PULL MY FINGER

There is little doubt that in general, men enjoy things that smell.  Jeff Foxworthy spent an entire sketch discussing just how sick in the mind we are.   He argues that we are willing to smell things that are bad because we know there will come a day in which we will cash that moment in and require someone else to smell something even worse.  I get it…farts are funny!  One of the only things funnier than a fart is when it’s your fart!  As a father, one of the most pure joys I’ve experienced is trying to melt my kids’ faces while I alone control the power windows!  Shortly after Jen and I were married, I made the mistake of hoping the term “silent but deadly” was not going to apply to me that day…I was wrong!  On the corner of Tramway and Indian School, I nearly lost my one true love!  Bless her heart for staying with me.  It was literally so bad that the resale value on that Toyota Celica went down $450, and the carpets were never the same!  But was it worth it?  Of course!  Who doesn’t enjoy a small game of covered wagon/dutch oven?!  Needless to say I married a saint!

So why am I airing my dirty laundry? (that is funny)  Why would I take the time to admit that on 4 different occasions I passed gas and nearly killed someone?  I suppose the biggest reason is to establish the fact that I can handle things that smell…or so I thought.  There is nothing that could prepare me for what I was about to face here in Afghanistan.

I’m not going to say that Afghanistan is the smelliest place on Earth, but I’m certainly not going to argue that it’s not either!  Kandahar is home to over 30,000 people.  Nearly 1 in every 1 people have to use the bathroom while they are here.  While I never attended medical school (although I did trick Jen into marrying me under the assumption that I would), I do know that human waste is

inherently smelly.  I live with a daughter that can single-handedly clear out the entire downstairs living space in our relatively big house  with just one visit to the bathroom (I won’t say which daughter, only that it isn’t Kaylea).  She is just one small girl.  Now imagine if you will that kind of power multiplied by 30,000 people!  Now I realize that there are some of you at this point that are either scoffing this post, grossed out, or are thanking your lucky stars that they didn’t buy my 1988 Toyota Celica.  However, keep this in mind: THERE MUST NEEDS BE A PLACE FOR ALL THAT POO TO GO!  Ladies and gentlemen…I give to you the military solution, reverently known as the POO POND.

The Poo Pond sits smack dab in the middle of Kandahar Air Base, and it is made up of the waste from 30,000 individuals.  It stinks.  It stinks a lot.  It stinks about 30,000 times as bad as Emma on a bad day (oops, forget I mentioned her name).  It stinks ALL the time!  When you leave your room, it is there.  When you go to eat, it is there.  When you brush your teeth, yep, it’s there!  It is pretty much inescapable.  Luckily there is some reprieve.  Every morning they do us a favor and burn all of the trash from the base.  There is nothing quite like the smell of burning plastic bottles to get your blood flowing.  Plus they are telling us that burnt plastic is actually good for you too!  It’s a win-win situation around here!

So my friends…when you think of what to send me in the next care package that I know everyone is getting ready to send, please include some air fresheners…or maybe just a gas mask!  I promise to give it to Jen when I get home.

The Poo Pond Song  (No kidding here...it's famous enough to have a song about it)

 

THEY CALL ME MAGNUM

THE COMBAT MUSTACHE

As a seasoned fighter pilot, I am very much aware that there are many traditions that can easily be perceived as childish and silly.  We avoid words like "Box" and "Head" and replace them with the far more acceptable "Container" and "Cranium".  We give each other cool names like "Huge" Johnson, "Cheetah" Petz and "Frosty" Shepherd (that one really is cool).  I've often said that our organization is nothing more than a big fraternity...and I've enjoyed every minute of it.  While I have been exposed to some juvenile traditions, I also have to admit that some of the things we do quite simply save lives!  Perhaps the greatest example of this is the combat mustache.

 

I was first exposed to the Combat Mustache (I will continue to capitalize these words based on the fact that Combat Mustache is a proper noun)

AMERICAN HERO

when I deployed to Iraq in 2005.  My Director of Operations was one of my mentors and good friends, Lt Col Mark "Calvin" Cline (seriously...the names we give each other are AWESOME).  There are two things that Calvin taught me on that deployment that have always stuck with me.  The first was simple..."Embrace the Suck".  That motto came in handy as rockets were shot into the base on a daily basis and insurgents were shooting small arms at my jet.  All the while the most important thing on the base revolved around my wearing of a reflective belt and tucking in my shirt!  The second lesson was far more important..."There is protection in the growing of facial hair below the upper lip!"  You heard me right.  The Combat Mustache provides a soldier protection whilst he or she (I say that to be politically correct, although few females can pull off the Combat Mustache) is deployed in a combat arena.  As such, Calvin declared that all members of the Rude Rams were to grow a quality Combat Mustache...and so it began!  We had been in Iraq for nearly 3 weeks...just enough time for the average male to have a fairly good deal of hair follicle stimulated growth, and an equal amount of protection.  Sadly, yours truly was struggling.  I'm not sure if it was poor genes, stubborn hair, or that I simply didn't need protecting, but I was quickly learning that I was not cut out to grow a mustache.  I was growing used to the snide remarks from my squadron members, but I was also growing insanely jealous of their ability to so quickly look like my boyhood hero Burt Reynolds!  That guy was simply legendary.  To make a long story short, I finally approached Calvin in total desperation.  I wanted to follow his command, but was also tired of looking like a young Asian boy with a few hairs struggling to find a purpose.  Calvin conceded.  He agreed that my "mustache" was not only NOT providing me protection, but that it was also creeping out most of the squadron.  In return for his permission to shave, I made a pledge that I would attempt another Combat Mustache the next time I flew in the war.  Calvin remains a hero to the men and women of the Rams for allowing me to shave.

A PROMISE KEPT

I've now been here in Afghanistan for nearly 3 weeks, and I'm thrilled to report that I have been true to my word about growing an AMAZING Combat Mustache (I alone get to define AMAZING).  I personally have been proud of my mustache.  In my mind I was beginning to take on the appearance of the man of men in the mustache world...Mr. Tom Selleck!

THE LEGEND

Now it could be the fact that I'm a Lieutenant Colonel on this deployment, but it seemed to me that everyone in my squadron agreed.  They've even posted pictures on our refrigerator discussing my amazing mustache.  I was convinced...I had become Tom Selleck...Magnum PI had nothing on me.  Ron Burgundy was calling me for tips...and then something happened...my family saw me.  Technology has come a long way since I deployed in 2005.  Jenny and the kids were never cursed enough to see my terrible mustache from Iraq.  However, in the world of Skype and FaceTime, I've been able to keep my loved ones up to date with almost daily progress of  "Mr Mustache".  I'm not saying that they thought my mustache was less than AMAZING, I'm just saying that my children cried.  Jen has trouble sleeping at night.  Our house trained dogs have taken to pooping on my pillow.  Clearly there is a difference between my perception and reality. 



So here's my parting thoughts.  Maybe I'm not destined to grow an AMAZING Combat Mustache.  Maybe I'll never look like Burt, Tom or Ron.  But there are two things that I will take away from this experience.  First, I have protection.  I know that as long as I don't shave this pathetic excuse for a mustache I will be protected.  Second...I have integrity.  I made a promise to Calvin, and it's one that I intend to keep.  And who knows...maybe in 6 months I will look like Burt.  Wouldn't that be sexy?!