Michael Jackson Vacations in Bahrain?

Michael Jackson is in Bahrain to relax. He will be cooked in one minute under his umbrella, in that heat. He won't see outside, him or his umbrella.

Why are our politicians so full of themselves?

Peggy Noonan wrote a near-perfect column having to do with politicians and the weak link most of them are.

What's wrong with them? That's what I'm thinking more and more as I watch the news from Washington.

A few weeks ago it was the senators who announced the judicial compromise. There is nothing wrong with compromise and nothing wrong with announcements, but the senators who spoke referred to themselves with such flights of vanity and conceit--we're so brave, so farsighted, so high-minded--that it was embarrassing. They patted themselves on the back so hard they looked like a bevy of big breasted pigeons in a mass wing-flap. Little grey feathers and bits of corn came through my TV screen, and I had to sweep up when they were done.

This week comes the previously careful Sen. Barack Obama, flapping his wings in Time magazine and explaining that he's a lot like Abraham Lincoln, only sort of better. "In Lincoln's rise from poverty, his ultimate mastery of language and law, his capacity to overcome personal loss and remain determined in the face of repeated defeat--in all this he reminded me not just of my own struggles."

Oh. So that's what Lincoln's for. Actually Lincoln's life is a lot like Mr. Obama's. Lincoln came from a lean-to in the backwoods. His mother died when he was 9. The Lincolns had no money, no standing. Lincoln educated himself, reading law on his own, working as a field hand, a store clerk and a raft hand on the Mississippi. He also split some rails. He entered politics, knew more defeat than victory, and went on to lead the nation through its greatest trauma, the Civil War, and past its greatest sin, slavery.

Barack Obama, the son of two University of Hawaii students, went to Columbia and Harvard Law after attending a private academy that taught the children of the Hawaiian royal family. He made his name in politics as an aggressive Chicago vote hustler in Bill Clinton's first campaign for the presidency.

You see the similarities.

There is nothing wrong with Barack Obama's résumé, but it is a log-cabin-free zone. So far it also is a greatness-free zone. If he keeps talking about himself like this it always will be.

Mr. Obama said he keeps a photographic portrait of Lincoln on the wall of his office, and that "it asks me questions." I'm sure it does. I'm sure it says, "Barack, why are you such an egomaniac?" Or perhaps, "Is it no longer possible in American politics to speak of another's greatness without suggesting your own?"

Even so sober an actor as Bill Frist has gotten into the act. This is the beginning of his Heritage Foundation speech yesterday:

You might have been wondering these last few months: Why would a doctor take on an issue like the judicial confirmation process? About 10 years ago, I set aside my medical career to run for the Senate. But I didn't set aside my compassion. I didn't set aside my character. And I sure as heck didn't set aside my principles. I got into politics for the same reason I got into medicine. I wanted to help people. And I wanted to heal. I just felt that, in politics, I could help and heal more than one patient at a time.

I admire Bill Frist, but can you imagine George Washington referring in public, or in private for that matter, to his many virtues? In normal America if you have a high character you don't wrestle people to the ground until they acknowledge it. You certainly don't announce it. If you are compassionate, you are compassionate; if others see it, fine. If you hold to principle it will become clear. You don't proclaim these things. You can't, for the same reason that to brag about your modesty is to undercut the truth of the claim.

And there are the Clintons. There are always the Clintons. The man for whom Barack Obama worked so hard in 1992 showed up with his wife this week to take center stage at Billy Graham's last crusade in New York. Billy Graham is a great man. He bears within him deep reservoirs of sweetness, and the reservoirs often overflow. It was embarrassing to see America's two most famous political grifters plop themselves in the first row dressed in telegenic silk and allow themselves to become the focus of sweet words they knew would come.

Why did they feel it right to inject a partisan political component into a spiritual event? Why take advantage of the good nature and generosity of an old hero? Why, after spending their entire adulthoods in public life, have they not developed or at least learned to imitate simple class?

How exactly does it work? How does legitimate self-confidence become wildly inflated self-regard? How does self respect become unblinking conceit? How exactly does one's character become destabilized in Washington?

The Supreme Court this week and last issued many rulings, and though they were on different issues the decisions themselves had at least one thing in common: They seemed to reflect a lack of basic human modesty on the part of many of the justices.

Many are famously very old, and they have been together as a court for a very long time. One wonders if they have lost all understanding of how privileged they are to have lifetime sinecures of power and authority. Do they have any sense anymore of common human wisdom, of the normal human arrangements by which Americans live?

Maybe a lot of them aren't bothering to think. Maybe Ruth Bader Ginsburg is no longer in the habit of listening to arguments but only of watching William Rehnquist, and if he nods up and down she knows to vote "no," and if he shakes his head she knows to vote "yes." That might explain some of the lack of seriousness in the decisions. Local government can bulldoze Grandma's house because it's in the way of a future strip mall that will add more to the tax base? The Ten Commandments can appear on public land but not in a courthouse, but Moses, who received the Ten Commandments can appear in the frieze of the House but he'll be sandblasted off the Supreme Court? Or do I have that the other way around?

What are they doing? All this hair splitting, this dithering, this cutting and pasting--all this lack of serious and defining principle. All this vanity. Perhaps Justice Ginsburg or Justice Stevens will retire soon and write a memoir: Like Jefferson I held to principle, and like Lincoln I often lacked air conditioning. But in my intellectual gifts I've always found myself to be more like Oliver Wendell Holmes . . .

What is in the air there in Washington, what is in the water?

What is wrong with them? This is not a rhetorical question. I think it is unspoken question No. 1 as Americans look at so many of the individuals in our government. What is wrong with them?

The Essay

A university creative writing class was asked to write a concise
essay containing the following elements:

1. Religion
2. Royalty
3. Sex
4. Mystery

The prize-winning essay read:

"My God," said the Queen, "I'm pregnant. I wonder who did it!"

Rankin County Rotary Club

One of the things I miss from home is weekly Friday catfish lunches at my Rotary club, the Rankin County Rotary Club in Brandon, MS. I'm also its webmaster but have limited ability over here to maintain it. The Rankin Rotary site can be seen here.


A few of its distinguished pillors of society:













Rotary History in Depth

The Early Years
Rotary Goes Global
Evolution of The Rotary Foundation
Programs for Young People
Rotary Today and Tomorrow

The world's first service club, the Rotary Club of Chicago, Illinois, USA, was formed on 23 February 1905 by Paul P. Harris, an attorney who wished to recapture in a professional club the same friendly spirit he had felt in the small towns of his youth. The name "Rotary" derived from the early practice of rotating meetings among members' offices.

Rotary's popularity spread throughout the United States in the decade that followed; clubs were chartered from San Francisco to New York. By 1921, Rotary clubs had been formed on six continents, and the organization adopted the name Rotary International a year later.
As Rotary grew, its mission expanded beyond serving the professional and social interests of club members. Rotarians began pooling their resources and contributing their talents to help serve communities in need. The organization's dedication to this ideal is best expressed in its principal motto: Service Above Self. Rotary also later embraced a code of ethics, called The 4-Way Test, that has been translated into hundreds of languages.

During and after World War II, Rotarians became increasingly involved in promoting international understanding. In 1945, 49 Rotary members served in 29 delegations to the United Nations Charter Conference. Rotary still actively participates in UN conferences by sending observers to major meetings and promoting the United Nations in Rotary publications. Rotary International's relationship with the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) dates back to a 1943 London Rotary conference that promoted international cultural and educational exchanges. Attended by ministers of education and observers from around the world, and chaired by a past president of RI, the conference was an impetus to the establishment of UNESCO in 1946.

An endowment fund, set up by Rotarians in 1917 "for doing good in the world," became a not-for-profit corporation known as The Rotary Foundation in 1928. Upon the death of Paul Harris in 1947, an outpouring of Rotarian donations made in his honor, totaling US$2 million, launched the Foundation's first program — graduate fellowships, now called Ambassadorial Scholarships. Today, contributions to The Rotary Foundation total more than US$80 million annually and support a wide range of humanitarian grants and educational programs that enable Rotarians to bring hope and promote international understanding throughout the world.

In 1985, Rotary made a historic commitment to immunize all of the world's children against polio. Working in partnership with nongovernmental organizations and national governments thorough its PolioPlus program, Rotary is the largest private-sector contributor to the global polio eradication campaign. Rotarians have mobilized hundreds of thousands of PolioPlus volunteers and have immunized more than one billion children worldwide. By the 2005 target date for certification of a polio-free world, Rotary will have contributed half a billion dollars to the cause.

As it approached the dawn of the 21st century, Rotary worked to meet the changing needs of society, expanding its service effort to address such pressing issues as environmental degradation, illiteracy, world hunger, and children at risk. The organization admitted women for the first time (worldwide) in 1989 and claims more than 145,000 women in its ranks today. Following the collapse of the Berlin Wall and the dissolution of the Soviet Union, Rotary clubs were formed or re-established throughout Central and Eastern Europe. Today, 1.2 million Rotarians belong to some 31,000 Rotary clubs in 166 countries.

Fair Winds and Following Seas!

Today, two military men in my chain relinquished the reigns to their successors and will quietly exit Stage Left from this Cradle of Civilization. They will be sorely missed.











































From all of us, Fair Winds and Following Seas. And make sure you have a ride from the airport!

Barriers (Everywhere) and Antiques

Living and working in a hostile fire zone is inconvenient. My group port-o-let is one hundred yards from my rack. The shower is in a separate facility. Chow is a five minute ride by HMMWV and a two hundred yard walk from the parking area. All facilities are separated by HESCO Bastions.











The barriers are filled with sand, making sandbags obsolete.

All over IRAQ one can find "quick" copies of the latest movies. For example, Cinderella Man and Batman Begins were both available here in Iraq within days of the movies' openings. Somewhere in the Far East, somebody sets up a video camera and videos the movie IN the theater. How do I know this? The movies I have seen include real shadows of people getting up to get popcorn or hearing cell phones going off. During intense scenes, I can actually hear the bootlegger sitting (creaking) on the edge of his seat.

The movies are dubbed in both Chinese or Japanese - I don't know which - and in English. But the "dubbers" are not very strong translators, as they dub words that only sound like the English words, not the words actually spoken. For example, during Batman Begins, one of the characters shouted, "... tired of his sycophants...." On the screen it was dubbed "...tired and sick of antiques..."

The Logistician Inspires...Fear

Below is an anonymous quote that explains what a logistician does, who fears him and what happens when the logistician makes flag officer. A certain Navy Captain from the left coast, and also a Rebel (capital R), copied me on an email he sent to two very distinguished admirals. Worth reading front and center below:

The Logistician

Logisticians are a sad and embittered race of men who are very much in demand in war, and who sink resentfully into obscurity in peace. They deal only in facts, but must work for men who merchant in theories. They emerge during war because war is very much a fact. They disappear in peace because peace is mostly theory. The people who merchant in theories, and who employ logisticians in war and ignore them in peace, are called Admirals.

Admirals are a happy blessed race who radiate confidence and power. They feed only on ambrosia and drink only nectar. In peace, they stride confidently and can invade a world simply by sweeping their hands grandly over a map, point their fingers decisively up train corridors, and blocking defiles and obstacles with the sides of their hands. In war, they must stride more slowly because each Admiral has a logistician riding on his back and he knows that, at any moment, the logistician may lean forward and whisper: "No, you can't do that." Admirals fear logisticians in war and, in peace, Admirals try to forget logisticians. Romping along beside Admirals are strategists and tacticians. Logisticians despise strategists and tacticians. Strategists and tacticians do not know about logisticians until they grow up to be Admirals--which they, tragically often do.

Sometimes a logistician becomes a Admiral. If he does, he must associate with Admirals whom he hates; he has a retinue of strategists and tacticians whom he despises; and, on his back, is a logistician whom he fears. This is why logisticians who become Admirals always have ulcers and cannot eat their ambrosia. - Unknown Author

Pictures from the Fertile Crescent

I'm still here at Camp Victory, between Baghdad and the airport (BIAP). Follows are many pictures of interest.

Below: Saddam's Al Faw Palace and Saddam's Sons Palaces from the air:



Below: An unfortunate site: Two pics of VBIEDs (Vehicle Born IEDs):



Below: Baghdad from the air:



Below: A Blackhawk coming in, and another VBIED:



Below: The famous Twin Swords in Baghdad and the more famous uncovered ancient city of UR:



Below: Finally, my favorite, an impending sandstorm:

Insurgent #8

I'm emailing from Camp Victory this morning. Flew in last night. While waiting at the air teminal at Camp XX, an Iraqi insurgent was being taken through the terminal to a helo. The insurgent was blind-folded and handcuffed. He was very hardened and dirty, wore jeans and a large #8 jersey almost down to his knees. He looked no different than a modern day juvenile thug. A life wasted. His standard of living will certainly approve in captivity, GITMO notwithstanding.

There was a full moon over Baghdad and Falujah last night. From about fifty feet both cities look very clean and peaceful, with hardly a soul driving because of a 2300-0600 curfew. Only convoys run during the night. The city lights of Baghdad and Falujah show one very large population center, bracketed by the Tigres and Euphrates Rivers.

At night the only difference from the air between Baghdad proper and Camp Victory is...lights. Baghdad is lit up, the US camp is totally dark.


History Lesson:

An insurgency is an armed rebellion by any irregular armed force that rises up against an established authority, government, or administration. Those carrying out an insurgency are “insurgents”. Insurgents conduct sabotage and harassment. Insurgents usually are in opposition to a civil authority or government primarily in the hope of improving their condition.

A reactionary (sometimes: reactionist, or regressive) is someone who seeks to restore conditions to those of a previous era. The political attitude of a reactionary is reactionism or regressivism. Reaction is always presented against something that it opposes.

Reactionary comes from the French word réactionnaire, coined in the early 19th century. It was the first of the two words coined (the other being conservative, from the French word conservateur) for the opposition to the French revolution. In parliamentary usage, the monarchists were commonly referred to as the Right, although they were often called Reactionaries.

A reactionary is sometimes described as an extreme conservative, but whereas a conservative seeks, in the simplest terms, to preserve the status quo, a reactionary seeks to return to the situation of a prior time. In particular the term is used to describe those who are seen to oppose "progress" and particularly revolutionary change, and is used in revolutionary contexts interchangeably with the word counterrevolutionary.

Classical 19th century reactionaries and their heirs idealized either feudalism or the pre-modern era that preceded the Industrial Revolution and the French Revolution when economies were largely agrarian, the landed aristocracy dominated society, a king was on the throne and the church was the moral centre of society. Thus, reactionaries once favoured the aristocracy over the middle class and the working class, even though they later favoured the conservative bourgeoisie. In that context, reactionaries are against democracy and parliamentarism.

Reactionary is nowadays mostly used pejoratively by political groups, especially those of the "left-wing", to qualify politicians that they accuse of wanting to reverse some progress that they claim has been beneficial to society.

Happy Father's Day, Pop!

I have the good fortune of being the oldest of Pop and Doe's four kids. My beloved mother, Doe, whom I affectionately called Little Napolean or the Toy Cannon, has been with God for six plus years now. I still miss her dearly, as we all do. Her mate for life, my Dad, known to us all now as Pop, is very much alive. He inspires everyone he meets by his Godliness; his kindness; his loyalty; his love for his family; his love for engineering, the military, history, and Ole Miss; his love for "making things happen"; and, his undying love for his, our, Doe. He talks to her everyday and all day, as she talks to him, probably directly for all we know. He hears her and takes comfort in the fact that they will, one day, be able to close the celestial day, sitting in adjoining chairs and just talking, about their kids and their family.



Pop is unique. That's why we all love him so much. Imagine a large bird cage at a zoo. Off to one side there is an un-presupposing small bird, quite social but standing alone. Keep your eye on that bird. And then, suddenly, the bird hopped. It was a humble hop, all things considered, but a distinctly purposeful one. And, then nothing. Another longish wait. And then: another hop. And that was it. That’s all it did: Hop, after long intervals and for no apparent reason.

If you didn’t have it pointed out to you, you might never have noticed the bird. He didn’t look particularly special. He didn’t have showy feathers or huge wings, like many of the other birds in the cage. But he had this hop. And he hopped as he saw fit, on his own schedule, to his own inner clock and, while he surely noticed the other birds, he was content to be unlike them. He was, simply, the Pop bird. There was no explaining him. Either you got him, or you didn’t. And if you got him, you loved him.

And Doe got him.

Happy Father's Day, Pop! May you have many more. Keep walking to Mass every day, showing us all how it's done. Definately a man's man. And tell Mom hello!

[My family is a large Catholic family. We believe in communicating with our beloveds in heaven. My Mom was the oldest of nine kids, seven girls and two boys: my mother Jo, Aunt Susie, Aunt Mug, Aunt Di, Aunt (Sister) Julie, Aunt Bootsie, Uncle Al, Aunt Trish and Uncle Jodie. Mom's Mom and Dad, Mimi and Poppy, were very special, indeed! To give you an idea where I fit in, I'm eleven years younger than Uncle Jodie. Aunt Susie, married to Uncle Don, Colonel, USA (Retired), tells me often that there is this bee who follows her around the garden, and has for years. Aunt Susie knows that Doe is there, watching over her, waiting for her to join her in heaven. That's the Catholic family we are.]



Now, all who know Pop know that he deeply loves Ole Miss. Here's a picture of Pop at the Grove before (or after) an Ole Miss Homecoming win. Pop asks me often when I'm going to get a house in Oxford, so that he can base from there to make it over to the Grove. With Mom gone now, he loves Ole Miss even more.



Here's Dad and my brother Davey at Red and Blue Weekend at Ole Miss, i.e., the Grove Bowl, back in April. Davey and Beth, his beautiful wife, are proud parents of three future lovelies at Ole Miss: Maggie (my beloved Godchild and track phenom), Shannon (an Ole Miss cheerleader for sure), and Caroline (whose love for animals is unmatched). Happy Father's Day Dave!



Here's another picture of Pop in the Grove, with his lifelong friends, Harry and C.J., Ole Miss engineers all.

On this Father's Day, I want to show a few pics of my Annie, Trip and Em.




Here are pictures of Annie, who has put up with me for nearly 25 years and who is OUR rock, and my man Trip, the next Speilberg, holding Ben, youngest child of Andy (and Lorie), Annie's youngest brother. Trip followed his old man to Ole Miss and helped reinvigorate my fraternity, Beta Theta Pi, of which I'm most proud.




Here are pictures of Emily, my own Ole Miss coed and soon to be the world's greatest teacher, also with Ben. Emily, definately the little lady who could!




Above, the greatest gifts to ME on this Father's Day!

UPDATE: One thing Pop also did with us was play pitch and catch with the football. An article about Eli and Archie Manning typifies the father-son game of pitch and catch we used to have with Pop:

Creating normalcy amid an environment that encouraged anything but was the aspiration of Archie Manning and his wife, Olivia, for their three sons growing up in New Orleans.

"I was the quarterback for the Saints when they were the only team in town," recalled Manning. "So it was a pretty high-profile position in the city. But we wanted our children to have a normal childhood, and we worked at it. Maybe it wasn't 100 percent possible, but for the most part we gave them a typical childhood and adolescence."

Eli Manning, youngest of the three sons, agrees. His father may have been an icon around town, but in their neighborhood he was just another dad, one who happened to be very good at throwing the football for a game Eli and his buddies called "Amazing Catches."

"We would run and lay out and try to catch the football as we were diving into the swimming pool," recalled the Giants' second-year quarterback. "My dad would throw the ball so we had to make 'amazing catches.' Our house was the house to be at on Saturdays; all my friends would come over and we'd play sports. We had the pool, a basketball court and a yard to play ball in.

"My dad would be around a lot, but he was just my dad to my friends. He never tried to be anything else."

No question playing sports was a huge part of a household that would produce two starting NFL quarterbacks. But one thing Eli remembers vividly is that his father never pushed him, older brother Peyton or oldest brother Cooper into sports in general, football in particular.

"He never forced anything on us. A lot of fathers may force their kids into athletics, and as a result the kids get burned out at an early age," Eli recalled. "I'm sure he is glad Peyton and I did get into football, but he would have been just as happy if we had taken piano lessons."

"I'll be first to admit I was a little scared about the father-son sports thing," Archie conceded. "I think if you force-feed your kids, you're asking for problems. And that's not only in sports. I think if you're an attorney and you try to force your child to become an attorney, you're asking for trouble.

"I was glad they got interested in sports, but I really wanted them to be as well-rounded as they could be."

Despite the best of efforts to keep things normal around the homestead, there were the times when it was impossible. For instance, when the boys went on a "road trip" to play a game outside their neighborhood, dad would tag along and become the focus of attention.

"I saw the way he handled the spotlight," said Eli, who was 4 when his dad retired from the NFL. "He would take me to Saints games after he had retired. Afterward he'd get mobbed by autograph seekers and people wanting to meet him. And he would sign every autograph, and be kind to everybody.

"That's the biggest thing I've tried to take with me. Be kind to everyone. Treat everyone nicely. That's the way my dad always is."

"I think I got that from my dad," said Archie. "I remember him driving me to Ole Miss for my freshman year. We were having one of those man-to-man's in the car. I was asking him what direction I should go, what I should major in.

"He said I had a couple of years to figure that out. He told me to work hard at schoolwork and at football. But more than anything else, just be a nice guy."

Which has become as much of the Manning legacy as throwing a football.

Ministry of Information in Baghdad

Here in Baghdad, what you might see as you traverse through the city are bombed-out buildings and lots of ruins. This picture is of the building of the old Ministry of Information. As you look out into early morning Baghdad, it doesn't look too bad; in fact, what I see from the 7th floor of my building (the "Freedom Building") is quite beautiful. Posted by Amy B.

GITMO Cocktail

Ralph Peters of the New York Post had a powerful column on GITMO and the state of USA politics today.

By RALPH PETERS
June 16, 2005 -- THE demands to shut down our Guantanamo lock-up for terrorists have nothing to do with human rights. They're about punishing America for our power and success. From our ailing domestic left to overseas America haters, no one really cares about the fate of Mustapha the Murderer or Ahmed the Assassin. The lies told about Gitmo are meant to undercut U.S. foreign policy and embarrass America. The Gitmo controversy is about many things, from jealousy of the United States and outrage that we refuse to fail, to residual anger that we won the Cold War and exploded the left's great fantasy of a dictatorship of the intellectuals. But the one thing the protests aren't about is human rights.

Except, of course, as a means to slam the United States. Torture? Who and when? Koran abuse? I'd rather be a Koran in Gitmo than a Bible in Saudi Arabia. Illegal detentions? Suggest a better way to handle hardcore terrorists. Maltreatment? Spare me. The food the prisoners receive is better than what I had to eat in the Army.

Another thing: Would it be more humane to incarcerate the declared enemies of civilization in northern Alaska, rather than on a Caribbean beach? Has the Bush administration made mistakes regarding Guantanamo? You bet. The biggest one was attempting to placate the critics. By launching a new investigation every time a terrorist had a toothache, our government played into the hands of its enemies.

The truth is that the terrorists and their defenders have something in common. It's not courage, which is one quality violent fanatics don't lack. It's that neither can be appeased.

Any concession only increases their appetites. The Clinton administration's reluctance to respond to terrorist strikes encouraged al Qaeda. If the Bush administration closed the Guantanamo facility, any alternative holding center would be attacked just as rabidly and dishonestly. If we put our captives up at the Four Seasons, we'd be condemned because somebody smelled bacon at breakfast.

You can't negotiate with terrorists. And you cannot reason with ideologues — whether they're Islamist fanatics or pathetic old lefties fishing for a cause to give meaning to squandered lives. Terrorists, French and German neo-Stalinists, and our own democracy-hating intelligentsia aren't interested in facts. It's all about the comfort of belief.

Let's get this straight: Nothing we could do would appease those who feel a need for our country to fail. We must stop trying to satisfy them. There's a military maxim that applies to all the nonsense about Gitmo: Don't let the entire battalion get bogged down by a sniper. By attempting to respond to the wild charges leveled by those who offer no solutions themselves — who have no interest in solutions — we've allowed anti-American basket cases from Harvard Yard to the German parliament to create an issue from nothing.

Oh, and thanks to the "mainstream" media for assuming that our country's always wrong.

There is a culture of torture in the world. Blessedly, America isn't part of it. When a few of our troops make mistakes, they're punished. Given the magnitude of our task and the unprecedented conditions we face, it's remarkable our errors have been so few. What should enrage every decent citizen is that the real torturers — from Zimbabwe to China, from Syria to North Korea — get a pass from the political left. If terrorists behead defenseless captives on videotape, it's simply an expression of their culture. But if a handful of U.S. troops play an ugly round of Candid Camera, that's a new gulag.

As someone who takes human rights seriously, I'm appalled by the lack of sympathy the left feels toward the victims of any regime other than the Bush administration. Let's shout it to prisoners everywhere: If you're not harmed by an American, your suffering doesn't count. The left's hypocrisy is immeasurable. The grandchildren of those who defended Stalin are mortified that Saddam Hussein will stand trial. By taking such irresponsible voices seriously, we grant our critics a strength they otherwise lack and simply help them keep their lies alive.

No matter what our country does, we will never please a global intelligentsia outraged that all their theories came to nothing. We can't satisfy al Qaeda, and we can't please those discontented souls who need to blame the United States for their personal inadequacies. It's time we stopped trying. What should our nation's leaders say about Guantanamo and our treatment of captured terrorists? A lot less.

When comments are unavoidable, try this: "We're human. We make mistakes. We fix those mistakes. And we move on. Nothing will divert us from our mission of defeating terror and keeping our country safe."

My worry is the American resolve. The left and their Amen Corner in the main stream media work daily to break American resolve. You won't find that over here.

Beer Truck Accident Scene

To prove I have a subtle yet resilient sense of humor, I've placed a link to a traffic accident that, fortunately, shows many valiant survivors, of whom we all should be proud. See picture: http://www.tripburns.com/survivors.jpg

I apologize in advance for the let down for you "rubber-neckers." Ha!

Getting Here

To get to Iraq is easier said than done. I've attached a few pictures of my transit over to my current station.

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The top "palatial" picture above is of CDR Amy B., one of eight or so sailors (out of about 200 soldiers from Fort Bliss) who arrived in Baghdad on the same rotator flight as I (did). CDR B. is stationed in the IZ, the "International Zone", in Baghdad. She will contribute to this blog from her vantage point in Baghdad. In the second picture above: Here we are after 15 minutes sleep before boarding a C130 from Kuwait to BIAP (Baghdad International Airport).



Hut at the Kuwait flight line, waiting...



Sardines in a C130. That's the right half of the cargo bay.



My luxurious tent (with air conditioning) at a camp near BIAP.



Here's a picture of a security wall around the camp near BIAP. Across that wall is Baghdad. Near this wall is the Route Irish. Many of the routes are named after sports teams. Route Irish is the 10 mile road from BIAP (the airport) to IZ (the International Zone, or Green Zone). The most dangerous ten miles in the world. At least for now.



Finally, here's a picture of Uday's and Qusay's Palaces, bombed but still heavily guarded. On this particular base, there are five palaces that I know of: Al Fawr, Uday's and Qusay's, the Water Palace, one for Saddam's favorite daughter, and the Perfume Palace.

House Cats

Many of my family and friends have written to say thanks for being here. I'm very greatful. Many ask about the danger. Danger has many levels. It IS dangerous to be in a war zone. Rockets, mortors, IEDs, etc. But to me, the flight here on a Marine helo was about as excited as I want to get. The pilots and crew do this five to ten times a day.

There is a Mississippi-based combat element here on the base. These folks from my home state go out every night looking for and finding the insurgents, with some few souls getting killed in the process (See Clarion Ledger article here). I wear IBA and kevlar helmets "around" the base, not off of it (at least not often). My level of danger when compared to the boys from Mississippi is miniscule. In fact, the Army colonel in whose compound I work says that we support types are "house cats" in comparison. True.

So, when you write to me, just know that relatively speaking, I am in a safe, restricted zone within a dangerous combat zone, where indirect fire can do the trick. It's just that the odd's are in my favor.

House Cat

High and Tight

Annie, you'll laugh at this.  At lunch I went to get a high and tight haircut.  So I sat in the chair and just relaxed as he cut away.  Only problem is - you guessed it - the power went off.  So the sheers locked onto my head: Ouch.  Then he went outside and said: "No good.  Generator need mechanic, or gas, or something.  Come back at 4:00."   Ha! Ha!  So I get to sport a half-done high and tight for the afternoon.  Maybe I'll drive around for four hours with my helmet on.

View From Afar

The first morning I arrived here at Camp XX, I began a 4 mile jog from my rack with the Marines. About two miles out, I happened to hear two very distinct thuds several miles over my left shoulder as I jogged. I stopped, and then heard overhead two very fast rockets, then two distinct booms over my right shoulder, about a mile or two from where I was standing. I had just witnessed a rocket attack from probably the best vantage point on earth - it made an arc high above me - all alone in the cool Iraqi morning. The sounds and visuals were spectacular, even thrilling. I jogged back to my bunk, really not afraid, figuring that just the expanse of this base made my odds of getting hit by a rocket very, very remote. Luckily, no one was injured in the attack, I found out later.

By the way, I had just left Camp XX in Baghdad the morning before, where a soldier was killed at the PX by a rocket attack. I had just been to that same plaza the day before. About a week after I left Camp Victory, a women contractor was killed by the back of the Camp Victory gym, at a spot 200 yards from where I stayed for a week in transient billeting.

So, in less than a month in country, I've experienced good luck (to not be at the wrong place at the wrong time) and some sounds and visuals not many in this world will ever see or hear.

Sights. Also saw Falujah from fifty feet, flying from Baghdad to Camp XX in a Marine helo.

Report from Bridlewood

Maybe I should write how it is here on the "other side" of the pond.

I like this website and hope that everyone will add a little something from time to time. It is hard for us here to imagine what life must be like over there for you. The comforts of home are nonexistent, I would think, other than a soft bed to lay your head. I support we should be thankful for this and keep in mind that others do not have even than luxury.

Life here? Well, there's just something missing in our lives. We say that "life must go on"; however, it seems to have been put on hold for a time now. But we do our best and draw on the foundations that were already set into place 25 years ago. It is hard for anyone to imagine what it is like unless they go through this. It's just indescribable. Others ask, "How do you do it?" or "I don't see how you do it." I don't know what to say to them because I don't give it much thought as to how or why. It's like this: Suppose you loved the color purple. The color purple made you feel great. It made you happy. You loved to be around the color purple and it fulfilled you. You think you just cannot live without the color purple in your life. Then one day the color purple just sort of vanished. There was no color purple! It just didn't exist as you knew it before. So, what do you do? Well, you can mourn and be sad and let that sadness rule over you, looking everywhere for it, becoming frustrated that you can't find it, sitting at home wishing that purple still existed....or, you could learn to like the color green!

Life doesn't always give us what we want, but it is up to us to learn to want what life has to offer us.We love you, Rope! (You look better in "green" than in "purple")

Your Annie

Here at Camp XX

Here are a few pictures:

My palatial rack, a single bachelor pad, only about 100 yards from the head and showers. To answer your question, many "bottle" at night, instead of walking across the compound, which is pitch black at night.



My street.



My HMMVW, definately not up-armored.



Me in HMMVW...The summer sun here is 115 or so every day with high glare and sand-fog.



My road home at dusk, with the "sand fog", about 10 clicks from my workspace.



Where the base is. Baghdad is about 60 clicks to the east of where we are.



More pictures weekly.

The Adjustment

It is very quiet on this base near Falujah in terms of enemy fire. Very sporadic incoming. It's loud as hell, though, being next to an air operations and huge generators running 24/7. Plus the a/c goes out from time to time.

The worst surprise was the God-forsaken weather: heat, sandstorms, heat. It's been about 115 every day with sand that blankets the ground and the air. It's like sand fog all day. The early mornings are cool, so that's when I run.

There are hostilities outside of the base, near Abinyia and Fallujah. But I don't go out on those patrols. About twice a month I do take a convoy to Ramadi: very interesting. But I'm in an up-armored HMMVW, so relatively safe.

The days here are very long. Up at 5:30, run, 4-Ss, eat. Work at 7:30. Chow at 11:30. Work until 6:00. Chow. Work until 8:30 or so. Home, read for 30 minutes. Crash at 9:30. Up at 5:30; repeat.

So, as you can see, six months of this will have me very much appreciating days off and regular hours, and beer of course!

Pictures coming soon.