Echo Company Back to Fueling

On Saturday of this weekend's drill, while the country remembered 9-11, Echo Company was training for the next mission.  The Echo fuelers set a a fueling point on Medina Ridge at Fort Indiantown Gap.  Fox Company set up communications for the operation.  Three Blackhawks came in for fuel just after lunch.  I was waiting for a ride to the military-vehicles-only training area and missed the Blackhawks.

I did have a chance to watch a pair of Chinooks fly in from the east and head southwest into the sun after practicing flying into the refuel point.  They did not refuel for reasons they never tell the guy with the camera.  But it was fun to get another chance to get near the rotor blast of a Chinook and get pictures of the big birds flying off into the sun.

Milestone in Context

Today this blog passed 100,000 page views since June of 2008 when I started keeping track.  It's a big milestone for a small subject, what it's like to go back in the Army when you are older than dirt.  Just to put in context, I checked the traffic on one of my favorite blogs, pharyngula.  This very entertaining blog by PZ Myers has had 88 million page views in the last several years.  I suppose Justin Bieber has 88 million page views on a good day.

Citizen Soldiers are not Entirely Civilians

I got a google alert on Sunday that my battalion commander was in a picture posted on the Penn Live blog, the on-line section of the Harrisburg Patriot-News.  When I went to the page all of the pictures were of the 2-104th homecoming--both soldiers and families.  Since the eight images pictured soldiers in our unit, I called the current battalion commander, the former battalion commander, my company commander (all of whom were in photos) and the battalion Command Sergeant Major.

If a civilian communications manager calls a civilian executive during a holiday weekend, that executive will hope the news is good and be ready for something bad, but will call back because his or her phone/blackberry is always on.  None of my leaders called back until this morning.  My current battalion commander, Maj. Joel Allmandinger, said he saw the photos.  Since it was good news, no reason to call during the weekend.

Since I am the kind of workaholic who brings his laptop and cell phone on EVERY vacation or day off, I admire people who really shut off their cell phones/laptops etc and actually go on vacation.  My disconnected time is on the bike.  If I don't hear from the others by this weekend, I will try to call them again on Friday.

I admire them, but won't emulate them.  I was asking for my cell phone in the hospital after I broke my neck.  It would take some kind of psychic surgery to get me away from digital communications for more than a day.

Digital Barbarism

After my latest on-line argument earlier this week, I decided to see what my favorite living writer, Mark Helprin.  His book Digital Barbarism: A Writer's Manifesto paints a beautiful picture of all that was marvelous without digital communications.  Helprin is a writer of tall tales.  His main characters are marvelous man and women who perform unbelievable feats--an old man who walk effortlessly on mountain trails, an out-of-shape young man who goes from fat boy to climbing alpine ice cliffs in a year.

Helprin says digital communication needs rules.  He is right, but it does make me wonder how that can happen.  I never make anonymous comments, but what does that mean in a world where many people do?  Facebook is somewhat better because you deal with people you know personally--unless you have "friended" strangers.  If you are interested in the topic, Helprin entertains, not just complains.

Reading this book reminded me that many of my favorite writers are political Conservatives--CS Lewis, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Helprin are soldiers and men who want to preserve high culture: literature, the arts and everything that makes life worth living.

Here is Helprin on the 2008 election:

By MARK HELPRIN

What a kerfuffle! Half a dozen talk-radio hosts whose major talent is that, like hairdressers, they can talk all day long to one client after another as they snip, have decided that the presumptive Republican nominee does not hew sufficiently close to their gospel.

As anyone who has listened to them knows, the depth of their thought is truly Oprah-like. And if a great institution of the left can weigh-in as it does in the choice of a nominee, why not its fraternal twins on the right? It doesn't matter that Mitt Romney, suddenly their Reagan, became a conservative in a flash of light sometime last year, or that their other champion, a populist theocrat, is in many ways as conservative as Vladimir Lenin. The task is to stop the devil McCain.

As a mere print person whose words are not electrified and shot through walls, automobiles, pine trees, and brains, I realize that what I write in the bloody ink of a dying industry may be irrelevant. But from my antiquated perspective, something is very wrong.

Ostracism following tests of "right thinking" is a specialty of the left. Not that it doesn't exist on the right, blooming with great malice especially on the radio. But in light of their prospects, conservatives have no room for it. For by their neglectful forfeit they have lost the battles of culture and education, and to remain other than an occult force they must express their beliefs through politics, from which, after November, they may be for a time excluded.

Why? To begin with, American columns should have cut through Baghdad after three days and exited three weeks later, leaving Saddam dead and a pliant Iraqi strongman to keep the country harmless or suffer the same quick take-down. Rather than being broken on the wheel of irreconcilable Muslim factions, a supple and intact American power would have shattered Arab elation following Sept. 11, and then by threatening their rule been able to discipline the various police states of the region into eliminating their terrorists. Far more efficient that way, without six and more murderous and unavailing years in which neither a single democracy has appeared nor will one. The surge is merely coincident with a change in Sunni strategy. Instead of watching the U.S. and Iran arm the Shiites for a major sectarian war, the Sunni choose to avail themselves of American arms while simultaneously removing the lunatic jihadists nipping at their heels.

The Democrats' advantage in 2008 is that the costs of the war in Iraq have been highly disproportionate to its effects, not least in the decline of the American military, when it could have been otherwise. Conservatism has been dehorsed, because though conservatives rightly seek victory, it has not appeared except in the minds of those suffering from cognitive dissonance.

This and the economy threaten to throw the conservative enterprise back to where it was before Ronald Reagan or even William F. Buckley. Along comes John McCain, who has an 80% positive rating from the American Conservative Union but who as a truly independent soul does not fit, at the margins, some of the transient notions of what makes a conservative. Because of his independence and flexibility, he is the only Republican candidate who has a chance of winning, and thus preserving the core principles of conservatism, in relation to which he is unimpeachable. They are national security (in particular the strength of the military after Iraq and vis-à-vis China and a resurgent Russia), Constitutionalism (as in individual vs. collective rights), and the economy (free markets vs. government industrial policy).

One can agree or disagree with his peripheral positions, but political orthodoxy is political death. If those who are in a hissy fit about Sen. McCain would rather have Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton, they will get Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton -- how delightful to go to jail for building your house on land once visited by an exotic moth -- and they will wake up to a great regret, as if in their drunkenness they had taken Shrek to bed.

But, guess what? Even if, as the country veers left, living conservatives gnash their teeth and dead ones spin in their graves, a small class of conservatives will benefit. And who might they be? They might be those whose influence and coffers swell on discontent, and who find attacking a president easier and more sensational than the dreary business of defending one. They rose during the Clinton years. Perhaps they are nostalgic. It isn't worth it, however, for the rest of us.

So, rather than playing recklessly with electoral politics by sabotaging their own party ostensibly for its impurity but equally for the sake of their self-indulgent pique, each of these compulsive talkers might be a tad less self-righteous, look to the long run, discipline himself, suck it up, and be a man. And that would apply equally as well to the gorgeous Laura Ingraham and the relentlessly crocodilian Ann Coulter.

Transformed in a Moment

One morning in Iraq, I left battalion headquarters to ride across the base and go to a meeting with the Command Sergeant Major of the Garrison.  We were meeting about the 9/11 Commemoration Ceremony.  We had much of the program in place, but we needed a chaplain for the invocation.  When I told the commander's assistant where I was going, two or three people in the office right away said, "Sergeant Major F*&K This!"  And smiled.  The garrison CSM had a reputation for swearing that was noticeable in an Army unit in Iraq.  I had not heard a sentence from him without an F-bomb.

The chaplain everyone assumed would give the invocation had just been transferred to the north.  Chaplain Valentine, the post Catholic chaplain, taught philosophy at Fordham University in New York City.  After 9/11 he decided to volunteer for the chaplaincy.  He was on his third tour.  From our base, he rode convoys and flew to every outpost in the south of Iraq.  The north was short of chaplains, so he went off to minister at the small outposts north of Baghdad.

My pick for the invocation was Chaplain Eugen Henke of the Wisconson National Guard.  He is an inspiring speaker and left his post as top chaplain in the state to volunteer for deployment.  

I knew as Chaplain Henke and I walked toward the CSM's office that the meeting would go well, but I was a little uncomfortable at the prospect of talking about a prayer sitting between a chaplain and the CSM.  I could hear the CSM talking as we neared his office.  "Get this F--ing request to headquarters. . ."

When we walked into the office, I introduced the two men.  We sat down and talked about the ceremony, the invocation and the flow of the event.  We spoke for almost 15 minutes.  Not ONE use of the F-bomb.  It was an incredible performance.  In fact, no one believed me when I got back to our headquarters.

As I walked down the hallway with Chaplain Henke after the meeting I made small talk, but in my head I kept thinking "Un-f*&king-believeable!!!!"

Surgery Went Well for My Oldest Daughter Lauren

Good News from the hospital.  Plates and screws will fix the compound open fracture and dislocation of her left index finger.  Lauren called me an hour after the surgery, groggy but in good spirits.  Her mom sent me a text right after the surgery to say the procedure went well.  Lauren should get most of the range of motion back in her finger.

Her big concern was whether she could play this season.  She is a senior so it's her last year playing college soccer.  She thinks if the recovery goes well she will be able to play at the end of the season.  She was doing some aerobic training during the three days she was waiting for the surgery and plans to practice as much as possible as she recovers (without using her left hand of course).

She asked the doctor if she could work out while she waited for the surgery.  The doctor said, "Yes Miss Type A. . ." and told her the exercises she was allowed to do.

Two Great Saves Become a Broken and Dislocated Finger in Pre-Season

Three days ago my oldest daughter Lauren made a spectacular save in a pre-season game.  She is a senior and plays goalkeeper for Juniata College.  She made the diving save with her left hand hitting the ball away just before she hit the ground, left hand first.  Lauren felt  a momentary sharp pain in the first finger of her left hand.  Her training overrode her feelings.  She snapped to her feet knowing that a loose ball of the net meant another shot.  She made another save.

When the ball was clear of the goal she yelled to the coach that her first finger was out of her glove.  She took the glove off then yelled to the coach that she needed a substitute.  Part of the first bone of her first finger was sticking through the skin.  At that point the game stopped and she walked off the field to get ice, ibuprofen and a ride to the hospital.

Lauren called me on the way to the hospital telling me what happened.  She was clearly on the edge of tears, but being brave.  she said she hoped for pins instead of plates and screws because she could play sooner.  It turned out she needs plates and screws and will have the surgery on Tuesday.  Later that evening after she had the X-rays she said, "It's two breaks.  My broken bone count is Seven."

I am very proud of her.  If there is any way she can play at the end of the season, I am sure she will.

The drawbacks of Army life and having a family are obvious, but on the other side of the ledger, my kids grew up (and are growing up) with Army stories as part of their lives.  They all lived with my deployment last year.  They want to be brave like their Dad and like all the soldiers I tell them about. CS Lewis said what you pretend to be, you will eventually become.

Lewis is right.

K-Oz Gets a Home!!

While i was in Boston on a business trip, Annalisa found a dog at the Humane League.  The newest member of our family is 6-year-old K-Oz (My wife studies Chaos aka Dynamical Systems in math).  He is a very sweet tempered German Shepherd.

K-Oz is helping Jacari wash his face!!!

Nigel with K-Oz.  K-Oz is happy but needs a nap.

From My Day Job--Book Review Published on booksandculture.com

My friend John Wilson just posted this review on his Web site at www.booksandculture.com.  Good book.  Congratulations to John on the 15th anniversary of his magazine:  Books and Culture.


The following article is located at: http://www.booksandculture.com/articles/webexclusives/2010/august/disappearingspoon.html

The Disappearing Spoon

Tales of chemistry, from the heroic to the absurd.

Neil Gussman | posted 8/26/2010

If you have never balanced a chemical equation, if you think chemical bonds are long-term investments in a maker of turpentine or Teflon®, then you may have missed the flurry of books based on the periodic table published in the last several years. You could be excused for thinking Sam Kean has chosen an arcane subject—the map of the chemical elements—for his 400-page book.

The title and cover art are suitably retro. In fact, the old-style title and subtitle—The Disappearing Spoon: And Other True Tales of Madness, Love, and the History of the World from the Periodic Table of the Elements—have almost as many letters (106) as the periodic table has named elements (112 and counting).

For those of us inside the world of chemistry, the first reaction to Kean's book (if you'll pardon the pun) is "another one?" But this young, gifted storyteller has written a book that shares only a chemical icon with other recent volumes on this theme. Kean presents the stories of the elements in all their human drama. The result is a delightful book of interwoven tales that will give even the most highly trained chemist some of the real breadth, history, and drama of the "Central Science." It is also a book that can be read on Southwest Flight 469 from Las Vegas to Baltimore to help pass five hours in an aluminum (Element 13) cylinder with 141 other carbon-based (Element 6) life forms.

Kean weaves together the lives and times of notable savants and scoundrels of chemistry to tell the stories of elements. Chapter 8 opens with fifteen scientists on the cover of Time magazine—the "Men of the Year" for 1960. In the first four decades of the 20th century, Americans earned 20 Nobel prizes in science. In the 1940s and '50s, more than twice that number, 42, earned the coveted prize in half the time.

Then Kean dives into the search for Technetium, the 43rd element and the most difficult to discover of the 92 elements that exist outside nuclear reactors. In the decade before World War II, a couple who were German scientists and Nazi sympathizers, Walter and Ida Noddack, claimed to have discovered Element 43 but were proved wrong. Others tried and failed. Then Emilio Segre, an Italian Jew who escaped the Holocaust by emigrating to America, pinned down the elusive element. Two decades later Segre was on the cover of Time.

After lauding Segre and recounting some of the details of his escape from the fate of Jews under Mussolini, Kean takes Segre down a peg. Explaining how the impetuous chemist missed discovering another element, Kean ties that mistake to the great blunder that led the great American chemist Linus Pauling to miss the structure of DNA. Pauling went on to become the only recipient of two individual Nobel prizes—for Chemistry and Peace—but James Watson and Francis Crick beat Pauling to the discovery of the structure of DNA. In a delightful (and disgusting) aside, Kean says DNA was first discovered almost a century earlier, in 1869, by a Swiss chemist who "poured alcohol and the stomach juice of pigs onto pus-soaked bandages until only a sticky, goopy grayish substance remained." The goop leads to stories about Phosphorus (Element 15) and on through the periodic table. Writing about Pauling, Kean says:

He was the Leonardo of chemistry—the one who, as Leonardo did drawing humans, got the anatomical details right for the first time. And since chemistry is basically the study of the forming and breaking of bonds, Pauling single-handedly modernized the sleepy field. He absolutely deserved one of the greatest scientific compliments ever paid, when a colleague said Pauling proved "that chemistry could be understood rather than being memorized" (emphasis added).

Kean merits the same compliment. The Disappearing Spoon shows that chemistry can be understood in all its rich history of competition, discovery, achievement, and tragedy. In an ideal world where science was central to high school and college learning for all students, Kean's book would be required reading before all the dreary daily details create a lasting, dull impression of chemistry.

And if this delightful book leaves you wanting to know more about how the periodic table works, pick up a copy of The Periodic Kingdom by Peter Atkins. The two books complement each other very well.

Neil Gussman is communications manager at the Chemical Heritage Foundation.

Copyright © 2010 Books & Culture. Click for reprint information.

Party at Work--September 30 Simulcast of Ig Nobel Prizes at CHF

I had lunch in near Harvard Square today at Rafiki Bistro with Marc Abrahams, creator and host of the annual Ig Nobel Prizes.  Great hamburger.  And a lot of fun talking to Marc about life in Iraq, and back home.  But the real subject of our lunch conversation was the 20th Annual Ig Nobel Prize Ceremony on September 30 which will be simulcast at Chemical Heritage Foundation where I work.  We are hoping to have a big crowd and several special guests in Philadelphia.

Tickets are almost sold out for the 1200 seats of Harvard's Sanders Theater, where the Ig ceremony is held every year, so Philadelphia may be the best place to eccentric published science get the recognition it deserves.

After leaving Harvard Square, I got stuck in traffic jams on Mass. Ave., Mystic Parkway, and five miles of Route 93 including the Big Dig.  In the rain.  It's nice to be home.

Numbers Update

Early this morning my blog got visit number 75,000.

A few hours later, somewhere in Medford, Mass., I went over 5,000 miles on my bike for the year.
I rode those miles and the last 10 miles of this morning's 30-mile ride in cold rain.  The weather has been bad in Boston for this whole trip.

Looking Up--My View of Sling Load Training

Six huge rotor blades whipped the humid August air, lifting and holding the Chinook helicopter just a few feet off the ground.  Inside the cargo-carrying giant, the pilots waited for the signal to move forward. 

Fifty feet in front of the hovering helicopter sat a Humvee with thick cables attached to its frame at the front and rear.  A soldier crouched on top of the Humvee at either end, holding a four-foot long metal rod with a circular eyelet at the end—looking like the loop end of a huge sewing needle.  The eye is made to fit hooks attached to the belly of Chinook helicopters.

With a thumbs up signal from the flight engineer working with the ground teams, the Chinook tips its plexiglass nose slightly down and rose to 20 feet of altitude as it flew toward the Humvee.  As the big bird approached, the soldiers holding the big cabled hooks begin to get blown around by the front rotor.  A flight engineer, hanging his head and shoulders out of the “Hell Hole” in the belly of the Chinook between the cargo hooks, guides the aircraft slowly down to a hover six feet above the Humvee.

Like rodeo cowboys trying to lasso a longhorn in a hurricane, the soldiers on the Humvee stood up in the swirling air under the Chinook and swung their metal “lassos” toward the hooks on the belly of the Chinook.  When the hook set, the ground crew jumped down from the Humvee and ran 100 meters away through the full Chinook wind blast. As they ran, the pilots slowly lifted the aircraft until the cables are stretched tight.  When the flight engineer signaled that the load was set, the Chinook flew up and away with the 3-ton Humvee swinging gently beneath. 

At that point, the Humvee circled the airfield underneath the Chinook, or the pilots simply went up 50 feet then lowered their cargo back to the ground.  The up and down flight is known among air crews as an elevator drill.  As soon as the cables were slack underneath the Chinook, the crew released the electric hooks.  The cables dropped to the ground as the Chinook flew away.  The air blast from the rotors is so loud that the hooks and cables fall without a sound.

Depending on the preference of the aircrew, the pilots made a slow circle back to their hover point, or they slid the 16-ton aircraft sideways 20 feet above the ground and flew backward before spinning the olive-drab behemoth in its own length, like a Smart car making a u-turn on a narrow street, making it look like some a mythic creature let loose in the middle of Pennsylvania.

The air crews and ground instructors for the all-day exercise were from Bravo Company, 2-104^th General Support Aviation Battalion which returned from a one-year deployment to Iraq in January of 2010.  They trained more than 100 soldiers from 2-28^th Combat (Heavy) Support Battalion.

On Vacation

For the past week I was on vacation in Utah with my family.  I have a lot more pictures to post from the sling load.  But in the meantime, I have 1,000 pictures on a public FLICKR page here.

I plan to transfer most of the photos from Iraq to this page eventually.

Today through Wednesday I am at a chemistry conference in Boston.  It is raining and will be raining through Wednesday.  I rode in the rain yesterday to see my best friend from High School, but will be in meetings all day today.

I'll try to post more pictures in the next few days.

Two of My Favorite People Get Promoted

At first formation on Saturday morning two of the best soldiers in Echo Company got promoted.  Sgt. Jeremy Houck got promoted to Staff Sgt. and Spc. Daniel Lake to Sgt.  In Iraq, Houck was one of leaders on the team that re-built and rewired many buildings all over Tallil Ali Air Base.  We were sent at the last minute to a base that was not ready for a Combat Aviation Brigade and Houck helped to change that--in a big hurry.  Lake is a smart experienced mechanic who spent a very long year doing whatever was required on maintenance teams. He had a sergeant's responsibilities during most of the tour.  His promotion was slowed by several paperwork hassles and long overdue.

Because they are in Echo Company, the ceremony ended with a splash!!!

More Sling Load Shots

How close does the Chinook get to the soldiers hooking the payload?

Chinook Sling Load Training

Today I got a call at 11 am from our Command Sgt. Maj. saying I needed to get to the south side of the airstrip as soon as possible.  Our Bravo Company set up sling load training for the 2-28th Brigade Support Battalion, the soldiers who support the 55th (Heavy) Combat Brigade.

Sling loads are anything that can be carried underneath a Chinook helicopter by hooking heavy cables and lifting.  In the morning, it was a Humvee.  In the afternoon pallets so large they could not fit inside the Chinook.

Restrepo

Yesterday I watched Restrepo, the movie about the worst corner of the war in Afghanistan.

Here's the trailer:


Both the movie and the book War both by Sebastian Junger, are about a year in Afghanistan with an infantry company assigned to the Korengal Valley.  Although based on the same year, the book and movie are very different, even focusing on different soldiers.

The movie is a documentary, but faster.  It doesn't explain, but shows what life is like.  And the soldiers on camera are more candid than I ever would have expected.  The commander of the unit busts on his predecessor so much I hope those two are never assigned to the same unit in the future.

I watch so few movies--this is my first in 2010--that I can't compare Restrepo to other films.  But I can tell you that I find many war movies silly or funny or both.  I wasn't laughing during Restrepo.  I was leaned forward in my theater seat and stayed all the way through the final credits.

More from Jim Dao, NY Times about Afghanistan

Jim Dao of the NY Times is following a combat unit on their entire deployment to Afghanistan from pre-deployment through the getting back home.  Here's the latest installment.

There's some funny stuff about all the things that go wrong with a  new unit on its first mission.  It's front-page of the print edition today for those who read the old fashioned way.

Talking About Dante Again

Followers of this blog know I had a "Dead Poets Society" book group in Iraq beginning last July.  The first book we read was Inferno by Dante Aligheri, translated by Tony Esolen.  Yesterday I was talking to the editor of the magazine at my day job about science education and Dante came up.  Our magazine is Chemical Heritage.

We were talking about the construction and location of Hell--Inferno is a guided tour of Hell down to the center of the earth and out the other side.

By the way, for any of you who had a bad education or read Thomas Friedman, Dante wrote 200 years before Columbus sailed and knew the size of the earth within about 10% of its actual size--as did everyone in the Church at the time Columbus sailed.   All that Flat Earth stuff connected to Columbus is bullsh#t.

The whole conversation was fun, but the most interesting thing to me was the vote at the end of the reading Inferno.  The group decided by a small majority to reading Aeneid next, not Purgatorio, the second volume in Dante's trilogy of eternity.  The group came to admire Virgil and wanted to know why he was Dante's guide through Hell.  Several of the soldiers were also upset with Dante for sending Virgil back to Hell when he (Dante) went to Heaven.

Unfriending on Facebook

Unfriending is an ugly word.  But in the virtual world it is very easy to make a friend you know very little about.  Most of the friends I have on Facebook are people I know in real life.  By category most are

• Riding buddies
• Army buddies
• High school classmates
• College friends

But there are some people whom I have never actually met.  Some of them follow my blog, some were on online discussion groups I participated in.

Last week, I unfriended a guy I have never met in person, but we have traded opinions for a few years.  He is a very smart guy who fires back hard whenever he thinks he is right or the other person is wrong--which is mostly all the time in my experience.  His Facebook comments can go to hundreds of words.  Anyway, I never minded his dismissive comments because I asked for them by being equally dismissive of him.  But last week I posted something that got positive comments from two "live" friends and scorn from the other guy.  Rather than confine his scorn to me, he lit into my college friend and my former co-worker.  

At that point all the protective instincts in me said this is wrong.  I should not allow my facebook page to be a WWE event.  I also sent my former Facebook friend a message saying why I hit the unfriend button.

There are many things I like about the virtual world.  But if a man is on your turf and insults your friends, it is clear that the relationship is in serious trouble.  In the virtual world, physical presence cannot put a brake on bad manners.  

Back to Riding for the Team

Today was a small but important milestone on my road back to racing.  And I am not talking about contending for wins.  At its best, my ability to sprint is about equal to the acceleration of a fully loaded tanker truck going uphill. 

But bicycling really is a team sport and my place on the BiKyle/Mazur Coaching Main Line Cycling team is helping the riders who can climb/sprint to win races.  Today’s race for the 55+ riders was 20 laps of a one-mile serpentine loop at the Rodale Fitness Park in Trexlertown PA.  The twisting circle is wide, smooth and has a flat, straight run to the finish.  Perfect for sprinters.

Only 18 riders started our race and three of them were in the 65+ category.  Three members of my team, Dave Nesler, David Frankford and I, were on the start line.  Nesler is a good sprinter, but there were a few very good sprinters in the so Dave would need to go before a pack sprint and stay away to win the race. 

The race started off slow with a few attacks that raised the pace.  When the speed dropped below 23mph, someone would occasionally attack.  Above 23mph the pack stayed in a line and rode wheel of the guy out front.  Riding out front of a pack means working about 30% harder than everyone else.  The guy out front is giving up energy.  The sweet spot is to be in the middle of the pack, surrounded by other riders who block the wind.

With six laps to go, I rode from the back (where I was resting from the last attack) and asked Dave if he would be better off with the pack going faster or slower.  He said slower.  Less than a minute later, Barry Free took off at the front and I followed him.  Once I was on his wheel Barry sat up and the pack was on us in a few seconds.  Rather than drop back, I stayed on the front of the pack, keeping my average speed as close to 23mph as I could--fast enough that no one wanted to raise the pace.

About 1/4 of the way around the final lap, the pack went around me to the left.  I started to swing to the right to get out of the way, but Dave decided to attack down the right.  He yelled, I inched left and he took off.

His move didn't last the whole way around.  I did not see the end of the race, because as soon as the pack went around me, I rode at half speed for the rest of the final lap.

Dave didn't win, Chip Berezny sprinted to the take top prize.  But at least I am back enough to contribute to the team.   

Piss Bottles

In writing about daily life in Iraq, I neglected to write about Gatorade bottles.  Specifically, empty Gatorade bottles.  I never went anywhere without one.  I never had to use the one I kept in my backpack whenever I boarded a helicopter flight, but I always had one.

Neither Blackhawks nor Chinooks have latrines.  And as some of their crew like to say, "We can stay up for hours."  In any case, I made sure to hit the latrine before boarding every flight and had that bottle just in case the Blackhawk had to stay up longer than I could wait.

In all the convoy training we did at Fort Sill and in Kuwait, I had that same empty bottle just in case that convoy kept moving.

And I kept an empty bottle in my CHU, just in case. . .

My commander once announced that he only relieves himself three times a day.  Any more than that is a waste of time.  I agreed with him in principle, but in actual fact, I am 57 years old and that kind of schedule is a long way in my past.

Writing for the blog Periodic Tabloid: gravity and Pseudoscience

July 30, 2010 | Neil Gussman

Recently the lead article in the Science Times profiled a string theorist who claims gravity does not exist.  

Instead, physicist Erik Verlinde says “gravity is a consequence of the venerable laws of thermodynamics, which describe the behavior of heat and gases.” Verlinde is not denying the phenomenon nor expecting pigs to fly, he just wants to describe why gravity keeps us firmly on Earth.

Theories do have a history of falling out of favor. In the late 1600s, both Christiaan Huygens and Isaac Newton developed useful and mutually exclusive theories of how light travels. For Huygens, light was waves. For Newton, particles. Huygens got a big boost from Augustin-Jean Fresnel in the early 1800s when the French scientist described light as waves in the omnipresent ether.

Almost a century later, the ether theory was found to be false. And in the 20th century both the wave and particle theories of light turned out to be true at the same time.

As a history of science organization, CHF follows the fortunes of theories from their inception through their ascendance and acceptance, and on to their demise. We may one day see the demise of the theory of universal gravitation. Theories, as a rule, rise slowly and fitfully and fall like a rock tossed off a building—gravity accepted as true for now. In all science, minority positions like Verlinde’s are part of every discipline. But sometimes these minority positions leave science and go another way.

As such CHF also tracks the history of pseudoscience. For us, the rise of a theory that never gains scientific acceptance is as interesting as one that wins acceptance as a way of understanding material reality. For example, why did creation science evolve and thrive in the United States, just as this country became the world leader in science? In the middle of a country that boasts Caltech, MIT, Harvard, Stanford, Apple, Intel, and Genentech sits the Creation Museum near Louisville, Kentucky. Inside Cain and Abel play with pet dinosaurs and the speed of light is considered variable.

Scientific theories are some of the most ingenious products of the human mind when based in fact. But even when they are not, the history of science in all of its forms is fascinating.

Published here.

Visiting Pittsburgh--Nigel's First Foster Family

Today we got up at 3:45 am to drive to Pittsburgh for a math conference where my wife is a presenter.  Our girls are working, traveling and otherwise occupied so only Nigel and Jacari came on the trip.  Annalisa had meetings from 10am till 230pm then she and the boys drove to Dormont, 9 miles south of Pittsburgh to visit Nigel's first foster family.  I rode there and got a chance to ride over Pittsburgh's Mount Washington, while they drove through the same mountain in the Liberty Tunnel.

The Sharbaugh family cared for Nigel for the first six weeks of his life--from when he left the hospital the day after he was born until six weeks later when we picked Nigel up and brought him to our home from their home.

The Sharbaughs cared for Nigel and 11 other newborn children in the first weeks of their lives, then turned them over to other families.  Wow!

I admire them very much in the same way I admire running backs who can smash though hulking linemen or hockey players who can speed skate and shoot a blazing slap shot all in one motion.  The Sharbaughs, the running back and the hockey player all can do something I can't do.

Imagine taking care of a newborn for weeks and weeks and then handing that little baby over to strangers--not once, but a dozen times.  I can't.  They are one amazing family.  I'm glad we had a chance to visit them and get reacquainted ten years after they cared for baby Nigel.

[In case you were wondering, we are Nigel's second foster family.  It was almost a year before all the paperwork was approved for the adoption.]

Some of my Favorite Quotes from Women in Iraq

"The biggest stress for me is calling home"--female soldier in Iraq whose family expressed their fear & anger to her, not to her Sergeant brother.


"I wanna light some mutha fu*ka's up"--20-year-old woman I served with disappointed when we did not pull convoy security.

"This place is all drama and no action."--SFC Melanie McCracken, Chinook Maintenance Platoon Sergeant, Tallil Ali Air Base, Iraq.

And the one that applies to every place from the beginning of time:

Stupid Should Hurt!

SFC Pam Bleuel, Drill Sergeant and convoy training NCOIC

Quote for Today

In times of war, you often hear leaders--Christian, Jewish, and Muslim--saying, "God is on our side."  But that isn't true.  In war, God is on the side of refugees, widows, and orphans.

Greg Mortenson, as quoted in "Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Promote Peace . . . One School at a Time", Penguin Books (2007) p. 239

Porthos Dies in the Night

When Annalisa and I were married 13 years ago yesterday, she had three cats--Athos, Porthos and Aramis.  They are the Three Musketeers if you ready old books or watch bad movies.  Of course the main Musketeer is D'Artagnan, and that is one criticism of the story for most of the past two centuries.

Actually, Aramis, who spent way too much time sitting in the middle of streets, died just before we were married.  Athos, the more adventurous of the two remaining brothers, lived several years longer, but also succumbed to injuries from spending just that extra moment in the road.

Porthos lived a fairly long life for a cat.  He and his brother Athos were excellent hunters.  They left the remains of mice and baby bunnies near the back door so we could see how proficient they were in small furry animal population control.  After the demise of Athos, Porthos was less inclined to hunt and, like many older carnivores, put on a lot of weight.  At his weight peak, his hind feet would disappear under his fat when he sat down.

But like some obese people, he managed to remain healthy despite a sedentary lifestyle.  In the last year he rapidly lost weight.  Last night when I switched the laundry at midnight, Porthos was asleep on a small rug.  He didn't move when I turned the light on, but I thought I saw him breathing.  The next morning he had not moved.  I checked.  He was not breathing.

Porthos is buried in the flower garden near our garage between Athos and our dog Lucky.

We will be getting a dog in September after we return from vacation.  We had been planning to get a dog for a while and now we won't have to worry that a new and energetic dog will torment our geriatric feline.

Flat Out of Luck

This morning I woke up at 0430 to drive 2 1/2 hours to a time trial race.  The 20km race was the Master State Championship.  It's not my favorite kind of race but I need the practice for the qualifying races for the National Senior Games.  I also volunteered to help clean up after the race since it was jointly sponsored by my race team, BiKyle/Mazur Coaching, and the Quaker City Wheelmen.

My start time was 0835:30.  I started warming up at eight.  I felt really good after the warmup.  The course was out and back beside a lake.  It started gently uphill then rolled through a series of rolling up and hills and flats.  I started fast and felt good, 26mph on the initial, hill 29mph on the flat.  I was flying, probably too fast.  But it didn't matter because 1/2 mile inI hit one of the little rocks on the edge of the road and heard--hissssssssssssssssss.

And my race was over.

Reunion Group Photo

Don DeMetz sent me this photo of the reunion group.  We are meeting again in August next year, probably in Colorado Springs.

The Royal Order of the Shim

Sometimes it is hard for a civilian to imagine the power an Army commander has compared to his civilian counterpart.  In my last post, I mentioned that as a tank commander, a sergeant in charge of three men and a very large vehicle, I could make my crew go out for gunnery practice after their friends went back to the barracks and on weekends.  If one of my soldiers screwed up--usually involving alcohol--I could put them on as much extra duty as I was willing to personally supervise.

And I was just a new sergeant.  The battalion commander, the man in charge of 54 tanks, 60-odd trucks and 600 men had even more latitude.  Our commander from 77 to 79 in Germany was Lt. Col. Richard Goldsmith.  He was a genial young (mid-30s) commander with a lovely wife, three kids, and an iron will when he was sure he was right.

Rich Goldsmith created a tradition that was carried on until the unit 1-70th Armor was disbanded in 1984:  The Royal Order of the Shim.  Soon after he took command, Goldsmith became convinced that the problem our tanks had with breaking tracks was caused by a mis-alignment of the front road wheels.  He believed that adding a steel shim to the inside of these wheels would cure the broken track problem.

Our motor officer, Mr. Scanlon, our exec officer, Major Roper, and many others thought this was a bad idea.  The manufacturer said the problem was the result of the rubber pads in the tracks for driving on roads.  Goldsmith was undeterred by experts.  Roper tried to dissuade him.  Goldsmith's response, "What part of 'Get it done' did you not understand?"

The shims were installed on two tanks with eight hours of work.  The tanks drove less than two miles before their tracks broke.

It took another eight hours to remove the shims.

These shims, by the way, were 12 inches round and 1/3 inch thick steel rings.  They were heavy.

Mr. Scanlon welded a three-foot length of tow chain to the shim, making a 30-pound necklace.  At the next officer's call, Goldsmith became the first recipient of the shim.  It was passed on at each officer's call for the next six years to the officer judged by the current wearer of the shim as having made the stupidest mistake since the last meeting.

By missing his plane and not showing up for the reunion dinner on Saturday night, Goldsmith became the final recipient of the shim, which was retired to his safekeeping on Sunday morning.

Some of us enlisted men had the motto:

"When we do good, no one remembers, when we do wrong they never forget" stenciled on helmets and other gear.

It looks like the officers had the same motto.

70th Armor Reunion Dinner

Today my kids and I left Georgetown, Kentucky, at 11 am and drove south for five 1/2 hours to Chattanooga, Tennessee, for the 1-70th Armor Reunion Dinner.  Lauren and Lisa both dressed up for dinner.  Nigel wore his best digital camo t-shirt.  I was, as it turned out, in the proper uniform--khaki's and a dress shirt--but the really cool guys and all of the organizers were wearing Land's End polo shirts with Strike Swiftly Tankers logos:

One of the first people I met on the way in the door was Captain Paul Davis, my company commander from the time I joined the 70th Armor in late 1975 until he was reassigned in Germany in early 1977.  Davis was a great commander for a new tanker moving over from the Air Force.  My first assignment was as gunner for Sgt. Ralph Plowman, a tough old guy (almost 30 I think!) from Alabama who taught me a lot about gunnery and taught me by example how to lead a crew.  I got my own tank several months later.  My first crew was, like me, inexperienced.  Davis let me take my crew out for extra training on weekends, after regular motor pool work hours.  He really let NCOs run their own show.  My crew fired Distinguished (top 10%) first time out at least partly because we practiced more than any other crew.

Sitting with Davis was Joh

70th Armor Reunion Dinner

Today my kids and I left Georgetown, Kentucky, at 11 am and drove south for five 1/2 hours to Chattanooga, Tennessee, for the 1-70th Armor Reunion Dinner.  Lauren and Lisa both dressed up for dinner.  Nigel wore his best digital camo t-shirt.  I was, as it turned out, in the proper uniform--khaki's and a dress shirt--but the really cool guys and all of the organizers were wearing Land's End polo shirts with Strike Swiftly Tankers logos:

One of the first people I met on the way in the door was Captain Paul Davis, my company commander from the time I joined the 70th Armor in late 1975 until he was reassigned in Germany in early 1977.  Davis was a great commander for a new tanker moving over from the Air Force.  My first assignment was as gunner for Sgt. Ralph Plowman, a tough old guy (almost 30 I think!) from Alabama who taught me a lot about gunnery and taught me by example how to lead a crew.  I got my own tank several months later.  My first crew was, like me, inexperienced.  Davis let me take my crew out for extra training on weekends, after regular motor pool work hours.  He really let NCOs run their own show.  My crew fired Distinguished (top 10%) first time out at least partly because we practiced more than any other crew.

Sitting with Paul Davis was John Hubbard, our supply sergeant in Colorado Springs and in Germany.  John is three months younger than me.  I met him when we were both 22.  Like many people meeting John for the first time, I thought he was somewhere between 30 and 40 years old.   John was balding and  15 pounds overweight when he was 22.  Thirty-five years later he did not look much different than when we met in 1975.  Things even out with age for some people.  

I'll add more people in future posts.  More than 100 people attended the dinner including 80 soldiers who served with the 1-70th between 1976 and 1984.

Reunion at Pam's House

Today, reunion weekend started with a long drive.  We drove all day to Kentucky and had dinner with Pam Bleuel.  She returned from Iraq six weeks ago after extending her tour to 18 months.  Pam and her husband Mike have three college-age daughters.  In Iraq Pam and I would talk about the joys and difficulties of having college age girls, and the obvious difficulty of being 6000 miles from home.

She posted a picture of us here.

As I expected, Pam's kids are polite, funny, and delightful to be around.  Pam was as tough as motorcycle racing leather in her job training soldiers for convoy security duty in Iraq.  She is a math teacher in a local high school when she is not on active duty in the Army.  Two of her of her former students dropped in while were at Pam's house and told funny stories of Pam scaring local kids who did not do their homework or misbehaved in class.  Like most strict teachers, she has a loyal following of students who love her.

Nigel thought dinner was wonderful.  Two of his favorite foods were on the menu:  barbequed chicken and garlic croutons.  He had thirds on chicken.  He even skipped dessert for another piece of chicken.

Getting Ready for the 1-70th Armor Reunion

Tomorrow I will be driving to Georgetown, Kentucky, with three of my kids on the way to the reunion of the 1st Battalion, 70th Armor.  It's the unit I served with in West Germany from 1976-79.

The reunion is in Chattanooga, but we are stopping for dinner tomorrow with Sgt. First Class Pam Bleuel and her family.  She also has three college age daughters, so dinner should be fun.  Pam extended her tour in Iraq for an additional six months to continue training soldiers in convoy security.  Almost as soon as she extended, she started working at a desk--which did not make her happy.

Next month she will return to work as a math teacher in Georgetown, Kentucky.  I can't wait to make bad jokes with her again and meet her family.

Tattoo Intro on NYC Bike Trail

Yesterday after an all-day conference in NYC, I rode the Hudson River bike trail from Lower Manhattan to the George Washington Bridge.  What an awesome place to ride.

On the way back from the GW, I turned of the trail at 79th St. riding toward Central Park.  While I waited at the traffic light where the trail turns onto the streets, a guy riding in an expensive-looking suit rolled up behind me and said, "No shit! First Armored.  I served with them in '69.  I hated Fort Hood."

We rode a few blocks together.  He told me he was a draftee, served two years and got out.  Judging by the Upper West Side place he lived, he did really well for himself after making $148 a month in the late 60s Army.

As I rode on toward the park, he thanked me for my service, and I thanked him for his.  I am sure I get a lot more thank you's than he ever got.  When I got the tattoo I was hoping for this very kind of thing, running into other soldiers who served--and ride bicycles.

My Weird Work Life

I am in New York City today for an all-day Word-of-Mouth marketing conference.  We are at the end of the second session on creating buzz.  It reminded me of the biggest change in the Army between my first enlistment and my current enlistment.

Back in the 70s and for time immemorial before that, the only people who spoke to the press in the Army were the Generals and designated officer spokesman.  After 9-11 the Army lets any soldier talk to the press.  the only restriction is that they not give future mission info and they stay in their lane.   It turns out people belief young soldiers and leaders and mistrust high-ranking officers.

Anyone who served in the in the last century knows how different the perception of soldiers is now versus the old days.  The Army itself has a much better public reputation than at any time since World War 2.

One big change between the post-Viet Nam army and today is the whole "I hate the Army" sentiment tht was so much a part of the old Army.  To have friends, you had to hate the Army.  I don't think I have heard the old acronym LIFER since I have been back:  Lazy Inefficient F##kup Expecting Retirement.

People who fit the LIFER description still exist--we are govt. workers after all.  But the acronym is not used to describe almost everyone who re-enlisted.

 

More Milblogs on my Site

Today I added several blogs to my connection list and will add more soon.  Since I can't write about the war first hand, I will keeping adding blogs from those who do.
 So in the right column in addition to the New York Times "At War" blog and David Marron's Thunder Run I added the Helmand Blog-Afghanistan by a Royal Marine Major, the FaST Surgeon blog by a Doctor serving in Afghanistan, The Gun Line, Free Range International, and Fire and Ice.

And on a COMPLETELY different note, my friend Kristine Chin and her husband are about to ride across Iowa again this year on a tandem bicycle.  Last year they borrowed my tandem and had a van carry their gear.  This year they bought their own heavier tandem and are carrying all their gear for the entire 400 mile ride across Iowa called RAGBRAI.  Last year she posted daily about butt pain and her love for pork chops.  This year she is again riding with less than 100 training miles.  Should be interesting.  Her blog.

Pennsylvania's Top Sergeant

This morning I drove to Fort Indiantown Gap early to meet Command Sergeant Major Nicholas Gilliland.  In December of 2009 he became the Pennsylvania National Guard’s Joint Forces - Senior Enlisted Leader by TAG (NOT The TAG, dammit!!!) Major General Jessica L.Wright.

He is not just the Command Sergeant Major of the State of Pennsylvania because he is the top non-commissioned officer over both the Army and Air Force National Guard in the Keystone State.  So he is the CSM who is the JF-SEL for PA to use the acronyms

I will be writing about him in the next week or two.  It turns out his career in the PA National Guard began with my current unit--the 104th Aviation.  So when the top NCO in the state traces his career back to your unit, it's sort of like the kid in my high school class who retired in his 40s after becoming a Microsoft millionaire.  He went to work at Microsoft in the 70s when it was a start-up and got stock bonuses.  Microsoft stock may have its ups and downs now, but in the 80s and 90s, it only went up.

When I met CSM Gilliland, I could understand why 2-104th Chinooks could fly all over Iraq for a year without an accident.  But more on that later.

WTF! Great Comments by my BFFs on Acronyms

I got some funny comments on my last post about acronyms.  If you haven't seen them, scroll down to yesterday and look at the comments.  The are ROLF LOL funny.  And since many of you would be in my BFF category if we were still in high school, I can tell you that the sudden popularity of that acronym and my Army background led to a very funny exchange between my youngest daughter and I.

Three years ago when she was sixteen and I had just re-enlisted, Lisa referred to her best friend Claire as her BFF.  At the time, the Army was flooding back into my mind and I was not yet texting or on Facebook.  Lisa played three seasons of sports since the sixth grade.  This meant she rode the bus with middle school then high school boys to away games.  So she knew all the vocabulary I was hearing again.  When I heard BFF I knew the last letter was for friend.  Claire had been Lisa's best friend for years.  In an unofficial Army acronym, the F in the middle can only refer to one word.

'WTF?' I thought.  Was Lisa using Army acronyms?  Should I be worried.  So I said, "Lisa does BFF really mean Best F--ing Friend?"  She looked puzzled, then amused.  "Dad.  Best Friends Forever.  LOL."

OMG did I ever screw that one up!

The TAG

One of my colleagues at work end her official three-sentence bio saying she "hates people who confuse their, there and they're."  

I hate acronyms.

Make your own case for why the helmet everyone wears should be referred to as an ACH, but it's a freakin' helmet.  But every formation at which we were required to wear our combat gear we were told to fall out in ACH and IOTV.  Why not fall out in your helmet and body armor?  Is there any chance someone would be confused and show up for formation in some other helmet and body armor?  

Last drill weekend someone mentioned the commanding general of the Pennsylvania National Guard.  Major General Jessica Wright, our commander, is officially The Adjutant General of PA.  Hence she is referred to by the acronym TAG.

Actually, and here is the grammatical problem, she is referred to as The TAG.  So if one were to spell out what is being abbreviated, Maj. Gen. Wright would be called The The Adjutant General.

Which makes acronyms exasperating if you care at all about language and proper usage.  Even if you say you don't care about grammar and proper usage, you do.  Grammar is the traffic lights and lines in the road of our spoken and written communication.  

Most of us have enough faith in our fellow citizens to drive through green lights.  It takes no faith to stop at red lights of course, the faith comes when passing through the green lights, even more with yellows.  

Using "The TAG" is definitely driving with one your right wheels off the pavement kicking up dust.  Acronyms allow an informed group to communicate quickly and serve to exclude everyone else from that group.  If you knew nothing about the Army, I would convey more information by saying that I was wearing my camouflage uniform with helmet, armored vest and my weapon instead of:

"I fell out in ACUs, with my ACH, IOTV and my SAW."

ACU=Army combat Uniform

SAW=M249 Squad Automatic Weapon

ACH and IOTV, see above.

Last drill when we had our gear inspected it was an OCIE (Organizational Clothing & Individual Equipment) inspection.  

I am going to stop now.  Time to eat some MREs and chill out.

So I Called the Chaplain. . .

If I told another soldier the stuff I wrote in yesterday's blog post, he would say, "Call the Chaplain."

So I did.

I called Chaplain (Lt. Col.) Kevin Cramm, one of the senior chaplains at Fort Sill.  He loaned me a Cannondale road bike to ride during my two-month train-up at Fort Sill.  He is an avid cyclist himself, currently riding about 100 miles per week.  

We talked for about half an hour this morning.  He is going to Afghanistan or Iraq soon and asked me how I was adjusting to civilian life.  I told him life seems a whole lot more complicated now that I am back than it did when I left.  

Chaplain Cramm is Regular Army and a few years from retirement.  He said he was reserve at the beginning of his service but had 100 days of active duty as a reservist and decided he might as well go full time.  

I told him him how clear priorities seemed in Iraq compared to here.  He laughed a lot when I told him about the day I had five different things to do, but the battalion commander wanted me on a flight to Al Kut and Baghdad.  I asked the BC if I had to go given the other stuff I had to get done.  He said, "Suck it up Gussman, this is a war."  So I went.

Chaplain Cramm said he likes the military for that reason--people are direct about what they need and he can be direct.  

It was fun to talk to him.  Now I can be thankful that I had a year of the clarity of focus on the mission and keep trying to sort out all the conflicting priorities in the complicated world back home.

Simple Life Gets Complicated

One of the best things about life in Iraq was the schedule.  I worked, ate, slept, worked out worked till midnight, squeezed in phone calls home, and did the same thing over and over again.

My life was as unbalanced as a drunk in a tilted room.  All work and no play made Jack a dull boy in the old proverb, but I know now that Jack was probably a very happy workaholic who liked working.  Life in Iraq was anything but simple when I was trying to work for Chief Shawn McCurdy and Staff Sgt. Dave Wentzel in the motor pool, and write the Echo Newsletter, and do some kind of public affairs work for the battalion.  That was a mess from May to September, then Command Sgt Maj Dell Christine decided the battalion needed someone full time in public affairs.  From that mid-September day forward I was in 16-hour-a-day Heaven.  Mostly.

While I was away, the museum I work for, like many other business, had its first layoff ever.  I came back to a new boss and ambitious plans for reaching new audiences and new support--and fewer people.  I have been busier at work than ever before since I came back.  Before we left for Iraq, I worked in the motor pool.  I did not bring work home from drill weekends.  But now I am the unofficial public affairs sergeant for the battalion, so I bring work home from drill weekends.  I talke pictures during drill weekends and write the stories on the train to and from Philadelphia--the same place I write blog posts.

At home, we are in the process of adopting Jacari, who will be the 5th child in our yours-mine-ours family.  I want to spend time with my family and friends, ride, workout and do all the things I did before I left.

Luckily (I think) I can't lose sleep for long without falling apart and catching up on my sleep.  People who can really go with little sleep for weeks on end often end up sick.

But then cool stuff happens right out of nowhere.  Like the 1-70th Armor reunion I am going to in two weeks.  The unit i served with in Germany from 76-79 is having a reunion in Chattanooga TN July 23 - 26.  I am going to drive down with my oldest and youngest children--Lauren and Nigel.

Before the deployment I tried using a program called Life Balance.  Last month I erased it.  There were so many things I was trying to balance that I would need 300-hour weeks to do it all.  So I'll just do the best I can.