The Adventures Of Johnny Guardsman

Gone Fishing (In A Landlocked Country, Relatively Free Of Standing Water)

2011-12-23T16:45:00.000-08:00

Photo by John Hoff, Pashto folk art on a trash trailer

Heaven knows I don't get a chance to blog very often (I've been pulling a lot of sentry duty at the front gate of our FOB) but in the next few weeks or months I will, most likely, not have many opportunities to access the internet. I'm leaving Paktya Province in a few hours and heading to a base that's much more primitive. Therefore, I'm hanging out the virtual "Gone Fishing" sign.

Christmas Eve will most likely find me looking out the windows of a Chinook helicopter, trying to spot Santa Claus.

In Afghanistan, American Trash Is Third World Treasure...

2011-12-15T08:48:00.000-08:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

Always conscious of OPSEC (Operational Security) I haven't actually said, online, where the heck I am in Afghanistan except "Paktiya Province." Tomorrow, a week from now, or months from now I will be somewhere else in Afghanistan. I know exactly where and approximately when. I know it won't be as nice there as here.

But I won't say more. Even with land-based forces, loose lips sink ships.

When American soldiers prepare for movement (and, in "hurry up and wait" fashion, we prepare far in advance, which is why I haven't blogged for so long) stuff gets throw away.

Well, even in America, one man's trash is another man's treasure. So imagine how American trash is regarded in the one of the poorest nations on earth.

It is amazing to see the...

...amount of attention Afghans lavish upon American garbage, looking for anything useful.

One of two groups may win the race to pick through the trash first: a group of 18 or so "LNE" Afghans (Local National Escort) who perform various manual labor on my Forward Operating Base (FOB) or, alternatively, some other Afghan dudes with a small Massey-Ferguson tractor and festively-painted trailer who pick up the trash and haul it away.

For a long time, these two groups were in serious competition. The competition never turned vicious--I never saw them come to blows, though I was treated to some intense verbal backstabbing by "Group A" against "Group B"--but it was pretty clear these two groups were in a heated race to the garbage containers.

To further complicate matters, the "LNE" group was actually TWO groups: regular workers and laundry workers. One group is relatively stationary, the other roams. Each group has different opportunities to obtain the treasures found in American rubbish. In one instance, I nearly saw the two groups come to blows over "salvage rights" to a torn, discarded mattress.

But, like I said, the two groups WERE in serious competition. Recently, however, something odd happened. Somehow, the two groups joined forces. A couple particularly bright and physically agile members of the "LNE" group are now regularly assisting the dudes with the trash tractor, including helping in the process of sorting through trash for goodies in a secluded corner of the FOB, and separating the trash into piles of useful materials.

Useful materials, as far as I can see, are as follows:

Clearn cardboard boxes. Steel cans. Vegetable waste suitable for feeding goats. And "all other goodies" which are broken down into separate piles, such as toiletries, clothing items, and unspoiled food still in its wrapper, can or box.

After sorting, the remaining trash truck leaves the FOB through the highly-secured front gate where I often find myself taking a turn on guard duty. (This is the area where our FOB got hit by a truck bomb some months ago. I can still see a torn apart cement barrier directly in front of the armored vehicle where I sit and pull my duty) It should be emphasized that not ALL the trash gets sorted. It appears that only the "most promising bags" get the intense sorting treatment. Sloppy, disgusting chow hall bags just get tossed aboard the trailer. Choice cardboard is saved, but soiled and torn up cardboard apparently doesn't make the cut.

Outside the gate, a mob of little boys age 10 to 13 are waiting to rob the trash tractor. I am told the boys are not Pashto, (the dominant tribe in this area and in the Afghan nation) but, rather, may be members of the nomadic "Kuchi" tribe.

Turning to the right just outside the main gate, the trash tractor tries to get up speed but the little boys are running behind, grabbing bags, and "skiing" behind the trailer for sport. Their running speed is AMAZING. Some of these children have Olympic potential.

Sometimes the "trash assistant" sitting on top of the garbage will try to beat the boys with a long, flexible cane to keep them away. Inevitably, however, the little boys manage to grab a couple of bags, which they tear through near a qalat wall outside the gate. The little boys love to start a fire and then poke at it until another truck appears. If they grow bored, they may throw rocks at each other. A couple days ago, I threw them a big bag of Jolly Ranchers candy across the wire.

Eventually, the tractor reaches the trash dump. It is about a mile and a half outside our FOB. Activity there is very visible and--before the truck bomb took out my favorite guard tower--I used to be able to see the dump through binoculars from that tower.

At the dump, scores of people tear through the trash. They bring their herds of goats to feast. After the people and goats are done tearing through the bags, and have moved on with their goats, wild dogs and ravens (who have been nipping at the edges all this time) descend upon the bags. Night is when the rodent come out. We know this, because we can see rodents in the thermal images of our CROW systems mounted to 50 caliber machine guns, bright and moving pinpoints of heat light.

It should be emphasized many or even most unwanted-though-still-useful items are simply transformed into GIFTS for the Afghans, particularly when the conscience of American soldiers is stirred by the sight of Afghans rejoicing over recently-discarded items such as torn and dirty socks.

And, on this basis, I have earned a reputation as "the biggest Afghan lover on the FOB." Soldiers will often give me stuff to "pass on to the Afghans." For a number of reasons, they prefer not to perform the gift-giving themselves. This is a complex topic I may touch upon in future blog posts. I have been told, however, I'm "a cult figure" to the Afghans, particularly in light of the numerous gifts of precious shoes I've made, some of which were sent by friends and relatives. (Thank you!)

In regard to the young man pictured above, an American gave him that racing jacket and he's VERY proud of it. He wears it every day, but the photo (above) was taken the very day he was given the jacket. Normally, this young man wears a very serious expression. On this particular day, however, he couldn't stop grinning.

Don't Worry About Things You Read/ US Troops Have All The Supplies We Need!

2011-11-29T00:35:00.000-08:00

Morale-building barbeque hosted by base chaplain, photo and blog post by John Hoff

My friend Megan in Minneapolis sent me a message, worried about whether troops at my Forward Operating Base (FOB) had enough supplies in light of Pakistan cutting off the overland routes after a serious incident on the border, click here for news story....

I can only speak about my own FOB and FOBs nearby, but I assume the situation isn't much different elsewhere...
We have all the supplies we need. Of everything. Honestly.

There are some things we lack and really miss. For me, it's Starbucks green tea frappachinos, sushi, my friends and family. Particularly my 14-year-old son.

But we have, oh my word, STEAKS AND LOBSTER TAILS once a week. Period barbeques to reward "missions well done." Reading material PILED TO THE CEILING. Internet A LOT of the time. Movies. Laundry soap. A variety of snacks for sale here in the bazaar and our newly opened PX, and also unexpected treats that arrive in care packages. The excess stuff from unsolicited care packages is PILED TO THE CEILING so when we leave, the troops who replace us will have a stockpile before THEIR care packages start to arrive.

We have so much stuff, we give stuff to AFGHANS. Today I gave the Afghans who work at the laundry about 20 pairs of cloth children's gloves that another soldier got in a care package, and asked me to distribute. Grateful, the Afghans gave me some bread and sheep stew.

We have AMMUNITION. Not just enough to use, enough for PRACTICE.

We have FUEL. All the fuel we need. I can't honestly say the Pakistan thing has effected us AT ALL, except those soldiers who follow the news closely...we follow this closely.

I can understand how reading about Pakistan closing the border to US supply convoys could cause a bit of concern to the folks back home. They're not here. They don't see our day-to-day reality. However, closing the border has happened before. There is a "Plan B" in place, I'm sure, and our army leadership has this situation firmly under control.

Listen folks. WE ARE FINE. Political decisions about troops in combat need to be made with REAL INFORMATION, not on the basis of worry or, god forbid, inaccurate rumors and speculation.

Watching Rambo III In Afghanistan Gives The Movie A Whole New Flavor...

2011-10-25T22:53:00.000-07:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

In Rambo III, arguably the most unbelievable of the not-terribly-believable-in-the-first-place Rambo movies, former Green Beret John Rambo enters Afghanistan to rescue his former commander who has fallen into the hands of the Soviets.

I recently watched a badly-pirated copy of Rambo III at "Kabul Fried Chicken," an Afghan restaurant located on my Forward Operating Base which sells delicious kabobs and features a "bottomless cup" of free green tea...unless somebody makes off with the urn and takes it to another shop.

I say the movie was "badly pirated" because...

...the sound was about 10 seconds ahead of the picture. Dramatic timing and plot suspense suffered as a result, by which I actually mean the problem with the sound had little impact on my enjoyment of the movie.

Watching Rambo III while in Afghanistan adds a whole new dimension to the movie, though it's not so much one's physical presence in the country as much as the cultural context one gains.

For example, in the movie Rambo befriends a young Afghan boy, who starts to hang around with Rambo. At the end of the movie, Rambo gives the kid a valuable jade necklace.

By way of comparison, check out this report by the Pentagon's experimental Human Terrain Team discussing the shockingly common phenomenon of Pashtun homosexual relationships with "beardless" young boys. (Many thanks to my FOB friend "the Limey" for referring me to this Pentagon document) Compare, also, with the critically-acclaimed book and movie "The Kite Runner." The plot features TWO GENERATIONS of sexually-exploited young boys.

To an American movie watcher, Rambo's relationship with the boy is innocent and like that of a mentor or father. To an Afghan viewing the movie, adding in a cultural context of a society rife with the sexual exploitation of young boys, Rambo's friendship with the lad provokes knowing smiles and snickers.

Watching a movie about another nation while actually visiting the other nation is a real mind bender. I highly recommend it.

9/11 Images On A Can Of Diet Pepsi From Dubai? WTF?!

2011-10-24T12:27:00.000-07:00

Photos and blog post by John Hoff

So yesterday I was in the chow hall on my Forward Operating Base here in Afghanistan, (all us soldiers refer to the chow hall as the "DFAC," short for "Dining Facility," but I write in a way to make myself understood by civilians as well as soldiers) and, as usual, I grabbed a diet cola to go with my meal. The Diet Pepsi served in our chow hall is not from the United States. It is manufactured in Dubai by Pepsi Arabia and says so right on the can.

Yesterday, for some odd reason I looked--I mean I really LOOKED--at the subtle "clip art" on the background of the can.

And I did a double take. I couldn't believe what I was seeing...

I examined the can for several minutes while my food grew cold, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me. But there was no getting around it. To either side of the Pepsi logo, there was an image of a jet airliner over tall buildings. Looking at the image, I couldn't help but think it alluded to 9/11.

Three other soldiers were sitting with me at my table. One of the other soldiers asked what I was looking at so hard. Instead of answering, I handed him the can and said, "Look at the artwork on this can. Do you see what I see?"

He looked. His eyes grew wide. He turned the can from side to side. The other soldiers at the table looked, too. None of us said anything. The phrase "9/11" never passed from our lips. We could LOOK at each other and understand we all saw the same thing, a "sneaky allusion to 9/11."

"Why are you even DRINKING that?" one soldier asked, as I finished the can.

"Hey," I said. "Pepsi is still Pepsi."

But that was when I vowed to, well, DO SOMETHING. Or, to put it another way, "See something? Say something."

Now, to argue against my own point, I will say this: not everybody in the world feels the tragedy of 9/11. To some people, an image of a jet against a skyscraper does not, in any way, allude to tragedy. To use another example: if I were from Thailand, an image on a Pepsi can of a big wave with grass huts in the background might remind me of the killer tsunami, but to most Americans it would just be a tropical image. (However, if I were responsible for marketing soft drinks in Thailand, I would make damn sure no artsy image that might be interpreted as alluding to the killer tsunami ended up on a soft drink can)

Here's the kicker: Pepsi is an AMERICAN product. It is only manufactured overseas because it is licensed to be manufactured overseas. So doesn't somebody in America have to approve the artist's can design before it ends up in MY ARMY CHOW HALL IN AFGHANISTAN?

If I didn't know better, I'd think some artist in Dubai is gloating about 9/11 and he managed to incorporate this image, in a sneaky way, into some "can art."

Oh, wait, did I say "if I didn't know better"?

I guess I really mean to say...

I don't know any different.

I'm left scratching my head (just on the side, where I can reach under my helmet) and wondering, WTF?

Midnight Sustenance For All Your Midnight Soldiering Needs...

2011-10-17T12:31:00.000-07:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

Military chow halls in challenging overseas environments don't just serve up three square meals a day. Often, they serve four :

Breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight chow.

When you're pulling a guard shift from 8 PM to 2 AM, midnight chow is...

...a welcome respite. Sometimes one of the guards can run to fetch the chow in doggy boxes, sometimes the Sergeant of the Guard (SOG) brings it. Eating in the dark with a small, red-lens flashlight can be a challenge but we're hungry, we're bored as hell, and we're up to the challenge.

Sometimes when my "years of graveyard shift insomnia" kicks in, I hit midnight chow just for something to do. The chow hall is in a big tent, but this tent features large screen televisions piping in the Armed Forces Network. (AFN) The sports events might be a day old, but if you didn't get on the internet to check the score, how are you supposed to know who won the Detroit versus Texas baseball game? If you do know the final score, blabbing it to those watching the game would be, well, unwelcome.

Washing my hands as required before entry to the chow hall, I find myself humming a little song in my head, sung to the tune of the1980s hit Midnight Blue.

Midnight chow/
I'm hungry and right now/
Chow now, chow forever/
Please, let the chow be good

In the photo above, one of the chow hall workers poses proudly at the hot rack. He's from a former Soviet republic that's now an independent nation. Before I took this picture, he INSISTED that he first be allowed to fill up one of the empty hot racks with (I think it was) cheese tortellini.

If That's Crab, This Must Be Friday On The FOB...

2011-10-16T11:28:00.000-07:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

It's very easy to lose track of time while serving at a Forward Operating Base. The days are a combination of the same thing, over and over (so no difference in the days of the week) versus unexpected stuff that comes up (so it's unconnected to the days of the week).

Civilian routines that orient us to time, whether it's the Monday to Friday 9 to 5, or a favorite television show, or kids boarding a school bus in the morning...those things don't exist here, at least not in the same way that's connected to days of the week. One day I realized I had no idea what day it was...to the point I couldn't even narrow it down to a range of one or two days. Just no idea.

There is, however, one constant. One chronological cue that reorients us week after week...

Friday is surf and turf night at the Dining Facility. (DFAC) And not just on this FOB, but FOBS all over the world and (I strongly suspect) ships at sea. Sometimes it's crab, as pictured above. Sometimes lobster tails, split in half but you can have two per serving, you can have as many servings as you like. They've even had breaded scallops.

Most of the time the DFAC food is fairly routine...every now and then they serve up something rather delicious, though different soldiers have different opinions what that may be. I love the grilled trout, skin and all. A friend of mine is crazy about their chicken tenders, which do nothing for me.

But everybody loves surf and turf night. The line outside the big DFAC tent is twice as long as usual. The tables actually get crowded.

True, it's a bit difficult to bust open crab claws with PLASTIC FORKS AND KNIVES. So some soldiers pull "seriously aggressive tableware" off their belt, and I can't help but think somebody is likely to get hurt BESIDES the crustacean. I find I can bust a crab claw by holding it in my palm and pressing it against the edge of the table. Adapt and overcome, like Drill Sergeant Dozier taught me.

Yes, I've had better seafood at a Red Lobster, but I can't really say I've had better food anywhere else in the military.

Of course, one Friday we had lobster and then...

They had some leftover lobster and served it the next day.

I'll bet there were soldiers whose idea of the weekday was thrown off for days, just because of that leftover lobster. But can I really complain about eating lobster two nights in a row? No, I can't.

Army Tests New "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles" Camouflage (OK, Not Really)

2011-10-12T11:08:00.000-07:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

A couple of nights ago I was chilling with the mortar crew, who have a completely pimped out back porch complete with green felt top card table and disco ball wrapped in tiny Christmas tree lights. I ask you, what sort of outfit do you wear in that kind of decor? This soldier, pictured above, has the answer: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle jammy pants, light colored sandals, and the much-beloved army issue "fuzzy green jacket."

I must admit, there are times on my Forward Operating Base when I think, "What if we got hit by indirect fire and they found my body dressed like this?" Clearly, this soldier has no such worries. This guy knows how to max his relax.

Osama Bin Laden Dart Game At My Forward Operating Base...

2011-10-12T10:49:00.000-07:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

About a week ago, I was helping to drop off a load of mail at "Qalat No. 2" where I make my home inside our fortress of sun-baked mud, straw and (rumor has it) goat dung.

Inside the room where we keep our arriving mail (plus lots of treats and hygiene items sent by the civilian angels who watch over soldiers) I saw this rather innovative use of an old issue of Stars And Stripes.

What more can I add? The picture says it all.

The Joys And Frustrations Of Afghan Shoe Distribution...

2011-10-12T08:46:00.000-07:00

Photos and blog post by John Hoff

Friends and relatives have been sending me shoes, toys and school supplies for distribution to citizens of Afghanistan. To put this charity in context, let me give you some FUN FACTS ABOUT AFGHANISTAN...

* The entire nation of Afghanistan produces only enough electricity to power a single American city of 60,0000.

* The median income here is $300. The central government is working hard to raise the median income of all Afghans.

* Of the 178 nations of the world, Afghanistan ranks at 174 in terms of wealth. The countries poorer than Afghanistan are African nations that have been ravaged by the AIDS virus.

* Only 10 to 12 percent of the land in Afghanistan is capable of being cultivated. Land being used for grazing is chronically overgrazed. Erosion is a constant issue.

* Eighty-five percent of the population has LESS THAN an elementary education.

* The method of heating most homes in the winter is burning wood, but the country has increasingly less wood to burn.

All in all, we are talking about a place where little things like a pair of shoes, a toy car, a pencil...these items are precious. So friends and relatives have been sending me stuff for distribution.

However, if I walk up to the tent where the Afghan workers relax at mid-day, holding three pairs of shoes, I will literally get mobbed. So I made a list of all the Afghan workers and their shoe sizes, and I go up to the "bossman" and say, "Can you please send me these three Afghans?"

In this way, little by little, the adult shoes get distributed.

There are, however, bumps in the road besides the ever-present language barrier. Some days ago I showed up with my list and one of the Afghans said to me, in so many words, "We are friends. Because we are friends, you must put my name on the top of the list."

Yes, I'd had many dealings with this Afghan and I considered him a friend. But his request was shocking. It wasn't even made quietly or secretly, but out in the open in front of the other Afghans excitedly waiting for shoes. They were at the top of the list. My "friend" was somewhere near the middle. On the basis of our "friendship," he demanded favoritism, and he demanded it OPENLY.

The list had been compiled in a democratic fashion. I wrote the names down as the workers arrived one morning. The young boy who always gets there half an hour before everybody else, he was first on the list. The guys dragging ass, they were near the end.

No, I told my friend. That's not how it will be done. The list is fair. We will go by the list.

He was upset. But the other Afghans smiled, a little, behind their hands.

The shoe distribution is not easy. Day after day, I see more need than I have shoes. And Afghans generally have feet around a size 8. Many of the shoes I purchased for a dollar or two at the Salvation Army and had shipped to Afghanistan...they are size 11, 12, even a pair of size 13 boots, never worn.

The shoes have familiar names. Reebok. Nike. Some old Converse shoes that look to be from the 1980s. It is strange to see these shoes in Afghanistan, in the eager hands of the Afghans. They do not have any sense of American style or color, only utility, so a pair of pink running shoes works just fine and does not elicit comment. All the workers are men, of course. Seeing an Afghan woman is a rarity, and only happens from many yards away.

The school supplies are not distributed by me. I give them to my friend "the Limey" who brings them to an all-girls school. The toys are given away by troops on missions or I give them to the workers for their children.

I get the sense that old toy car sent by my little blood relative might get wrapped up as a birthday present for some Afghan child.

Each time I do the distributions, my heart is full of joy and then it is broken. I can make this one happy for a moment. But there is never enough. This country is a bottomless well of need.

But I think of the story of the man who was walking on the beach, throwing starfish into the ocean so they wouldn't dry out and die. Another man came up to him and said to consider how big is the ocean, consider how many starfish there are. You, one man, can't make much of a dent. What you do doesn't make any DIFFERENCE.

The man with the starfish in his hand calmly replied, "It makes a difference to THIS one" and threw the starfish in the ocean.

I know some readers might be moved to want to send me shoes or whatever. To that I say this: I am able to take care of some Afghans because folks back home have FIRST taken care of my needs with generous care packages. Through their helpfulness, I have "care left over" and I find myself emotionally capable of reaching out to the Afghans, even though their needs are psychologically overwhelming.

So I would suggest taking care of American soldiers by joining a group like Soldiers' Angels, click here for their website. (Note their correct use of the plural possessive. It makes my heart flutter) Once you have a good rapport with your soldier and you've made sure that particular soldier is taken care of, you might ask, "Is there anything I can send for the Afghans through you? If not you, is there some other soldier seeking that kind of stuff for distribution?"

This country is getting better. It's getting better because we are here. But, oh, there is a long road to walk and the people walking it don't even have adequate shoes.

An Old Soviet Boneyard, And The Desperate Need For A Foundry In Afghanistan...

2011-09-16T06:10:00.000-07:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

The other day when I was on a convoy, I had a chance to photograph an old Soviet "boneyard" of vehicles. This image, above, was taken from quite some distance away. We figure the old boneyard might be booby-trapped, so no American soldiers are going to hunt souvenirs in the boneyard no matter how cool the souvenirs would be. (Did I mention the piece of an old Russian uniform I bought in the bazaar? I will another time)

Later, I was talking to my friend--let's call him "The Limey"--who is an expert on Third World Development. I told my friend those old Soviet vehicles might be worth some money to the nation of Afghanistan. Perhaps they could be sold to military museums or even a car museum like the Imperial Palace in Las Vegas.

My friend thought the hurdles associated with selling the vehicles were just about insurmountable. He thought it more practical to sell the vehicles for scrap. That's when he told me, "Do you realize there isn't one working foundry in the entire nation of Afghanistan?"

But, I replied, I see Afghans collecting scrap metal all the time. Are they selling it in Pakistan?

"Probably," the Limey replied.

"How are they transporting it there?" I asked.

"Probably by truck," he said.

"How ineffecient," I sighed.

If some Non Governmental Organization (NGO) wants to get involved in a development project that could make a big difference to Afghanistan, the nation's only working foundry would certainly be quite the flagship project. Even if my friend the Limey is wrong, and there's actually a working foundry somewhere in Afghanistan, there sure aren't enough foundaries to handle all the scrap metal just sitting around in the form of wrecked, rusted vehicles.

"Britches Issues" In Afghanistan...

2011-09-16T05:45:00.000-07:00

Photo, blog post by John Hoff

Michael Yon, whose blog is followed by everybody in Afghanistan who even once HEARS about Michael Yon's blog, recently wrote a blog post about soldiers having trouble with their "britches" getting torn up. The blog post included some discussion about whether the new uniforms intended for Afghanistan might not be up to standard.

Here's my take on things...

Yes, I've seen soldiers with torn britches. Recently, I saw one soldier who had stitched up the entire crotch area of his britches with yellow thread in big XXXs. I don't know if he was dealing with popped off buttons or what.

One of the buttons recently popped off my "britches" and I paid a guy at the bazaar $3 to fix it, see photo. He didn't have a matching button, but I'm not complaining. A seamstress at another FOB was willing to sew on a button for a mere 50 cents, but I had to catch a helicopter ride before I could take advantage of that outstanding price. Darn.

Really, the buttons on combat uniforms should be attached with FISHING LINE. They go through quite a beating. But are the uniforms issued for Afghanistan in any way substandard?

My opinion: I don't think so. I don't find the uniforms any better or any worse than the previous "digital" pattern, as far as wear and tear. I think the Afghan environment is simply the roughest environment in the world, one big pile of jagged rocks soldiers are forced to crawl over, and that's tough as hell on pants.

Afghan Bread Is Delicious, Appreciated By US Troops...

2011-09-14T12:35:00.000-07:00

Photos and blog post by John Hoff

When soldiers go out on convoys to meet with local Afghans, often the Afghans will offer large pieces of bread as a gift. This happened today when I was "outside the wire." Suddenly our vehicle's gunner handed down some bread to those of us sitting inside.

Afghan bread is amazingly delicious. If you wanted bread like this in the United States, produced in the same manner, you'd have to pay a small fortune. Consider: The wheat is grown organically on small plots of land, and harvested by hand. The flour is produced by grinding with old fashioned millstones. The dough is hand rolled, and the bread is baked on a wood fired oven. You can't really call it "artisanal bread" because all Afghan bread is artisanal.

The shape and texture is very convenient, made to be easily transported. I've seen US troops shove a folded up piece in their "cargo pocket" to eat later.

The photo at the top shows the three pieces of bread handed through the gunner's hatch. The photo in the middle shows one of the pieces, unfolded to display the shape. All the bread of this type has this shape. I've seen another kind of bread, more brown and bubbly, with a circular shape. Both kinds are yummy.

The last photo is half a piece of bread, smeared with cheese spread from an MRE, my rifle as a backdrop.

When I leave Afghanistan, I will miss this wonderful bread.

Everywhere We Go, Afghan Children Cheer US Troops...

2011-09-14T12:07:00.000-07:00

Photo, blog post by John Hoff

There are approximately 100,000 American troops in Afghanistan right now. Every few days, a few of these troops are killed. Every few days, the Taliban try to hit a base or (as happened recently) our embassy in Kabul, with very little success.

When this happens (US troops being killed or attacks on US installations) the mainstream media report what happened. In other words, Afghanistan doesn't get much coverage EXCEPT for these negative incidents. The best and most detailed coverage comes from an independent blogger, Michael Yon, who is currently included in my blog roll.

But there are 100,000 US troops here. So the vast majority of the time, we are NOT getting killed. We are NOT having our bases attacked. What are we doing?

Well, every time we convoy down the roads, we are being cheered by Afghan children. In the photo above, which I snapped today as our convoy rolled through an Afghan city, Afghan children give the "hang loose" and "thumbs up" sign to the gunner in the truck rolling ahead of mine.

When we arrive somewhere and stop, the children will crowd our vehicles, hoping for candy and toys. Today I gave a little red Matchbox car to an Afghan boy, which my relative sent to me in a care package.

The Billboards Of Afghanistan, Part One

2011-09-14T11:55:00.000-07:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

The billboards of Afghanistan fascinate me. For one thing, they are relatively uncommon just like paved roads are relatively uncommon. For another thing, they all appear to be sponsored by the government. I have been on five convoys (as of today) and have yet to see a billboard that advertises private goods or services. Then again, I've only seen a total of about one dozen billboards.

Though I don't read any of the languages of Afghanistan, and have only the most primitive ability to speak any of them (Though I am trying to learn, all the time) my intuition tells me this billboard has something to do with caring for the women of Afghanistan, like making sure women are allowed to obtain an education.

One Soldier Has A Hot Piece Of Art On His Wall...

2011-09-14T11:43:00.000-07:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

The building where I live is known as a "beehive hut." It's a little wooden cabin with a corrogated tin roof, the entire building--tin roof and everything--covered over with spray foam so it looks like it's made out of melting wax. Inside, crudely-constructed wooden partitions give each soldier their own private space that can be secured with a padlock.

The soldier across the hallway from me has this interesting piece of, um, modern art on his wall. This is what happens when a rocket-propelled grenade sets something on fire. This puddle of metal collected on the ground. This incident happened at another FOB, not my own. We don't get hit with rocket propelled grenades. Just truck bombs.

The soldier probably won't be able to take this object home. It would likely be considered a "war trophy." But, for now, he can decorate his wall with it.

Camel Spiders Are Not A Spider At All! Exploring The Fascinating Flora And Fauna Of Afghanistan...

2011-09-13T05:14:00.003-07:00

Photo and blog post by John Hoff

Walking to my "beehive hut" in the dark a few weeks ago, trying to find the front steps with a red-lensed flashlight (because we black out our FOB at night and only use flashlights with colored lenses) I spotted this creature which was about as large as my palm.

One hears about spiders, scorpions, cobras, and an ultra-poisonous snake called a "krait," but so far I haven't encountered any of those creatures. No, the creature pictured above is probably a "camel spider," which is a solpugid.

What is a "solpugid," you might ask? Well, along with scorpions and spiders, there is another category of dangerous bugs in this country called "solpugids." These include "sun scorpions" and "camel spiders" which, as it turns out, are not a true spider.

Camel spiders are not venomous, but they can pinch you hard enough to draw blood and then there is a risk of infection.

I should pass on one cool story I heard recently about a soldier at another FOB who thought there was a mouse in her room. She put down sticky paper to catch the rodent and, when she checked the paper a few nights later, something was in it, all right.

A dead cobra.

Enjoying Afghanistan's Delicious "Canary Melons"

2011-09-13T04:44:00.000-07:00

Photos and blog post by John Hoff

There is an amazing melon that grows in Afghanistan, and sometimes soldiers out on patrol buy a few of them and bring them back to our Forward Operating Base. Though there is actually a melon called "Afghan melon," which is green, the kind of melon we have been buying and enjoying is apparently called "Canary Melon." Click here for an informative article about melons. Today, when I convoyed to a nearby Combat Outpost (COP) I even enjoyed this melon in their tiny chow hall.

These canary melons have white flesh and taste like the lovechild of a musk melon and a honey dew. Their skin is yellow, sometimes with spiderweb cross hatching.

Lacking more appropriate cutlery, we often cut the melons open with Gerber tools or even, as pictured above, a fighting knife.

Soldiers have been paying about $4 for a melon, which (in a country with an average median income of $300 a year) is rather high. But rather than aggressively haggle, friendly American soldiers are happy to buy the melons at that price.

In Regard To Rapper Soulja Boy And His Apology For Showing Disrespect To US Troops...

2011-09-11T18:11:00.000-07:00

Photo by an Afghan brother-in-arms, blog post by John Hoff

My girlfriend in Minneapolis sent me a link to the story about rapper Soulja Boy and his disrespect toward US troops, and how the rapper recently apologized. Click here for the article.

As one of those US troops, currently in Afghanistan, I feel qualified to say whether the apology should be accepted or rejected. Currently, I do not feel the apology should be accepted because it is not followed up with meaningful action.

Specifically, Soulja Boy put out a song called "Let's Be Real" with the following lyrics:

F*** the FBI and f*** all the army troops/
Fighting for what? Bitch, be your own man/
I be flying through the clouds with green like I'm Peter Pan

But then he apologized. Profusely.

To which I say: Let's be real. You are making money off that song in which you spit out anti-authoritarian lyrics artfully crafted to fill the anti-authoritarian outlook of the vast majority of your customer demographic.

But then you apologized. Which gave you news coverage and made people who wouldn't even know about the song and hear all about it. Some of these people will be curious enough to obtain the now-controversial track in question. Which gives you more of that "green" to fly "through the clouds like Peter Pan."

Maybe you didn't do that on purpose--maybe you really do feel sorry about what you said--but the way it works out, you are actually benefitting more from your disrespect than if you had NOT apologized.

I would suggest you take all the money you make from that track and donate it to an organization that helps soldiers, such as the USO. If that's too establishment for you, I'm sure there are some organizations more to your liking whose goal is still to help the troops.

Oh, I might also add that you dissed the FBI. This is the same organization that investigated the 911 attacks and all subsequent terror threats and attacks.

Do you really expect troops to accept your apology while you say NOTHING about your disrespect of the FBI?

Maybe you might want to look into an organization that, in some way, helps killed and injured members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, or something along those lines.

Really, Soulja Boy, you have a long way to go before anybody you offended can accept your apology.

And So It Begins Again--And It Ain't Gunna Be Perfect

2011-05-28T09:51:00.000-07:00

Contributed photo, many thanks, sir

A funny thing happened on the way to the blogosphere: I got deployed with my National Guard unit. Well, actually it was the National Guard unit of a different state...I volunteered. So I'm currently in Camp Shelby, Mississippi and (as they would phrase it in these parts) "fixing to" fly to Afghanistan on some unknown but not-very-far-away day.

This was supposed to be a blog about, for example, chicken wing flavors and...

...beef jerky comparisons. I was hoping to find a way to ACTUALLY MAKE SOME MONEY with this blog by providing "authentic commentary" about various aspects of consumer culture, click here for an example, with an emphasis on frugality and environmentalism.

Many things get sacrificed in the course of this defense of "our way of life." I am sacrificing time with my wonderful and very cool 13-year-old son, Alex, though I'm working hard to accumulate the post-911 GI Bill and one day transfer it to him. But, yeah, many things get sacrificed so young men and women are freed up to stand in harm's way in some distant, rocky place where threats are cooked up against the United States of America. Stuff gets sacrificed so our country will have this wall of protection against those threats. One of those things sacrificed, temporarily, is the mission and public profile of this blog.

As I type these words, this blog is set to "private." For now it will be my private chronicle. One day I might take it public.

I literally count the days I have been here at Camp Shelby. These are the days I have been active duty, and the days I can count toward the post-911 GI Bill. This is Day 23.

A Real Close Encounter With The Green River Killer At A Seattle Bookstore!

2010-12-28T16:47:00.000-08:00

This is a true story. This happened. I am not making this up. What prompts me to tell this story is the recent discovery of a skull thought to belong to a victim of the Green River killer, click here for news story.

In the late 1990s, I and some of my co-workers were prolific readers of "true crime" books. In the course of our discussions, we concocted a theory about where we might run into the Green River Killer. So we went there. And, yes, we ran right into him...

...though it would take several years before Gary Ridgway was arrested and tried as the Green River Killer and we figured out our theory had been correct.

This happened sometime between 1995 and 1999, in Seattle. I had a job at a group home for the chronically mentally ill (you can keep your jokes to yourself, thank you) and, like many people who work in the field of psych, I had an interest in some of the more extreme manifestations of deviant psychology, such as multiple personalities and serial killers. I had some fun and interesting co-workers who were into the same stuff. We would loan each other books and feed into each other's interests.

Sometimes our interest in what we read about serial killers caused us to seek out real world connections: I visited the alley where Ted Bundy had kidnapped one of his victims, I saw the house where Bundy had rented an apartment, (there was a very high fence around the little house which was out-of-place in the neighborhood, obviously erected because of the notorious events which happened at the address) and I would tell me co-workers about these experiences. They had similar experiences to share.

It was like reading the stuff in books wasn't good enough. We wanted a connection. A firsthand experience. We wanted to stare right into the face of the monster and come back to tell the tale.

At this time, the Green River Killer had not been apprehended and, truthfully, I suppose most people thought he'd never be caught. Maybe he had died. Maybe he was incarcerated for another crime. Or maybe he'd gotten smart and decided to hunt his victims far from Washington State.

At this time, the "serial killer club" at work had all gotten around to reading The Riverman: Ted Bundy and I Hunt For The Green River Killer. To summarize that book, in a nutshell: while sitting on death row in Florida, serial killer Ted Bundy desperately tried to bargain for his life. Bundy contacted the Green River Killer investigation and claimed he had "insights" he could share which would be helpful in determining the identity of the Green River Killer. And so the investigators traveled to Florida and chatted with Bundy.

Bundy had an interesting suggestion to share: the police should sponsor a kind of "psychological sting operation." (My term for it, not Ted Bundy's) The idea was to offer up a rare and especially gruesome slasher flick at a limited time showing. Advertise the flick widely and make note of how rare, horrible, and borderline illegal it was. The rest of the operation was simple: keep track of who shows up. Take note of the license plates. Among the movie goers you will have a rather short list of who are the deviant, dangerous sex freaks in your neck of the woods.

So that was Bundy's big idea. That was Bundy bargaining for his life. Have a slasher movie fest and hope the killer shows up. Hope the Green River Killer is into slasher movies.

Bundy did not manage to save his life this way, trying to trade his insights. Bundy fried in the electric chair. And that had been back in 1989, so it wasn't like members of the "serial killer club" could send him a letter and make a personal connection.

But one day excitement rippled through our ranks: Ann Rule, the author of numerous true crime books, who had first risen to fame through her book about Ted Bundy, who she knew personally as a co-worker at a crisis hotline center, would be signing some of her books at the University Bookstore. We all wanted to go and see her just because she was Ann Rule and, geez, we had all read about a dozen of her books apiece.

But then one of our crew--a beautiful platinum blonde named Kirsten--had an idea, a brainstorm. What if the "Ann Rule book signing" was kind of like the "slasher film festival" discussed in "The Riverman." In other words, what if a serial killer would be attracted to this event and would show up there?

"Think about it!" Kirsten would say, to anybody who would listen to her idea. "This is the author who wrote about Ted Bundy. She's already written one book about the Green River Killer, even though the crime isn't SOLVED, yet. And it's OBVIOUS that if the Green River Killer is still alive, he lives right around here somewhere. So...."

So, went the inevitable conclusion, perhaps the Green River Killer will show up at this Ann Rule book signing.

We hatched a plan. A crazy, silly, rather naive plan. We would go to the book signing. But the whole time, we would be keeping an eye on the crowd. We would watch for somebody who made our spidey senses tingle and then...and then...

This is where the plan fell apart. What would we do? Photograph him? Follow him to his vehicle? Get his license plate?

The plan became even more daring as we figured out what resources we had, and how we could use those resources. We would have the beautiful blonde co-workers dress "a little on the slutty side" and plant them in the front row. We would see if anybody tried to strike up a conversation.

Ultimately, only Kirsten was brave enough to go through with this part of the plan.

We prepped ourselves for what we thought we might encounter: this man might appear ordinary. He might almost fade into the background. Or he might appear like an upstanding member of society and stand out from the crowd, like handsome Ted Bundy, the law student. He might be...anything. We had to watch for anything, to keep our senses open. And he would be watching for the watchers. So we may not have long to look at him.

And so the big day came. We all went to the book signing. Ann Rule was entertaining and, it must be noted, a humble woman. She revered the police and the work they did. They were, she thought, the real stars and not true crime writers...

I was watching the crowd. Watching. Trying not to be too obvious. Another member of the group had a camera, or perhaps she had my camera, which I loaned her. This much I remember: the camera was not in my hands. But one of us had a camera. Back then, not many people used digital film, and I'm sure whatever we had was not a digital camera.

There came time for a question and answer session. The questions turned toward the subject of the Green River Killer.

At the front of the crowd a man stood. He was balding but still had plenty of hair. He was dressed in a long black dress coat, maybe a London Fog coat. He held a black leather bound book which looked like it might be a Bible. He held this book in front of himself, right at crotch level, and his legs were spread apart slightly more than necessary as he stood.

There was something about his face. Superior. Like he knew something. Like he knew so much more than Ann Rule, even though she was the star of the little show at the bookstore. He was doing his best to suppress the superior look on his face, but you could still see it...especially if you were a psych tech, actually trained in the art of reading body language, "facial affect," postures.

My senses went off. This was the guy. And there I was without a camera in my hands.

The guy asked a question of Ann Rule.

"Do you think they'll ever catch him?"

I remember how Ann Rule looked at him. It was odd. She was quiet in her answer and very careful. She said very little, but what she said was voiced quietly and carefully.

"Well, yes I do. I think there is physical evidence, and science is developing more all the time, and I think the police will connect these pieces and solve the crime."

Words to that effect.

At this point, I was in motion. Moving without attracting undue attention, I was trying to find the co-worker who had the camera. But like a puff of smoke...he was gone.

I sat down on a chair. I closed my eyes and burned every detail I could of that man into my memory. How he stood. What his face looked like. What he was wearing. What his voice sounded like.

None of my co-workers had seen him. They'd heard the question asked, yes, they'd heard Ann Rule's response...but none were facing the man in the crowd. And though I had seen the man, it wasn't like I could be SURE he was the Green River Killer.

So he carried an odd black book. So what? So his face had a superior look. So what?

We joked about our little excursion. How we'd implemented our plan, used our co-worker Kirsten as bait for the Green River Killer, and, yes, one of us saw a likely suspect. It was like telling a ghost story by the camp fire: yes, you get chills but...is it all just fun? Just pretend?

The authorities, as it turned out, long suspected Gary Ridgway. In fact, the University Bookstore incident would not be the only time Kirsten "almost sort of" crossed paths with the Green River killer. She was friendly with a high-ranking police contact, and this guy once told Kirsten that "everybody believes" the Green River Killer lives in Auburn, Washington and has a job painting trucks. I once re-connected with a female army buddy who lived in Auburn, Washington, and she told me: you know, a lot of people think the Green River Killer lives right here in Auburn, Washington.

Of course, Gary Ridgway did live in Auburn, Washington, and he had a job in a nearby town painting trucks. He co-workers jokingly called him "Green River Gary" because it was well known he'd been questioned as a suspect in the Green River murder case. But here he was running around loose. Here he was, eating lunch with co-workers. How can you believe the person coexisting beside you, who seems no more normal, no more quirky than the average person, is the manifestation of evil incarnate?

I was living in the midwest when an announcement came about an arrest in the Green River Killer case. I rushed to the internet to get a look at the suspect, thinking one thought: could it be the same guy I saw in the bookstore? Would the face match?

The face I saw was Gary Ridgway's mug shot from 1982. Knowing it was an old picture, I tried to mentally age the picture, crop the hair, and compare it with my recollection of that brief encounter in the University of Washington book store. The results were inconclusive. I couldn't say it was the same guy. I thought, well, probably not.

A few days or a week later, I saw another article about the arrest of Gary Ridgway. My heart jumped into my throat when I saw the mug shot, which was not from the 1980s but was a current picture of the guy who turned out to be the Green River killer.

It was him. It was the guy from the book store.

He didn't look EXACTLY the same, but only in one important and understandable way: he face wore a different look. He didn't appear superior. He looked defeated, he looked scared, he looked angry...but it was still the same guy.

I have never told this story in a public forum until now. Today I feel compelled to tell it.

You see, I check on ol' Green River Gary now and then. I want to know how he is doing and whether he will be charged with more crimes, whether he will be executed. Though I had already learned this lesson in life prior to that day's encounter with Gary Ridgway, there was something startling about that particular day, that revelation of reality: it is possible to casually knock on the door of pure evil and say hello.

You may brush up against evil in the grocery store, you may watch it drive by in the passing lane of the highway. It is possible to form a dangerous hypothesis and try it out: what if I did this, that, and that? Perhaps I would have an encounter with the devil incarnate. If you are young and dumb, or not a cautious person by nature, you may even try out your hypothesis.

Maybe Gary Ridgway will die in jail. Maybe the authorities will find a way to charge him for a victim not included in his massive plea deal, and execute him. But either way...it is discomforting and disquieting to know that pure evil is never as far away as we imagine.

"White Fungus" Finds A Better Name To Market Itself!

2010-12-28T13:57:00.000-08:00

I love to go shopping in Asian stores where exotic foods can be found. Exotic, I should say, to me. In Asia these foods would not, of course, be exotic. This is what I tell myself when I try something new: to somebody in the world, this is normal food and there are MILLIONS of people who have judged the food and decided it is good to eat.

So, relying on the collective judgment of unknown masses, I am happy to try almost anything, even silkworm larvae, click here.

But I can see some Asian foods have names that don't translate very well for an American audience. For example, the word "fungus." This is not a word Americans embrace when it comes to their food. It is a word we associated with filth or disease. And yet Asian stores consistently sell ingredients packaged as "white fungus" and "black fungus" which are a common ingredient in many Asian dishes.

A few days ago, however, I went into Bangkok Market (one of my favorite stores in North Minneapolis) and I saw this product for sale: Dried Tremella.

I recognize the product as one-and-the-same with "white fungus," but it's clearly somebody has figured out "dried tremella" is a much more marketable name than "white fungus."

The next logical question would be: What to call black fungus? The names I looked up on Wikipedia are not very appetizing: Cloud ear fungus, hairy wood ear, tree ear or (my personal favorite) ear fungus. Clearly, something more creative (yet accurate) will be needed to package this common Asian cooking ingredient for American tastes.

Chocolate Dipped Clemantines Are A Fast, Easy, Yummy Treat

2010-12-18T11:42:00.000-08:00

Here's a treat that's yummy, kinda healthy, and so easy to make: chocolate dipped clementines. My girlfriend made some of these and brought them to Thanksgiving dinner at her grandmother's, and also a dinner event sponsored by grateful residents of North Minneapolis (NoMi) for officers of the Fourth Precinct.

My girlfriend prefers to use real "melting chocolate" which comes in coin shapes, especially Trader Joe's brand. You can also use some kind of quick-hardening chocolate dip like Magic Shell by Smucker's. Chill the clementines to help the Magic Shell work, arrange attractively, and serve! If you use melted chocolate, chill the clementines AFTER you dip 'em. Either way, the last step is to EAT 'EM!

While you do this, be sure to sing Oh My Darling Clementine.

Crazy Old Antique Christmas Tree Stand From Craigslist!

2010-12-17T16:39:00.000-08:00

Photo by Blog Utopia

A couple of days ago, my girlfriend searched "Christmas tree stand" on Craigslist and turned up this funky old item. My word, it's painted old school army green like one of the jeeps in M*A*S*H and it's made out of, like, STEEL. Three incandescent light bulbs fit inside. The current bulbs are green, red, and blue. No, they don't blink on and off. Too bad.

The underside has some rust, so you know it's been through a lot of holidays, sat in puddles of egg nog or held up trees outdoors in the winter weather. We could feel The Spirit of Christmas Past lingering heavily in the metal. Forty bucks! Can't beat it with a stick!

Who sends a personal assistant to sell a $40 item? It's a sure thing that young woman is salaried, not paid by the hour. This little detail only adds to the mystique of the item: we like to imagine the Christmas tree stand was in a rich, affluent, somewhat decadent environment. Who knows what it witnessed at those drunken holiday parties?

We just can't get over what a cool item we obtained for so little money. It must have half a century of Christmases to its credit. We plan to rack up at least half a century more.

Love's Baby Soft Is Not Extinct, But It's Sure Retro!

2010-12-16T20:47:00.000-08:00

Photo by Blog Utopia

I was out with my girlfriend Megan a few nights ago, doing something we love: hitting thrift stores to find both bargains and amusement.

In one of the many bric-a-brac aisles, heavy with candles and knick-knacks, she saw a bottle of Love's Baby Soft perfume and grabbed it like it was gold.

This perfume, she explained, is what the "older girls" wore in the early 1980s when she, herself, was just a youngster. Love's Baby Soft represented that portal to perfume maturity, an opportunity to be grown up and sexy like, well, MADONNA.

"Don't they MAKE this stuff anymore?" I asked. "You have to get it online with eBay or score it in thrift stores or something?"

No, Megan admitted, it wasn't like Love's Baby Soft is EXTINCT. Apparently it's still being manufactured. But only the most well-stocked perfume outlets like Perfumania have Love's Baby Soft dependably in stock.

She was still clutching the bottle in her hand as she explained this. It was pretty clear she wasn't letting it go, so we had to buy it. But at least I learned there is such a thing as "retro perfume."

Another Latino Contribution To U.S. Culture: Gas Station Horchata (Yummy!)

2010-12-16T12:32:00.000-08:00

Photo by Blog Utopia

If you've never tried the rice based drink called "horchata," you are missing a treat. The first time I had horchata I was in Hermosillo, Mexico, doing volunteer work in a slum. We were hot and dusty but full of positive energy. A Mexican woman came out of her little house with a big glass vat of something...I thought it was iced milk.

My first mouthful was a revelation. It was light and yet slightly creamy, sweet but not cloying, exotic and yet oddly familiar. It was both exotic and "comfort food."

Though there are many variations of "horchata" around the world, click here for Wikipedia, Mexican horchata is based on rice and contains cinnamon. Sometimes, not always, Mexican horchata contains vanilla.

For many years, I could only get horchata by finding powder packets in the ethnic food sections of well-stocked grocery stores. Sometimes, in Latino neighborhood markets, I can find the bottled ready-to-drink version.

But, recently, I was in a gas station fueling my big ol' truck, and I was told "free grande size beverage with any fill up." I was heading for a hot cocoa when I saw one of the options was HORCHATA.

Wow. This stuff used to be so hard to find and now it's appearing in gas stations.

Try it. You'll like it.

Packaged Bananas By "RaceTrac Fresh Fruit to Go" ARE THE DEVIL!!!!!

2010-12-15T20:26:00.000-08:00

Photo by Blog Utopia

I encountered this clear and unmistakable sign of the environmental apocalypse while I was in the Dallas/Fort Worth area last October, gassing up at a convenience store.

Oh. My. God.

Didn't anybody notice bananas have a peel? What is that peel intended for by God Almighty, if not to keep the fruit inside clean and fresh? I mean, does anybody EAT THE PEEL? OK, since nobody eats the peel, what's wrong with just selling bananas the way they come?

To be fair, I have read about individuals who dry out banana peels and smoke 'em to get high, but I hardly think that's relevant.

OR IS IT?! Because this "second layer of banana packaging" is a bad, bad idea...the kind of idea somebody might conceive while intoxicated on a substance which, while perfectly legal, may be highly inappropriate for inhalation.

SHAME ON YOU, RACETRAC FRESH FRUIT TO GO!!!! Click here for their website. Boo. Boooooooooooo!!!!!

"The Chicken Wing Flavors Revelation" Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Google Ad Sense!

2010-12-08T21:46:00.000-08:00

Photo by Blogging Utopia

And so it begins.

I run another blog, actually quite a popular blog, about neighborhood issues. It's fair to say people from all over the world visit that blog, but since most of our content is specific to our city, most of our visitors are local. One day I realized one of the most popular posts concerned a local restaurant which serves (at last count) 178 flavors of chicken wings.

It wasn't a "big deal" blog post, like some of the tough neighborhood issues I cover. And yet this "chicken wing flavors" post is so popular that it consistently ranks in my Top 10. In fact last time I checked if you search "chicken wing flavors" on Google, that particular blog post pops up number one FOR THE ENTIRE PLANET.

And I've heard stories like this from other bloggers. They might be writing about their life, their kids, their neighborhood issues but one day they happen to comment on some product or service. Maybe the product or service is unique and makes their life better, maybe the product is inadequate in some way but whatever it is...

...they comment upon it and, to their surprise, that blog post proves incredibly and enduringly popular. People from all over the world find their way and add their commentary, their questions.

I had another revelation recently while I was doing my best to make a living. Right when I needed it the most, Google Adsense sent me a check for $106.86. Keep in mind I wasn't willing to have advertisements on my blog for, like, the first two YEARS. I was worried the ads would prove distracting. But after building up THOUSANDS of blog posts and a devoted readership, plus hearing stories about how you just sit back--let the ads work--and Google cuts you a check, well, I was willing to experiment.

The experiment seems to be working, so much so that I recently added Amazon.com to my advertising strategy. While I give myself great creative leeway on my other blog, commenting on my road trips and weekend visitation with my 13-year-old son, (pictured above) the fact is folks in the neighborhood rely on me as a grassroots news source and my other blog will always have a LOCAL audience, which is intrinsically limiting.

But I have a lot more to say on the subject of products, services, trends, consumerism, getting a good deal, having fun while being good to the earth. This blog will attempt to reach a national and even global audience which--though they may not follow the blog daily--will find their way here through search engines.

I've done a bit of research about blogging for money. What I've discovered is there are pathetic commercial drones cranking out bad content all the livelong day and well into the night, blasting out wordy aggregations of content crap aimed in the general direction of search engines, collecting paltry amounts to fill the internet with worthless dribble rich only in keywords.

At Blog Utopia, we're not gonna do that. It's gonna work like this around here:

1.) I will only produce good, creative and truthful content. A lot of the content will be uncompensated because nobody is going to pay me to, for example, go to thrift stores and revel in finding odd items. But I'm incredibly open to trying new things and rendering my opinion, which tends toward the sunny and optimistic.

If I say something negative on this blog about (for example) the worst jerky I ever had on a road trip, then you can be sure nobody sent me a free case of that jerky. I mean, if somebody sent me a case of unpalatable jerky, I'd probably thank them kindly and feed it to my girlfriend's dog, saying nothing on my blog because, hey, it just wouldn't be cool to accept somebody's beef jerky (no matter how bad) but then say mean things. If, however, I find really bad beef jerky on my own, look out. I'm not noted for holding back with my opinions.

See how it works? I'm positive, but I don't give away the positivity uncompensated unless I'm just giving something free "to the universe," like writing about how I go into thrift stores, find decorative bean jars, and make bean soup because BEANS WANT TO BE FREE.

2.) I will not produce content that is overseen or approved in advance. If I express that I'm willing to blog in a positive manner about Product XYZ, then commercial entities who have a stake in Product XYZ should rely on the basic goodness of humanity and touch base with me so we can talk about product samples and compensation BUT I WILL NOT PRODUCE "CONTENT CRAP" THAT IS CENSORED, OVERSEEN, CONTROLLED OR OTHERWISE CREATED AT THE EXPRESS BIDDING OF "THE MAN."

3. I won't approve spam comments or tolerate trolls.

4. This blogger for hire. Unlike my other blog, where I feel it's only right to reveal if somebody paid me even a small amount of money, this blog is an explicitly commercial venture so I won't be revealing who is paying me or how much I'm being paid. I am a rough-and-tumble adventurous personality, glad to fly on short notice to your vacation resort, to sample your organic toothpaste or (my 13-year-old really wants me to add this) let my son try out your new video game.

5. We use a blogspot platform because it's fast and free. There are far too many pretentious blogs putting on appearances like they're some kind of "news entity." Here, it's all about the content, not the packaging.

6. I care about making the world a better place, hence the title of my blog. It may be only a small contribution to the general betterment of humanity and the preservation of the planet, writing about organic soap. But it's better than being evil.

Therefore, the informal corporate motto of Google shall be ours as well:

Don't be evil.