additionally, your minutes are expended regardless of whether you have connectivity. In true unionized fashion, they get paid whether the service works or not (memory jogger #2). This explains why there's a picture of Starscream on my profile instead of me. It would take 90 minutes to upload a 96K picture...assuming your connectivity lasts more than five minutes at a time.

Come back for my next entry, which I'll be dedicating to my family. They're presently keeping the home-front safe from my miserly spending habits. It's the economic rebound America has been waiting for!

ckj

P.S. I tried to use Camp Squirrel's laundry facilities, only to be turned away. Apparently you have to be part of the Camp's sponsoring division to use the washer and dryer in the compound. One team, one fight...but stay away from our washing machine!

Hello and welcome!

Welcome to my blog...or 'web log' as we Harvard alumni prefer to call it (disclaimer: I never attended Harvard). I know you're asking, “why did it take him so long to create a blog?” Well friends, the truth is simply this: creating and maintaining a free blog is a huge investment in time and...well, you get where I'm going. I had to register and EVERYTHING. Granted most of the info was pulled from my Google account, but there were at least three clicks throughout the process. But let's not dwell on my suffering. I consider family, friends, associates, and Facebook stalkers worth at least three mouse clicks.

The purpose of my blog is fourfold:

1. Writing is therapeutic. It serves as an outlet and helps the mind relax after a stressful day. Thanks to spell-check, I can use words like 'therapeutic' with impunity. See...less stress already.

2. See the world! No...this is not a Navy commercial. Here's how I see it: if I post pictures of the places I visit, there's no need for you to buy a plane ticket to see those same sights. WHAMMO...I've saved you thousands of dollars. Though I'm not expecting any type of reward, feel free to let your generosity run wild.

3. Prove to the IRS that I am indeed in a combat zone. I don't want any shenanigans from your fine staff of auditors when I file my 2011 taxes.

4. (Reserved for later use.)

I can't promise you the adventures of Tom Clancy; the corny British romance of Jane Austen; the creepiness of high school vampires; the language barriers of Tolstoy; or the hard-hitting journalism of media stalwarts like the Onion, Mad Magazine, or the New York Times.

What I can promise you are these two truths: I will never charge a subscription, and I will probably update this weekly...unless I don't. Oh, I also promise excessive use of commas and semicolons; those are, by far, my favorite punctuations.

I hope you'll join me weekly.

P.S. If you'd like pictures of the Afghanistan countryside that would require me to leave the compound, send me a message so I can immediately blow your request off. Thanks!