Friday, 11th o June 2004
For Richer or for Poorer
or, "Hanging out in a European Café."
Laura and I had an early morning meeting at a Cyber Cafe here in Puerto Rico, in Rio Piedras. We arrived early because traffic was light due to the day of remembrance for President Ronald Reagan. What are we going to do for half an hour in Rio Piedras, we asked ourselves?
"You know it kinda feels like we're in a small European town square," Laura remarked.
"Yeah," I said, "If you cover your eyes, your ears, your nose, and your sense of aesthetic." I chuckled at my own joke. Laura didn't laugh. I repeated it in a lame attempt to get a smile at least. She giggled slightly.
Then, in her ever indomitable spirit of can-do, she stated, "Let's see if there's a coffee shop." We took a couple of steps up the block, passed a stray dog, a homeless man, a coin operated laundry mat, and abandoned our search.
"Hmmm, Europe, you say?" I chuckled again.
"Let's check behind this street. I ambled off at Laura's heels like the dutiful dog that I am. It was eight in the morning and already it was hot. I began to sweat as we walked across a large parking lot to an adjacent street. "Hey, this looks promising," Laura said, nodding toward a corner café.
"Yeah and as we walk in, I hope we don't startle the grizzled old woman as she finishes her cigarette in her nightgown." It looked like that kind of place.
Once we stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. Gone were my visions of an old woman in her pajamas with a shotgun and a cigarette clenched between her teeth. No, they were replaced by the cold grim reality of a couple of college kids in a sparsely established tiny corner student hangout dump.
"Well, we're here, I guess. What should we have?" I mused. I checked out the selection. "Let's get quesitos and coffee. That okay with you?"
"Sure." I ordered two expresos (that's espresso in Spanish for you snobs out there), and two cream cheese pastry rolls. We scoped out a clean table near a window with decent chairs and sat down. We were then next to the street in front of a large glass window. As the second homeless man passed, Laura remarked.
"Don't you just have the feel of a European café nestled here against the window gazing at the street?" She started to laugh.
"You know I like hanging out with you, Laura. We should do these mini dates more often. I'm having fun in my European café."
Laura started laughing harder and a tear formed in her eye. "And you know if we put chairs out on the sidewalk we could drink in the rich aroma of urine." She started to lose it in a giggle fit, mascara streaming down here face.
With a flick of my wrist and a wistful French flourish I sighed, "Aahh," and sat back in an artful recline. Laura could not contain herself as she turned into a hapless puddle of giggles and tears. She could barely sip her coffee and eat her pastry. We commented on the buildings, how wonderfully artful they were, with their square corners covered in mold and pealing paint, and their imaginative shapes, concrete boxes stacked one on top of each other for as far as the eye could see.
"This is the life," I said. "An eternity of European cafes couldn't replace this one moment I've spent with you, my dear."
Sunday, 30th o May 2004
Justice Too Long Delayed is Justice Denied.
for Jeanne
These are the words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in a letter from a Birmingham jail. It doesn't matter in which Birmingham jail he sat, nor does it matter that it happened over 40 years ago. His cell may as well have been metaphysical and trancendant through all time. These words give credence to those that struggle for their inalienable rights when confronted with the statement from authority, "Wait, we're working on it. We have to prepare for it. Change doesn't happen overnight. You're being unreasonable. These things take time."
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. sat there alone in a cell while those that should have helped, admonished him. They said he was unreasonable for trying to move too quickly, for making things unpleasent, for stirring up trouble.
To those more fearful than he, he said, the time for justice is always NOW. The time for change is always NOW. I hope not for justice in the past. I have a dream, but I will not wait for the future to receive my God given rights. I will pursue them in the present, because I know of no other cause than the cause of justice.
Tuesday, 25th o May 2004
Use the Force, Luke.
I was upgrading a Linux kernel remotely today (don't ask), and in the reconfiguration, forgot to enable devpts. Doh! That meant that I could not spawn a shell upon login to ssh. Double doh! Now I cannot get into the machine for any more admin.
I pondered my predicament. I realized I could send blind commands to the machine, but I could not interact with it. I cracked my knuckles and went about the business of sending commands to the server and looking at the output. I figured out the problem, sent a few grep, perl, regular expression matching stuff to edit the troublesome configuration file and rebooted the box. Voila! Access!
Of course my hubris will cause great pain and suffering in the balance of the Force, but for now may I bask in my Jedi prowess.
Tuesday, 18th o May 2004
We recently endured two straight weeks of rain, over 24 inches of constant precipitation from morning, through the afternoon, during the night. It has been tough. I don't think I've endured being inside for so long in a good many years. You get used to being able to go out everyday and do some sort of activity. In Puerto Rico, you get sudden cloud bursts, but in a few minutes that tropical sun mops it up and life goes on.
Monday was my first morning bike ride in over two weeks, and it felt good. My chain had rusted a bit from the humidity. Annoying. You leave your keys a couple of days on the key holder and you get rusty keys. Such is life.
"I'd like a dozen eggs, " I said to Estéban.
"There are none," he replied.
I sighed, drat. No eggs. I got my milk and headed out. It started raining again. Can't catch a break, can I?
Tuesday rolled around, and it's a welcome relief, sunny and mild. Ooops, what's this? Black clouds were rolling in. I headed out in a hurry, hoping to beat the inundation that was sure to come.
"Any eggs today?" I asked.
Estéban chuckled and checked with the guy behind the counter. "Yeah, looks like there's enough. We can spare a dozen."
I thought to myself. Weird, they're still short on eggs. Then it hit me. Chickens don't lay when it's raining hard. It bothers them. An unhappy chicken is a non-laying chicken. I remembered the last time we were hit with tropical storms, there was a short term egg shortage on the island.
The guy next to me, curious, asked idly how much they were. "How much is a dozen?"
Estéban, got a twinkle in his eye. He chuckled and recounted an incident where a woman asked him that same question. "'¿Cuanto es una docena?' she asked me, "Twelve little eggs, I told her. Doce huevitos. You know she got mad? Told me that was more than she had expected."
The whole bakery started rolling. Chuckles went all around, and the mood was genial.
Friday, 7th o May 2004
"Why the hell am I here again?
Why do I have to keep answering
to you people?"
Why Rumsfeld is going Down.
I watched the testimony and questioning of Secretary Rumsfeld today and it became crystal clear to me that his people just dropped his pants. Either he's not paying attention to what's going on, or he's pissing people off who could be his friends. Somebody leaked this investigation. Maybe he wasn't managing the situation closely enough, and it just "got out", or his people decided that going over his head to the public would embarrass him. Either way it shows a failure of leadership and he's got to go.
When I was mobilized in Puerto Rico there were numerous problems with the facilities, training, and planning. Even before my unit had gotten there, there were news stories about the conditions, strict restrictions on free time, and severe morale problems. After having had the pleasure of spending a few weeks there, and hearing about soldiers vandalizing toilets and showers, I became convinced it was a failure of leadership. Demming said that 85% of your problems are management and only 15% come from labor. This to me was never clearer when the commander of the brigade showed up one day to "lay down the law" to all of the bad little soldiers who weren't playing nice. He promptly got back into his car and drove his fat ass home to his cozy house. My point is this: soldiers will endure the harshest conditions, the strictest rules, and the worst possible conditions if they know their leadership cares, is in it with them, and will sacrifice everything for them.
Good officers know soldiers are the ones who fight, are the ones who sacrifice, and are the ones who die. They are the point of the sword. We officers wield it. Would we blame the sword for our pathetic failures? The sword was too heavy. The sword wasn't sharp enough. The sun was in my eyes. I've heard it all, and you know what? It's a poor officer, Secretary of Defense, or President who blames soldiers for problems.
It should tatooed on the heads of all leaders: "My success is due to this fine sword. These is no equal to it in all the world." and conversely: "My failure is mine alone. I did not do honor to this sword. In more capable hands it would have yielded victory."
The failures in Iraq go all the way to the top. They go all the way to the cowboys in charge, who believe a big sword makes them somebody. It is the unconquerable soul of man, and not nature of the weapon he uses, that ensures victory.
And Secretary Rumsfeld does not understand that the sword HE wields is a human sword. The sword is not made of metal, Apache's, F-16's, Strykers, or any other technological "magic bullet." He has forgotten, throughout his rampaging through the defense department, who he works for, who's the one fighting the war, who's the one dying. He's forgotten, pissed off, trampled, belittled, and made a mockery of the entire military.
And they fucked him. They fucked him hard.
Soldier's will do that to you when you don't have their respect. Sure, heads will roll for not, "keeping this in-house,", but you can be sure there's an officer worth his salt staring Rumsfeld down saying, "You can take me down, but I got you, you bastard. I got you!"