Are we there yet?

“C-17’s are the straight balls” is the first thing I said to myself as I walked into the gargantuan plane.  Our air lift to Qatar looked like it was going to be one hell of a ride.  I felt like little Tommy Tootone wanting to play with all the buttons, hooks, cables, and switches.  Ok, I’m exaggerating but what an effing beast of a plane.  Apparently it even comes with jock pilots incapable of sweating or having their hair move in turbulence.  This one guy, he said call him Casey, was the most sarcastic guy I’ve ever met and started each sentence off with, “Whelp…”  An example, “Whelp were just gonna lay her down right here and be on our way back, we got to get home for lunch, taco salad day.”  He was ridiculous.

Otherwise, the flight had little excitement or fun.  I had a dip with Sargent Halliday.  What a GFD.  He told me Copenhagen is the only suitable form of dip for an American man.  When I told him I’d dipped Skoal before he lectured me on the finer points of smokeless tobacco.  Did you know it is best served chilled when dipped after dinner?  I’m starting to accept the taste, not enjoy it, but accept it as part of this experience.

We’re at our new base now, I can’t tell you where, but I will narrow it down by saying it’s a country is filled with dirty, sandy, angry Arabs.  They assigned me to Halliday’s bunk house, which will be cool because he’s one of the biggest badasses out here.

I emailed Dirk, my old friend from Atlanta, and he sent me a wireless card that’s supposed to work most places.  Well see how good it is.  I don’t feel like saving up my stories and sending them in all at once.

This camp’s tone is different.  Whereas before it was training and discipline, the rules seem to be relaxed now.  Everyone is nervous and ready to go.  I guess they’re hyped up and ready to get going on what they trained for.  After only being out here about 3 weeks I feel the exact same way.

“LET’S DO THIS”

I should’ve gotten AT&T

Howdy Howdy,

Good gracious, I feel so out of touch.  I thought I was with the most powerful military in the world!!! Where the eff is my internet?  I had like 15 vampire bites on facebook.  APPARENTLY the internet is highly requested, and since I’m not even like a soldier and I don’t have a news organization backing me, I don’t get satellite time as often as I’d like.  An AT&T wi-fi card would be crushe right now…so would a shower.

It’s like 2:30AM over “here” and we had a fairly routine week in this Sandbox…and by “routine” I mean “routinely” feeling like my heart was having diarrhea and realizing that sweat is not infinite, that after all the moisture is gone, you simply start incinerating.  This place is hotter than Satan’s asshole.  I don’t know how these guys endure this heat, or maybe this is a testament to my cushy middle class bubble-wrapped life.

I heard the Dark Knight came out last week to a ridiculous opening.  I would totally be there nerding it up.  A pretty cool soldier I met, Private Driggers, was watching a bootleg version in his bunk the other night.  I watched most of it, but found myself passing out right in the middle and the Korean dude filming it kept coughing.  I can’t believe how much money that thing made.  We need Batman over here, someone who doesn’t follow protocol and doesn’t care.  Despite what horror stories you might hear, though, our boys aren’t burning babies.  Most of them have babies waiting on them back in the States.  That kind of cheap-shot journalism makes me angry.

On an even more serious note, we’re shipping out tomorrow to go on some sort of recon mission.  I’m a little nervous, not because it’s a mission, but because of its circumstances.  You may or may not know that Iran recently fired test missiles and broadcasted it to flex nuts to anyone watching.  This may or may not be a big deal, I’m not sure how concerned I would be yet.  All the troops do here is shrug their shoulders.  They seem to take everything in stride, almost like they expect it.  I thought I would be going North, toward Baghdad, over the course of a few weeks, but it seems like we might be going Southeast.  Maybe toward Dubai?  I’m not sure.  Like I said, they don’t tell me much.  But, from what I can gather, the threat by Iran to seal off the Straight of Hormuz, through which 40% of the world’s oil travels, poses a BIG threat.  I hear gas prices back home have spiked this summer.  Good thing I sold my truck.  I’m assuming we’llstart by going to Qatar, that seems to be the most logical choice since, well, we have a base there and, well, I was just there.  I was hoping to see parts of Iraq that I read about on the news, but that might have to wait.  But it does mean a shower!

I do know this, though.  Nuclear weapons still pose a threat today, even though my generation never really grew up under the shadow of the Cold War.  I don’t necessarily worry about a global nuclear war, but I do worry about the destruction that a hand full could do to a few strategic cities.  Iran just might be batshit crazy enough to use them too.  It might not be this week, or next month, or this year.  I do believe, however, that if we don’t douse this fire, we might even look back on these days, however turbulent, with envy.  A real nuclear threat would change everything.  A real nuclear detonation changes things forever.  There is no going back.  Not trying to get phylisophical, but this kind of chatter makes me nervous, escpecially when the military reacts, like we are now.  You never know when a few falling pebbles are preceeding a landlside.

Otherwise, I’m in good spirits.  British Reporter Hottie emailed me!  She left Qatar 2 days before I did.  She’s in Kandahar, Afghanistan now I think.  Totally wanted to V-Chat her, but it might be too early for that.  I did find out that she likes Rush’s 2112 album, though, so yeah, going ring shopping tomorrow.
~Paul

“You’re gonna stand there, and tell me you don’t have no whistling bungholes, no spleen spliters, whisker biscuits, honkey lighters, hoosker doos, hoosker donts, cherry bombs, nipsy daisers, with or without the scooter stick, or one single whistling kitty chaser?”

Day 4-6, Still haven’t dumped

Holy Shnikeys, we went out for a 3 day training mission on Friday.  It started off as a total shit show.
 
It’s 0330 and I’m having some sort of Lacey Chabert/Personal Pan Pizza dream on my cot.  I’m roused by Sergeant Halliday shaking me awake.  He tells me they’re heading out in 15 minutes and if I want to go with them, get my shit packed and be at the deuce and a half in 10.
 
Luckily I had the presence of mind to grab my hand held, a few batteries, my OD Green Government Issued rain jacket and a few pairs of SmartWool socks.  On the short list of things I wish I would have had-my Ipod, some Snickers bars, and a BJ.
 
I get to the truck on time and the platoon is forming up.  Sergeant Halliday, a staff sergeant in charge of one of the squads yells at me through a mouth full of Copehagen to ‘Get my ass in the truck and sit down.’  How the hell can anyone dip so early in the morning?
 
Well, they call out roll call and form up on the platoon leader.  He gives them a prayer, we load up and we’re off by 0345.  It’s at this point I learn that it is only a training mission for NBC (Nuclear, Biological, Chemical) warfare.  I find myself both grateful and shit-my-pants-scared because it’s not the real thing yet, but I mean come on, chemical warfare?  You fucking serious?
 
The ride to our make believe combat zone is quiet.  Effing Sargeant Halliday, certified ball breaker, keeps on making Anderson Cooper jokes at my expense. I reply without impunity while using ‘monkey fucker’ as a comma.
 
We arrive at 0700 at the base of some unknown (to me) mountain.  It looks like fucking Mt. Doom and I get a sinking feeling in my heart.
 
Well, I’m not going to say what we did, found, or practiced but I will say that in summary, this platoon is filled with some of the biggest badasses I know or will ever know.  Writing about our 3 days training is meaningless.  I basically tried to keep up and watch and learn.  I was tired from the first minute, smelled like Arab country asshole by the second, and I was ready to eat by the third.
 
My feet are blistered to all Hell and I have crotch rot and swamp ass like a fat chick in a steeple chase.  I feel like I could sleep for days and eat a whole cow.  I acquired a taste for dip and can now see the attraction towards tobacco.  I feel AMERICAN.
 
“If there’s a world left when this is all over, I’d like to buy you a beer.”

The Biggest Loser– Day 3

Definitely shouldn’t have stayed up late writing a blog about going to PT in the morning.  I definitely figured out that I am a highly trained writing machine and not a highly trained killing machine. I’m sitting here, breathing hard, after that 0530 PT. Not going to lie, I fell out. I wasn’t even in formation and I fell out. I was following them and I fell out. No big deal, it’s not like I’m going to be assigned to them as they climb mountains and search for smelly Arab terrorists. Eff, I should have tried harder at the Y. Oh well, no where to go but up, I guess, and I still have a few more days (hopefully) before we head out of here.  I haven’t been assigned to my group, I’ve just been doing more of the “general tour” type things.  PT was actually my idea, you know, to see what it was like, maybe get me acclimated to things around the base… who in the Fallujah do I think I am?  PT, COME ON.

Got a platoon’s training schedule for the rest of the day, there is an asterisk for what I am allowed to do and what I am not allowed to do. Apparently they’re cool with me training on weapons (50 cal here I come) and map reading, but apparently they aren’t cool with me going to S-2 meetings (that’s intelligence, I think, so many effing military acronyms).

And on another important front, found out the Bangable BBC (BBBC) reporter is single and ready to mingle, but she won’t be here long. She also is not too keen on Lara Logan pregnancy jokes, as I found out at ‘chow’ last night. She knows how to handle a spork though.

Ok, off now to watch some soldier stuff should be cool.

P “you should know betta”

“Snakes! I hate snakes!”

Heat to 375 and BAKE– Day 2

Howdy Howdy,

Loyal readers, sexy fan base, Face-Space friends and family, hello from Al Udeid, Qatar., guess what!? It’s hot as balls here. It’s literally hotter than inside a frying pan, hotter than Scar-Jo’s ass, hotter than the surface of the sun.

But, I’m here, so I’m going to make the best of it. Yesterday I told you a little bit about myself, how I got here, who I am. After a few emails and sexy pics came in I decided to answer your questions:

1. Why on Earth would you want to be an embedded journalist?

Because I’m a winner, people, and I am inherently awesome and better than all those mouth-breathing, cake-eating, cat-talent-show-covering clowns at the local Atlanta paper.

But seriously, because it’s time to do something with this life, first rate Daddy-funded education, and God given gifts I have.

1. Seriously?

How about this, I want to get the word out about how it is being in the shit, living in caves, searching for robe wearing, goat-effing idiots with homemade bombs strapped to their chests. Because I want to see the kind of man and woman it takes to blow themselves up in the middle of a crowded gathering place. Because Bin-Asshole is a modern day Hitler and I want to see why it is people follow him to their painful death.  I want to expose the lives these barbarians live to the bureaucratic, red tape Washington jerks so maybe they can figure out why things aren’t working.  Plus, this is the world we live in.  This is the issue that defines our generation.  This is the stuff we’ll tell our grandchildren about, maybe because it will still be going on in 50 years…Who knows.

OK, I only got one email, and it was from my neighbor, Janet, telling me to pick up after my dog in the apartment’s common areas.

But anyways, it’s boring here right now and I fear it will stay this way for many days. Word on the street (WOTS), as the guys around here affectionately call it, is that we will be moving out in the next ten days.

I agreed to go to PT with them tomorrow morning at 0530, so we’ll see how that goes. I mean I did cardio at the Y back home, but that mostly meant staring at 40 something’s asses for 20 minutes and listening to the Doobie Bros.

So I leave you on a positive note-There is a BBC journalist here I’m totally going to bang!– and no, it’s not Lara Logan…I wish

Paul

“I think if I was allergic to dairy I’d kill myself.“

My Place in the Hot-Ass Sun

Howdy Howdy,

For those of you looking for news, or those leisurely drifting down the internet stream looking for info, you’ve reached my “blog.” (I still find that word totally obnoxious, but at this point, it’s a frivolous argument)  My name is Paul Corinth, a resident of the U.S. for 28 years, since the day of my birth in Corinth, Texas on that brisk day of January 18th, 1980. Corinth is a small place, so naturally I wanted to go somewhere completely opposite.  I graduated high school in ‘98 from Lake Dallas High School and was the sole representative from Corinth to attend Northwestern University in Chicago.  Blah blah blah, I got into journalism, wrote for the paper, had a weekly radio show, and graduated cum laude (barely) in May of ‘02.  You guys don’t care about this.  Graduating with a journalism degree isn’t bad in a post-9/11 world, for sure; Plenty of things to report on.  I’ve hopped around in my 6 years post-academia-vacay and wrote small online pieces for news outlets.  I found myself in NYC for a time, then to Atlanta, occasionally getting stories posted on the website of the giant news outlet headquartered there.  (I don’t like to name names, just in case I have something bad to say…which I do).  I’ve never been one to claim to be right-wing or left-wing, mostly just cynical.  I know there is a game to play, I just don’t want to play it.  I’ve never been very competitive. I’m 28, single (though moderately successful with women), about 20 LB’s overweight, and with a trigger happy tongue.

That’s about all the exposition I’ll give you for now.  This brings me to my current and most intriguing life decision ever: I have become an embedded war correspondent, but not how you’d expect.  My internship with said “news/media giant based in Atlanta” was terminated abruptly when I had a “slight” disagreement over the specifications of my tour in the Middle East.  Instead of going through the “blue form/red form/carbon copy” avenues to set up an embed such as this, I chose to contact a childhood friend’s Dad, who knew this guy at a bureau, who served with this guy in Desert Storm 1, and it basically went from there.  If all else fails, always go with nepotism, it’s the only thing that gets shit done, TRUST ME.

In any event, the big guys had some issues with what branch I was visiting, where I was going, for how long, and the rules I’d have to follow.  Personally, I think they were jealous that a 28 year old kid could circumvent them, a “respected” news source.  As punishment, it seems my only reporting will be posted here, on a free WordPress blog instead of a news website.  I feel that news agencies are dinosaurs and can’t keep up with the news speed at which the world works.  In any event, someone will want my story. I mean, you’re reading this, aren’t you?

That being said, I’ll wrap this “blog” up.  I wanted to establish some things right out of the gate here.  I landed in Al Udeid, Qatar last night and I’m basically waiting on my next move.

A) As of right now, I’m due to follow a highly specialized unit, so I cannot tell you where I am…specifically.

B) I cannot give you the names of divisions and or superior commanders under which I’ll operate.

C) My internet is dependent on satellite situation at whatever location I’m dragged to.

D) I’m a badass, I know.

I can tell you I’ll be somewhere in here:

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&geocode=&q=syria&ie=UTF8&ll=34.813803,55.327148&spn=31.592723,54.492188&t=h&z=4

I hope to see not only a soldier’s side of things, but also bring my own point of view.  I don’t quite understand the war, I don’t understand the motives, and I don’t understand what the end goal is here.  Washington is a Douche factory, so I won’t be defending any candidates here.  Hopefully, I’ll get some answers… and maybe even post some video!  I better get to shoot a 50 cal too, or I’m going to be pissed.

That’s a big 10-4,

Paul

“Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t HAVE roads.”