"Hello, I am a completely sterile flowering tree."

Its symbol is a flower called the 'Bauhinia Blakeana' and it is the second system of the 'one country - two systems' concept.

The who;e city is like Manhattan without the architectural self-restraint. With no Brooklyn to expand to or even a Jersey to house the workers it has to go straight up. The population density is incredible and allows for whole streets in which the first three floors are restaurants, shops, and services. Above that are the people and offices. And not just tall buildings. The city goes right up a freaking mountain. Ground level on the North entrance could be six stories below ground level on the South side.

You got vertigo? You, my friend, are fucked. The most fun so far has been on the elevated walkways and escalators. You can step out and be 100' off the ground in three quick strides. It's like living in 'Super Mario Brothers' (that's an antique video game, kids).

I only have three days here and then I'm off. We traveled here to visit her parents for Christmas, which of course made Mom a mite sad (Sorry Mom, but I'm horse trading this for good things, I promise). Her parents are actually living on the mainland in a city I keep getting told 'is just like Cleveland if it had 12,000,000 people'. I spent a solid week looking for a guide book and only found one . The city has more people than some nations and yet the country is so big it's a total after-thought. Let's see how this goes

Suggestions were made to me at the beginning of the year that went something like this: "You're going someplace neat. You should write home about it". For the last few months I've been home and back at work so I haven't been writing.

I left in a hurry and finished my last checklist (more goddamn badges) a few hours before sealing my suitcase. There were a few loud noises and some important people made silly decisions but thankfully, nothing big enough to slow my roll. I got to select and train my replacement. I introduced 'em to my colleagues and our contractors. I did a last run through the international ghetto, drank myself into a quick stupor, and hopped on a plane. No goodbyes that I didn't have to. I'd like to come back and besides: I'll see 'em all again. And if I get lucky I'll work with them. The world’s too small not to.

I don't see a lot of hope but as long as my colleagues can keep working, they will. And as long as they keep working there's a chance things could get better. Hell, there's a chance I'll get hit by a bus and wake up looking like Rupert Everett. It could happen.

I came back home to keep doing the same job I'd been doing before I left. This time I knew everyone who called and wrote, I'd been to the places I heard about, and I knew how to fix the problem before even hearing the end of the sentence. The job was easier, I was more productive, and I've never been more bored. So I'm headed back to school to get an MA in 'Shit Done Blowed Up - Whatchu Gonna Do Bout It?' and be yelled at by people who definitely know more than I do. If I'm lucky this means I'll be able to go right back into the same line of work for a little more cash and a lot more blame.

Hopefully I'll get to work and travel during the semester breaks. And if I do, I'll write about it. So on with the show

A wise scary old man once told me his favorite piece of advice. He was starting a new job with lots of travel and 100 hour weeks. The boss called him in and said "This job is a marathon. And if you aren't in shape you won't finish. Make sure you take the time to exercise and stay healthy"

Despite the fact it was given in the late 1700's it's still good advice. The way we live is incredibly restricted and the work we do is desky, computery, meetingy stuff. I run around more than anyone else on my team and I'm still not covering more than 10 blocks in a day. There's access to gyms and you can always do crunches push-ups and what not in your room. But you haven't got much free time and traveling anywhere is a hassle.

Without further ado: I love you crappy stationary bike.

You make my knees ache less and keep my back from seizing up while I'm typing. You're as adjustable as a brick chimmeny and you shake like a parkisons patient and have the resistence of a fratboy's rohypnol'ed date. But despite all your obvious and inexplicable flaws you reduce atrophication and midnight muscles spasms. And as soon as I get home I'm never going to think about you again.

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There are three regular annoyances for civilians in the IZ, (besides the lack of miniskirts, social drinking, and cloud cover) : Big Booms, Fast Booms, and High Booms. Or: Bombs, Rockets, and Mortars. The latter two are the featured artists in our percussion band. We know of bombs but we aren’t usually anywhere near them. They appear on the horizon like mushroom after a rainstorm. But less poetic and with more unjustifiable carnage. Guns aren’t really an issue. It’s only when someone gets overstressed and twitchy that you have to be careful. Just like back home..

Tip 1: Big Booms and Random booms. If you only hear one >BOOM< there will probably be more later. Like earthquakes. There'll be more until they stop. Carefully make your way to shelter.

Tip 2: Fast Booms. If you hear a screech followed by a boom >schhhhhhreeeeeeBOOM<. Then it’s landed close but not on top of you. Immediately visit your old reliable buddy Mr.Ground. The big danger is secondary debris flying past.*

Tip 3: High Booms. If you hear a sound like the bastard offspring of a shotgun and a big red rubber ball then you’ve got mortars coming in. As soon as you hear >DOMP< (usually two at a time: >DOMP< >DOMP<) You should move quickly to shelter. You’ve got between 20 seconds and a minute before anything dramatic happens. That's plenty of time to stop gaping like a gaffed fish and find really good shelter.

Trick: Determining good shelter. If you don’t have a designated shelter (unacceptable!) you should find an interior room with no windows or glass. It should have at least two layers between you and the scary outdoors. Most of the annoyances are designed to punch through one layer and then spray their contents against the second layer. So at a minimum you want to be in an interior room on the ground floor of a two story house.

Phrases Not to Exclaim:

- Oh God! (This smacks of blasphemy and panic. Only for clergy. Avoid)
- Incoming! Seek Shelter! (Stop playing WWII videogames. Avoid)
- Help! (This should be saved for when you really really need it. Avoid)
- Missed me! (Yes, but they’re going to try again. Avoid)
- A shooting star! (You’ve just failed the Darwin test. Context matters. Avoid)

Phrases to Use:
- Bastards! (Confrontational and directed, if impotent)
- Shit. (Very popular. Can’t go wrong)
- Let’s all go inside. (Can’t ruffle your feathers, can they?)

- Who wants a beer? (My hero)

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In the words of a very wise man: “Outside Bad”

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Our roof was re-tarred before the ‘rainy season’. We’d call it the ‘drizzley season’ but these things are all relative. It was good in the winter because it kept the rain from getting in. It’s not that I object to a little moisture. It’s that it’s so dusty here that for the first week the rain doesn’t puddle, it creates sheets of mud on every surface, which then seep in the windows and through cracks in the roof. It looks like a scene out of ‘Dark Water’.

But it’s not the rainy season now and the tar that was on the roof has become completely fluid in the relentless heat. It runs across the roof and down the stairs. If you have to make a phone call - you have to go up on the roof. I’ve laid down a trail of newspaper and a little card-board platform so that I stay off the tarry bits. But it took a few tries to figure that out. Consequently all my shoes and the hems of my pants look like brer Rabbit before he got chucked in the briar patch.

The tar is that runny ‘cause it’s hot. It’s really really fucking hot.

It’s one hundred twenty Fahrenheit, fifty Celsius, or 323 Kelvin. Anything electronic left outside is toast. Anything electronic left in the car is melted into the upholstery. The city power has completely crapped out. The brown/black outs are constant and are seriously messing up the equipment. I don’t mind replacing the electronics or the lights. But when the AC clenches up at high noon and the house goes from meat locker to convection oven I reserve the right to burst into tears.

I got a sunburn watching “Weekend at Bernies” this place could keep me tan through three feet of cement.

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I've been chasing geckoes for twenty minutes. Up and down the front yard and under the sandbags. I even chased them behind the generator where I got stuck because my body armor makes me all bulky.

But I forgot that security has to babysit me whenever I'm outside the house.

So six huge dudes who can kill with a swizzle stick and face death on a regualr basis watched me run up and down the street giggling "here lizard lizard, I'ma git you!"

This wouldn't have been so bad but one of the guys came up and said: " Would you be willing to chase them inside the house so we can go off duty, sir?"

ah shit. I'll never live this down. Thankfully, if I drink more I might forget it...

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ps: I promise I'll write something about the heat tomorrow.

pps.: you wimps.

ppps: yeah, I said it. Come and get me!

Well, for me it's your tomorrow. Or possibly it's just time for me to get my BAC below 2 and catch a little shut eye.

For me it's already July 4. Back home I'd celebrate by getting a little crazy, blowing a chunk out of the sidewalk, and burning some meat. But out here they're already a little crazy, chunks get blow out of pretty much everything on regular basis, and the burning meat thing? Not funny.

So instead I'll spend the day working. But it's ok because when I get to go home I'll being going back to a functioning democracy. Where I’m allowed to argue and make trouble for the ruling party. And I don't have to live in mortal fear of fundamentalists or look under the car before going to work. And I'm being paid to help other people get there. Which is unbelievably cool.

Sunrise in Amman.

Worst Idea, no consequences (Tequila, Amman)
Hours, lost to layovers (Nine, CDG)
Favorite welcome, homecoming (“I bought your beer, do you like this skirt?”, SO)
Best culture shock (tap water is delicious!, arriving home)
Best Meal, most relaxing (L’Enfant, 18th and U)
Best Meal, heretofore unknown (Creme, 13th and U)
Best Drink, heretofore unknown (Prima Pils, Pizza Paradiso - Gtown branch)
Best Idea, cunningly planned (Tripe, Pho 75 - Arlington Branch)
Best Artifact, poorly presented (Astrolabes, Institute du Arbe Monde)
Best Artifact, well presented (The lady and the unicorn, Musee du Moyen Age)
Hours, unaccounted for (Six?, Mont Parnasse?)
Worst Idea, with consequences (Pastis, Mont Parnasse?)
Best Idea, unexpectedly (fully refundable/exchangeable tickets, Paris)
Worst use of a day (Recovery, Air France)
Cruelest Instruments of Torture (A330, Air France)
Most Mexican World Cup team (2006, Charles De Gaulle International Airport)
Worst culture shock (forgetting that tap water is poison, returning)
Favorite welcome, returning (“Your armor is in the car”, PSD)

Y'all watching the news? Go look.

Yeah. Big shit, eh? I thought Iraq had just been declared pre-emptive winners of the world cup when the office found out. All the glass is shaking, people are jumping up and down, yelling and hollering. Though I've been told Saddam's arrest made this look like a water cooler discussion of that one Simpsons where comic book guy says "My whole life has been a waste" and then gets hit by a missile. (that’s disturbingly appropriate actually)

First thing my one co-worker said was: "What the fuck is Casey doing up on that stage"
Second: "Jesus christ, the PM's giving a speech to Iraq in front of an American flag"
Third: "GET OFF THE STAGE CASEY!"

That nasty piece of work definitely got what he deserved. And I hope the other seven people were his close friends. I don't think it's going to change the day to day level of violence but it's like taking out the big roach behind the sink. Yeah, there's a whole fuckin wall covered in 'em but you just smooshed the big one. Rah!

But. Immediately after the speech the whole room went "I'm glad that fucker got what he had coming. Jesus they handled it badly"

1. Why was Casey on that stage? We know it was his guys out there. We know people back home need to see progress. But do two conferences if you have to. All the Arabic stations are showing the US ambassador patting Casey on the back for whacking a guy.

2. Who put the PM in front of the American flag? Why was there an American flag up there? Everyone talks about 'puppet government this, satellite state that'. Bad flack! No cocaine for you! You go back to your trailer and think about what you've done!

3. What's with the simultaneous translation? Was this about Iraq or the foreign media? I know the answer; I just want to see some fucking discretion for once. It's like watching my dog act innocent after eating the appetizers off the coffee table. Just get out of the room and keep quiet. This is going to work out in your favor if you just step back

My co-workers had a freaking laundry list but like I said: whining as a semi-pro hobby.

I can hear dinner being set out next door... must find beer and pita... I hope dinner isn't that little lamb that was tied up out front all day. I just went and found a cucumber to feed it.

Update: Dinner was cute. Three hours ago. Now it's just 'with rice'. I'm just going to eat the cucumber myself. Maybe after another helping...

Due to the paranoia of the previous regime every building in the IZ is unconnected to sewer lines. This isn't such a bad thing since elsewhere in the city they're next to the water mains. Think of the ways this could go wrong.

Add to that the small issue that tanks and APCs are frigging heavy. And the concrete used to make the pipes is very old and very fragile.

One saving grace: water mains are kept at a much higher pressure than sewage pipes. Think of why that's a good thing.

The result is that with a population several hundred times larger than intended the septic tanks are ... well... "oversubscribed." The tanker trucks that pump the waste are constantly circling, parking, and sucking. The smell is remarkable. As is the occasional overflow.

So long story short: Keep your freaking boots off the couch.

Long time no write. But I’ve had a good reason. Those of you in the magical mysterious world of USG contracting are familiar with the dance of terror that occurs when one contract comes to a close and the next is in negotiation.

Suppliers: So should I just set fire to everything in the warehouse now or are you going to pay me for next month?
Us: Christ, no! we’ll pay we’ll pay! We just need USG approval before we can commit the funds.
Suppliers: Commit the funds? Fuck that. Cash in hand tomorrow or I’m liquidating the stock.
Us: eeep

Badge authorities: Sorry, no renewals of your badges. Your contract expires in a month.
Us:We’ve got a new contract!
Badge authorities: Show me.
Us: uh… we’re waiting on the signature… but we can’t even go to the airport without a new badge!
Badge authorities: Get out.
Us: eeep

Local Partners: So, if I understand this correctly: your mandate may expire in a few weeks and then we could go looking for a more profitable arrangement?
Us: You’re a non-profit! How profitable can any arrangement be?
Local Partners: It’s not you it’s us. We’ll call, though. We promise.
Us: eeep

Boss: Since we don’t have a signature on our next contract we need to make a contingency plan for cost savings. Would the lowest ranking, least useful, most recently hired person in the room please shit himself in terror?
Me: eeep

The frustrating part is the I, you, the USG, and that yellow dog all know that we’re going to stick around. We’ll get the contract signed and we’ll go back to work trying to make some tiny bits of this country less broken. But because this whole place is US bureaucracy imposed on a crippled socialist state nothing works without a whole ream of stamped, signed, vetted, and multi-national forces approved documentation.

It’s not that people are incompetent. The armed services, the contractors, and the USG have put their most motivated and experienced people out here. Any indications to the contrary are a telling comment on the average person in America. But we’re hamstrung by the way accountability is measured. It comes down to: if you don’t sign for it you can’t be blamed for it. And with a project this important, in a country this fucked up, you can’t let people get away with incompetence or out-right theft. Some shitbags will still lie, cheat, steal, and profiteer. But if you catch ‘em and you’ve got a signature you can punish ‘em. So we tolerate the paperwork.

There’s so much money, so many people, and such total chaos here that we’ll never catch them all. But I’ve already seen people get noticed, get caught, and get punished. Even if events don’t go our way at least down here at ground level we tried to be fair, and decent, and responsible. So I have hope.

It’s not quite DC in August “OhmigodIcamsmellthetouristsrenderingintheirownskin” nasty hot but it’s getting there. It’s only mid May and it's already the nasty dry heat that makes your eyes ache as soon as you open the door and leaves everyone rasping like the morning after.

And I put off doing inventory until now…

“OK, head out to the car park and check that all the cars are still there.”
“What… really? We ride in ‘em everyday. It’s not like they’re gonna jump the fence and start a new life on a Tuscan farm.”
“Go. Go now. ”

And five minutes later I’m on my knees in the black gravel searching for the office serial tag attached last year somewhere on the frame. I’m scorched through my jeans and thrashing at the omnipresent flies with my head under the car only lead to the early stages of concussion. Thankfully the flies distracted me from the ants who had methodically worked their way up into my delicate places.

After attempting to chase off the rising heatstroke with coffee (doesn’t work), while cataloging broken printers, I found out that our security team has been working in an un-air-conditioned office for the last eight months.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?”
“Didn’t want to complain”

- If I respond to that I could get shot - they whine constantly and with the dedicated manner of professional whingers. Except about things that would bring their invulnerability in question.

Thirsty? Wounded? De-fenestrated? No use crying, mate.
Nothing on TV? You’d think someone shot the cat-who-shall-not-be-harmed.

It’s getting hot.

I still can't make it all the way down the hall without falling over but the worst has definitely passed. And so in the spirit of my well wishers :

Ways the Last 36 hours could have been worse

- The generators could have failed. Resulting in:
The AC would have stopped working
The toilets wouldn’t have flushed.
Port a potty by flashlight
- The sewage system could have backed up again
- I could have had a full breakfast instead of the one cup of coffee
- I could have fallen into the glass shower door instead of the wall
- Those could have been my only clean cothes
- I could have run out of Gatorade.

And number one:

- 20 minutes later I would have been in that meeting I’ve spent two weeks setting up. Better to have canceled I think.

Also: Here’s the cat. If you see this cat do not shoot it.

You only get the one warning.

UPDATE: I think I fixed the picture. This whole blogging thing convinces me that I graduated one year too early to be able to do anything online that's a) legal b) interesting. FTP warez/mp3 ratio sites? check. Blogger? no clue.

I’ve been sitting outside typing for 20 minutes and I can see a new layer of dust on my keyboard that’s piled in with the wind. I just showered and I’m already covered in grit. Of course, I'm sitting outside typing and I know where to find beer. So it's better than it could be.