Living the life less ordinary.

I am currently sitting outside in a place that everyone congregates at at night because it has WiFi, and they tend to have social activities (oh, and it is well lit). I was going to talk about what we do here, and about the folks I know, but, the OPSEC monster keeps taping me on the shoulder, and I feel like I really shouldn't. However, I will give you some impressions of the place, and the people. First off - I think that I have become acclimatized. The other night we got out of work at an ungodly hour, and when we stepped outside it felt somewhat cool (or, I should say, cooler). Now, actually, it probably wasn't all that much of a temperature change, but it was enough that it actually felt nice (relatively).
There is woman who has a mountain bike in my living area - I don't know who she is, or what she does, but I have begun calling her the Bike Ninja Girl. Bike Ninja Girl (hereafter to called BNG) probably got her bike like most of the other people who have bikes over here: handed down (I imagine that it is a fifth or sixth-generation-tour hand-me-down bike, judging by its well-weathered look). BNG wears the new Air Force tigerstripe camouflage uniform, a bike helmet (for safety), wrap-around sunglasses, and a keffiyeh wrapped entirely around her face and head so that all you see are the cool Terminator sunglasses. I have never seen BNG's face (kind of like Darth Vader, but without the rasping breath, or the Force-choking power...), but she is one of those people who I see everyday (tearing off to work, doing whatever BNG does...).
I drive the bread truck (Toyota Landcruiser) to work almost every morning, and I try to pick up folks waiting for the bus (which takes forever to do its route). I tell my passengers that I am trying to amass enough good karma to earn a good day, but in actuality, I do it because it is one of the few things that I can do to help people out in this place, and it gives me the warm-fuzzy feeling - which in this place is a good thing (it really is easy to get soul-crushed and get bitter - a lot of people succumb to that - I try to smile and pass on the good feelings, but heck, if you've been here for long enough, you can be excused for getting moody, I suppose...). You have to work at keeping your humanity - it is like working out, or reading - if you don't do it regularly, it gets rusty, and you forget how to care.
My buddy over here has the same name as me (we'll call him Ushiku II) - we refer to the breadtruck as our MRAP (Major-league Recreation Attack Party vehicle), and we are looking at outfitting the Toyota with magnetic flame stickers to put on the sides, battery-powered Christmas lights in the interior, and carpet in the interior (with lawn chairs, if we can scrounge them up). I have decided to secretly dub our truck Maru-Chan II.

Repetition is the enemy in this place, so we try to do things differently every week, but there is only so many ways that you can do the same set of things before you exhaust your choices.


Yesterday, I spoke with a guy who was pushing forward into Theater. We spoke about life at the pointy end, and in a way I envied him. The war is forward, and that is where I want to be. Call me Mr. Roberts (my shop calls me "stupid"), but that is how I feel.

The Brits and Aussies here are a force onto themselves - they live on the base, thus they have obey a lot of the Air Force's asinine rules - but they choose to ignore the most blatantly foolish (all the while claiming that they didn't understand - see, they are foreigners, right?). Brilliant. I spoke with an Australian C-130 pilot this morning, and we laughed about the place (like having to wear a reflector belt practically all the time). Secretly, we Americans all want to know where the Brits and Aussies hang out (rumor has it they have set up some sort of rogue desert public house). That is our next mission - to find this rumored El Dorado.