No new news on the weather front. It has been hot and windy. I’m not sure where this wind comes from, but you could at least hope the wind would be cool and tone down these 100+ degree days. To the contrary, the wind seems to be upping the temperature and on top of that continues to hurl objects through the air like dust, sand, and small reptiles not to mention our illustrious piles of trash outside where the trash cans used to be.
We had a full-blown Red Alert on Tuesday that was announced multiple times over Giant Voice with back-to-back, non-stop repetition. The announcements were coming so fast and furious in an unusual garbled state that we could barely understand the whole message, but could clearly make out “Red Alert”. Ed and I began to collect our essentials, shut down our laptops, and get our stuff together for the quick trip down to the shop and the relative safety of our hard building. If an imminent mortar attack caused an Amber Alert, then a Red Alert was serious and there was no time for messing around! I threw what I thought I needed from my room into my backpack and was flying out my door when I heard a clearly audible portion of the message that said “… this is only a drill…” A drill?! What are we supposed to do in a drill? Insure that we have our stuff, know where we are supposed to go, take up defensive positions, and send in situation reports?! We’re contractors supporting vehicle issues. They could have started the announcements with something like: “The following messages are only a drill. Please respond accordingly. If this were an actual emergency, you would receive an audible tone that sounds like this.” Oh well, so much for getting excited.
The bazaars that were previously held on Fridays, then moved to Saturdays were cancelled because of the wind damage to the little tin buildings that the Hajjis made into a market, although rumor has it that they will be starting up again in their original location on Fridays. In the meantime, a few enterprising locals now hold a small little bazaar here on Camp Vance. A couple of them sell the normal trinkets to include jewelry. Ed cannot seem to pry himself away from the one vendor. For some unknown reason, he thinks that his wife, three daughters, mother, and sister all require 27 necklaces, 12 sets of earrings, 6 pendants, 8 broaches, and other assorted pin-ons, danglies, and accoutrements. I’m not trying to say that Ed is naïve when it comes to stones, settings, cut, clarity, quality, and the like, but he pretty much takes the locals at their word (in limited English) and forks over their asking price without any bartering. They see Ed as an easy mark.
The quality of the gems and stones vary and with a little head-shaking and walking away, you can acquire a nice gem or stone for a great price. The settings and quality of the necklaces, chains, and rings are generally less than desirable in my opinion and the cost of the actual metal and labor are no less than back home. So why does Ed keep buying all this stuff? Because he likes to; he likes sending the females in his immediate family jewelry. He doesn’t seem to subscribe to my theory that eight necklaces for one person is enough (one for each day of the week, and a special occasion necklace). Anyway, it’s his cash he’s giving away and if Ed doesn’t care that the man-dress wearing local drives a 2007 Mercedes S500 back and forth from here to Kabul, there’s not a whole lot I can do to change his mind.
Ed and I were sitting in my room the other evening BSing when we heard automatic weapons firing within mere meters. At first we thought we were imagining things. I nearly accused Ed of having Iraq flashbacks loud enough for me to hear when another barrage of automatic fire ensued. Hhmmm, no Giant Voice messages, no AK-47 fire, just M16 firing. I grabbed my pistol and chambered a round just to be on the safe side (I wouldn’t want any of those gun-toting, topless Air Force women barging into my room without a fight). It was Ed’s turn to give diplomacy a try so he cautiously ventured outside. He returned a couple of minutes later fully intact and said that a team of soldiers were practicing for an honor detail. They were firing blanks and were obviously way out of sync. Seven soldiers firing at once is supposed to sound like one shot. Three barrages make up the 21-gun salute. I think practicing is cool, however an announcement on Big Voice would have been nice so some of us would not have to wonder what was going on. I think I’ll throw my recently purchased and viewed copy of Red Dawn away.
Our weekly menu is changing a little. Currently lunch on Sundays is now a barbeque with ribs (most likely goat), steak (yak), macaroni and cheese, and corn on the cob. The Hajji dining facility cooks prepare it on a grill outside around noon and you can simply walk up and grab as much as you would like. As always, the taste and texture of the items are off. I know we have U.S. military personnel that supervise these locals, but they apparently have no concerns with ensuring food quality. As an example, how hard is it to boil corn on the cob? Why does the corn have to be boiled so long that the kernels are mush and devoid of juiciness and flavor? There is just not enough artificially flavored, partially hydrogenated, carbohydrate reduced, imitation margarine and salt available to make the corn palatable. Why can’t someone take the corn out of the water after five minutes? Is it too much to ask? And in case you missed the lunch barbeque, evening chow is the same except it’s the left-overs prepared at noon and reheated. Yummy!
Ed and I are experimenting with science. Not the kind of science that Newton performed by dropping an apple on his head, but the kind that requires intense scrutiny, pain-staking research, and absolute values. The kind of science experiments that test hypothesis and theories, that are published in journals, and that ultimately end up as award-winning, break-throughs that garner the scientists with fame, fortune, and their own groupies.
The first of our two experiments this week started with bacterial development on pepperoni pizza. How long could a slice or four of Pizza Hut pepperoni pizza remain in it’s original box, inside a thermostatically, precisely controlled, Chinese built refrigerator and still smell and taste fine enough to consume? Hypothesis: three days. Guinea Pig: Ed. Scales: Ed’s senses of smell and taste. As discussed last week, Ed can smell real well (I mean he has a sensitive nose as opposed to personal aroma) and he likes to believe his taste buds can discern the most minute of biological bacterial microbes. It’s a good thing I was keeping track, because Ed’s precision in scientific record keeping is a tad bit sparse. To save you the day-by-day tedium, Ed pitched the last slice on the fourth day because, “It didn’t smell right.” OK by me, but hardly worthy of praise from respected scientific journals. Groupie quotient: nil.
Fortunately we had another experiment up our sleeve that was sure to reap us fame and most likely the groupies. It is the ability to transfer simple sugars and yeast into alcohol. Ooohh, some call it fermentation; others refer to it as brewing. In the end, we call it beer. Batch 2 as we have informally named it. In any case, we got down to the hard facts and cold science of boiling, mixing, measuring, infusing, and cooling. Two hours later we had a red lager with an original gravity of 1.501 at 74 degrees Fahrenheit, baby!
It wasn’t all glory as it may sound above. We did have a moment of near disaster that required split-second thinking, experience, and the ability to adapt. This virtual calamity arose when I poured cool water into the residual wort in the boiling vessel and asked Ed to: “…swizz it around and dump it in the fermenting bucket” (because he had the heat-resistant gloves on). We had a movie playing simultaneously while we were brewing and all Ed heard was: “swizz it around and dump it.” Because I was engrossed in the movie too, I came to my senses with the closing of the outside door and the sudden realization that Ed was outside with the boiling pot. He dumped it outside on the ground. What were we going to do?! With experience in beer brewing, I know little things make a big difference so to compensate for the loss of malted wort; I added some plywood fibers, pocket lint, and a penny in the hopes of blending with the few grains and hops to give the brew the texture it needed. I also decided six less liters of total water was a must. Next week we’ll bottle when the specific gravity levels off. A week after that we’ll sample and I’ll let you know how many groupies show up!
Recently, since our completion of vehicles, our job is now more about being seen looking like we know what we are doing. I know it sounds easy and everyone would want to get paid for doing that, but it is difficult and time consuming. I can already hear Doug telling me to stop whining. Nearly all of you who know me know that I have a favorite saying about work and it is: “51% is about looking good”. I don’t mean just standing around doing nothing, I mean being seen, looking the part, doing what you are supposed to be doing. Appearance counts for a lot and in that department I am all aces. But besides that, we have to stroll around, well coifed and dressed, and utter key buzz-words in conversation at enough volume in the presence of critical passers-by. Ed and I discuss the buzz-words and phrases of the day in advance and review potential questions and answers. At the end of the day, we once again review and consider what objects we should have in our hands for the next day. A piece of paper in your hand, regardless of what is written on it, looks important.
This week’s picture is one of necessity. It’s a picture of Ed and me cooking a little food. The primary focus of the picture is me lifting the lid off the steaming electric skillet to display seven fresh, Atlantic, flash-frozen, lobster tails. In the bottom left are six fresh, North-American, flash-frozen, beef steaks marinating in a plethora of ingredients, and to the extreme left of the picture in the mini black Webber BBQ are four potatoes dug up from Kandahar that Ed is lovingly administering to. The small little crock pot on the table next to the lobster is our almost real butter with garlic, onion, and chives for use on the potatoes and to dip our lobster into. Under the paper towel is twelve strips of bacon just recently pulled off the grill. You can only do so much with the quality from whence you start, but Ed and I certainly give it the ole college try. It’s definitely not Metropolitan Grill quality; however, it’s the best we’ve had in months!
Happy Father’s Day to all of you out there that are fathers, and to those of you that are about to be! I also want to include those of you who are also trying to be fathers as that alone conveys lots of discussion, patience, and tremendous responsibility.
Make sure to check back for Week 33. I know I almost force these novellas upon you, but there is a little bit of responsibility on your part to check up on them and me. Next week includes the description of polyethylene receptacles, hot soap (really!), and running against traffic. Most people pay for literature of this quality and you few get it for free. Shibby!
Craig
No comments:
Post a Comment