I can't hate Jennifer Christman

I'll admit it. I'm one of those people who tends to mock, or at the very least, despise that which I can not have. I should hate Jennifer Christman; I really should. But I can't.

Most of you outside of central Arkansas don't know Jennifer. She's the extremely effervescent, award-winning columnist for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. I envy her job in a way that is actually rare for me. It's almost as if the employment Gods looked into the box of life marked "Top 5 Traits for Kati's Dream Job," plucked them right out and papier-mached them into a craft in which Jennifer can now get paid.

First, she's an entertainment reporter. Until now, the phrase "entertainment reporter," evoked images of Siskel and or Ebert in my mind. While I don't have access to any current data, I'm fairly sure it's quite safe to say those two pasty, sweating, balding "entertainment reporters" have never, ever inspired envy. As an entertainment reporter, Jennifer gets paid (legal income which she can report on her 1040) to watch reality TV. I watch reality television on an almost nightly basis and have strong, strong opinions on what I see. Yet no one listens to those opinions, much less pays me to hear them! What's better...if she doesn't like a show - if that show annoys her as much as the rest of us - she can stop watching and announce that she's over it. I'm a quitter - we all know that. To be able to quit something without quilt or fear of reprisal? That is just a little bit of living the dream right there!

On Thursday mornings, because she's not busy enough, she pops on over to B98.5 FM and contributes to a morning spot. It's 6 a.m. on a weekday - the morning after American Idol - and she's on my drivetime radio, as articulate and perky as can be. You've all heard me say more than once howI would relish a reoccurring spot on morning radio. I just know my limits; I know that at 6 am. on Thursday I'm not on the radio because I sound almost akin to Marge Simpson's sisters after a bad night and one too many Pall Mall nonfilters.

When Jennifer isn't getting paid to write and talk about the insipid little brain-trusts on Rock of Love, she's earning cash to eat! Oh yes...she also does restaurant reviews. So she earns a daily wage to write and then has an expense budget to try out new cuisine and it's called work! I pay money to eat on a daily basis. At the end of the day, that food is negative equity. I didn't get paid to eat and had to spend my own money. And I had to do it on my own time. But Jennifer? Oh, she's allowed to announce in her weekly staff meeting that she'll be out for a few hours on any given Tuesday because there is a new tapas house cum Chinese bistro specializing in vegan fare opening in the River Market and she wants to tell the world about it.

Just like all Billy Mays' commercials, where it just seems to good to be true - WAIT, THERE'S MORE! Was anyone besides me horribly unaware that "bar reviews" are considered a valid form of employment? Oh yes. It's true. Ms. Christman has proven there is a market for being a drink guinea pig if you will. Not sure if you'll enjoy the new Angkor Stout out of Cambodia? Thinking about trying Scotland's new Belhaven's Best? Jennifer can tell you all about it. She can detail the color, taste, aroma and "mouth feel" and let you know if you're wasting your time before you drop that $7 a pint. It's just another service she offers. Or rather, just another service she gets paid for.

She's made me see that there is a way to earn your living dissecting the motives of a neurotic 27-year-old on the Bachelor while taste-testing nachos and housing new drinks. And did I mention that she's gorgeous, to boot? If you're going to have the perfect job and a great disposition, isn't it only fair that you should be physically flawed? I thought this was how the universe kept balance. Great job and look like Donald Trump or at the least Steve Jobs. Or, have great hair, delicate features and a winning smile but be forced to toil away 50 hours a week in the Department of Motor Vehicles.

By virtue of my personality, I should vehemently dislike Ms Christman. Instead, I will offer up a robust round of applause and my thanks for proving that there is, indeed, hope for my dreams yet. Jennifer, a tip of the hat to you!

Well I'll Be (it's fair food, y'all!)

It is simply amazing to me that I've spent 34 years on this planet and have never been introduced to the wonders of Fair Food! I blame this mostly on a combination of my California upbringing and the refusal of Midwesterners to share these secrets with me. I won't call these finds delicious, but I will admit they have left me in awe.

I took the boys to the 2008 Arkansas State Fair today. I bypassed the Tilt-O-Whirl completely and opted instead for the Tour de Hurl. I scoured the fairgrounds for foods not normally found in nature. I was supposed to visit California next month, but after today's samplings I think my state may revoke my citizenship and turn me away at the airport. Wait, never mind. It's California. They can't keep anyone out. What was I thinking?

I tasted fried Oreos today. They taste exactly like you'd expect. I can't say it was entirely unpleasant. It was just...a deep fried Oreo! They take the tasty sandwich cookie and dunk it in a goo the resembles corn dog batter. Then, the coated cookie gets tossed in the fryer, drained and dusted with powdered sugar. The cookie gets soggy, the filling melts and the dough gets crispy. Through it all, grease drips out and the smell of obesity hangs in the air. It's all a bit odd and off puttin' yet, at the same time, it's a bit decadent.

Here is a look at some of the foods I saw yet didn't try. Let's start with deep fried cheesecake. It's not the first time I've seen it. I've just never seen it outside of a Sonic, or north of the Mason Dixon line. There were four people in line and not one of them was taller than 5' 8" or thinner than 280 so I walked on. I figured it was a bit of foreshadowing.

I'd like to introduce you to "Pig Lickers." I have always said everything is better with cheese, bacon or butter. Leave it to the good ol' boys at the Arkansas fair to prove me wrong! I give to you deep fried, chocolate covered bacon on a stick. Covered in sprinkles. Sold in sets of three. Come on now! That's too far! If you want to fry pickles, be my guest. Dunk a Twinkie? I won't stop you. But you can't take two of the pure JOYS in life, combine them and then ruin it completely! I'm not even sure that's legal. I can't, for the life of me, figure out the need for the sprinkles, either. That's just overkill! The bacon should already be crispy, so you don't need the added crunch. And if you're tossing 'em on there just to make things festive, you've missed the point. You can't church up cocoa-covered swine!

Lastly, I present to you the winner of the 2008 "Kati Was Speechless Because of You" award winner. The trophy goes to....the HOT BEEF SUNDAE! Look to the right - there it is, in full color for your enjoyment. I got proof! I don't mean to be crass, but I think "Hot Beef Sundae" should have a "Ron Jeremy Productions" label on it. But alas, it's rated PG.

A "Hot Beef Sundae" is a slab of meat, topped with a scoop of mashed potatoes, covered in gravy and then topped with shredded cheese. It looks just like a hot fudge sundae, but it's really just Sunday dinner in a bowl. It seems harmless once you spell it out, yet I was still repulsed. As soon as you take a main course and slap a desert name on it, I'm out. Willy Wonka tried it once with his three-course meal gum and poor Violet Beauregarde is still in a juicing room somewhere! That is just documented proof that dinner is dinner and desert is desert. They are both great in their own way. There is no need to combine the two. But still, the line for THIS fabulous fair find was at least three times as long as the line for deep fried cheesecake!

I'm going to lace up my Nikes now and get in two miles before the sun sets. While it's true I only tried to Oreo, just writing about everything else has left me feeling bloated and a bit rounded in the rear. I'm going to hit the track just to fend off the deep fried nightmares sure to plague me tonight otherwise!

To be fair though, I am looking forward to the 2009 offerings. I can't wait to see what they'll think of next!

What the duece happened to television???

I was not gone THAT long. Two hundred days. That is is. Seven months. NOT THAT MUCH SHOULD HAVE CHANGED IN SEVEN MONTHS.

But then I turned on the television (which, from here forward, will no longer be refereed to as T.V., because "T.V." is a nickname and nicknames are for friends. It seems the television is no longer a friends of mine....)

Turning on the television depresses me. It's not the news about the global economic meltdown that has me down. It's not even the news about the housing market, unemployment and gas prices that make me sad. I can even tolerate all of the election news.

But someone, for the love of all that is right, please explain to me what in God's name Cloris Leachman is doing Dancing with the Stars? We'll ignore the obvious syntax errors there and ask the obvious...WHO is the "star" in that equation? Her Wiki has her listed as being 82 years old! Who thought THIS was a good idea? Misty May ruptured her Achilles tendon but should we NOT be more worried about Leachman's hip? I saw a clip of her dancing and I have to say, I've seen more excitement in AARP ads. I was scared. That was not dancing. This is a show that can make retired NFL linebackers look graceful and light on their feet. Yet Leachman's version of the "jig" was more reminescient of a long hallway shuffle in an orthopedic recovery ward.

That's not it though. There is more. Today, I am mindlessly flipping channels when I see a commercial I honestly believed was a mock ad. Imagine my abject horror when I realized that they were serious! Have you seen it? Let me set the scene.

A 16 year old girl who looks like she was recently rescued from a polygamous sect living on a Texas ranch says "You've played the Legend of Zelda games and have been haunted by the intoxicating music. Now you, too, can be transported to another world with your very own ocarina. Available at stlocarina.com. Learn to play just like Link in no time..."

Qwhhhhhhhhhat? Huh? Come again? I had to rewind that one twice just to ensure I hadn't fallen asleep on my couch and started dreaming. I was certain there was a low-grade gas leak in the house and I was having mild hallucinations. So I visited the site. Alas - you, too, CAN own your ocarina starting at the low, low introductory price of $79.99 plus s/h. Take a look. I can promise you it resembles a hand-crafted Father's Day gift presented by a second grader, just after they graduated from making clay hand-prints.

Lastly, and this might be the one that pushed me right over the edge, was the Interstate Batteries commercial I saw this weekend. Um....it's about God's love. (www.interstatebattery.com/godslove) Sure, who doesn't want more of God's love? Well, expect those people who don't believe in God, of course. Since when does it make sense to take an animated commercial for CAR BATTERIES and mix in a little religion? Have you seen it? I won't argue the message. I just do not understand how the two go together in any form of commercial advertising...aired during a football game...on a major television network! I have looked for God many places (like at the bottom of the Nile) but never did I think to look under the hood of a '67 Chevy.

This is really enough to make a sane person put down the remote and pick up a book. However, I can read while watching television so I'm covered in that regard. I thought about giving up my regular programing after the events of this week, but if I were to do that, I would miss the bliss that is House, the comedic horror of Family Guy and the education experience of E!'s 101 Biggest Celebrity Opps! and who really wants to miss out on THAT?

Fast Roping

The Bravo 2-18 JCSAR "Stupid Human Trick of the Day" for Aug. 19th? It was a little game called fast roping. I thought about writing a long and witty description of what fast roping entails, but I decided that sometimes, video proof is just so much better! So if you'd like, you can visit: http://s123.photobucket.com/albums/o289/iamkati/?action=view¤t=080819-F-0986R-001FastRopeClip.flv to watch the video.

Their goal is to "fast rope" (read - FALL WHILE HOLDING A ROPE) from 90 to 100 feet above ground level before too long. Hmmm...Really? Why? Did NO ONE here see Black Hawk Down? Just curious. I know it was just a movie and all but come on people. When does it stop?!?

Now, we talked about my fears (or perceived lack there of) back when I decided to do battle with the River Nile. That was the day I realized that while I think I'm fearless, I'm really not. I do have fears. I'm not afraid of heights. But I AM afraid of falling. So I think anytime I'm going to dangle above the ground I should be harnessed, tethered and secured. And I'd like someone roughly the size of Warren Sapp to sit on me just for good measure.

But fast roping doesn't afford one those luxuries. Instead, you sit in the "hell hole" of the CH-53 while grasping a rope roughly the diameter of a salad plate while willing your feet to gain traction on said rope. Then you go out of the bird. And by go, I mean you fall toward the earth from a hovering helicopter. Keep in mind though...Helicopters aren't stationary when they hover. There tends to be some...um...shall we say...movement. In all directions. Up and down. Left and right. Forward. Sometimes in a circle. You can't actually determine how close to the ground you are because it varies with each second. Doesn't this sound like FUN?

So, look at the photos on your left. This is what it looks like when it's done right. (I'm pretty sure the second photo is of Ray Mackey, using great form.) Hand on the rope, feet on the rope, body in almost an "L" shape to help slow you down. This is what it looks like. Sure, you can get by with the form in the photo above (holding on for dear life and once again making deals with God....) because either way, just like on the Nile, what goes up MUST come down. But Ray's form is so much better because he has some modicum of control. To his credit though, he also has more upperbody strength than I do. Okay, Cory is 13 and HE has more upperbody strength than I do. But that really isn't the point. Ray's just good at this crap. However, not every fast roping experience works out quite like that. There are times when you might slip, or not make full contact with the rope.

Evidence? Well, look to the right. That is Duff - my favorite little Soldier. Duff is the one I want to adopt and claim on my taxes. He's just so young and...clueless. Having Duff is like having a puppy - fun and playful and adorable yet not always apt to break something. But you can't get mad at him - he's a puppy; he doesn't know better! So look at Duff's form. Duff's feet never actually made contact with the rope on the way down, so he's flying down that rope, legs akimbo, and although I couldn't HEAR him, I'm pretty sure he too was making deals with God.

That's it for this week's installment of "Kati Plays with the Army..." For the entire Channel 4 news team, I'm Veronica Corningstone. Thanks for stopping by, San Diego.

P.S. - In TOTALLY unrelated news (ha, all kinds of puns intended), I did my first AFN news piece last week. It was a 90 second "Daily News Update" and was the first time I officially got to say the words "For the Combined Joint Task Force - Horn of Africa, this is Air Force Tech. Sgt. Katherine Garcia." I'll send out the link as soon as it airs. I'm sure it's just more proof that print journalism was my calling and that I have no future in television. But it will at least give you something to entertain yourselves with while I languish in the sweltering heat of Earth's armpit, contemplating all of the wrong turns I must have made in life to end up HERE! But until next time...keep the cards and letters coming.

I eloped..........(okay, not really)

We've all heard stories of people who've been dating for years that just wake up one day and decided to get married, right? Maybe they're IN Vegas already. Maybe they juant off to the courthouse and get 'er done. No fanfare, no pomp or pretense. They just slip away to tie the knot and come back with a story to tell.

Well....on Aug. 7th I made a life-altering vow that is, in some ways, akin to eloping. The Air Force and I have been in a "relationship" for more than 14 years. We've had our ups and downs. I have almost walked away more than once. At times, ours has not been a match made in heaven. My time in blue started almost on a whim and there have been almost as many low points as there have been highs. But I came on this deployment with the realization that I was nearing the end of my contact. I was free to walk away once I got home and never look back - no harm, no foul. And I won't lie - in the past five months, that has been a tempting proposition. But 14 years into a 20 year stint is a big investment. To walk away now would be an incredibly difficult decision and one that would likely have ramifications for many, many years to come.

I had been dragging my feet about raising my right hand one last time. We had been mulling it over since late June, thinking of ways to make this last one count. If you know you'll never do something again, you might as well make sure you're doing it the way you want. But, knowing I had some time to make it happen, I figured I would get to it when I got to it....

And then it happened. Sam (who has been described as the "big sexy black man" who's a magician with a Nikon) and I were going flying with a few of my very favorite guys from Bravo 2-18...You remember them? They're the (HOOAH) grenade tossing, 50-cal shooting, hook things up to a helicopter friends I've made out here. The thought was that a small group of us would board the CH-53 for some helicopter aerial refueling and then a flight over Lake Assal.

HAR is when our helicopter flies close enough to the ass-end of a C-130 that I could probably play a decent game of patty-cake with anyone on their plane while they extend a basket and hose for fuel. We then fly into position so we can attach the basket to our probe and they pass us gas - at 6,000 feet in the air. Hmmmmm...sounds SO good in theory. In reality, it's like sitting in a dilapidated Tilt-o-Whirl at your local county fair without a lap belt and no assurance that the ride won't break apart at any second and send you plummeting to your death. A C-130’s propellers spin on the vertical; a helicopter’s spin on the horizontal. That means there are two different aircraft beating the air into submission while trying to mate in the air. This lends itself to something THEY call turbulence. I just like to call it a chance to revisit any meal I might have eaten in this fiscal year. But we all know I'm not fond of flying so I need not describe this process any further.

Lake Assal is the hottest place on Earth (really) and has the saltiest body of water anywhere (really). It looks pretty...it smells like death. So while it's 138 in Djibouti, it's going to be a good 20 degrees hotter at the lake. For those of you who've ever heard the phrase "Anything over 110 and you don't feel it..." I'd like to call shenanigans! You feel every single solitary increase in temperature. It's just that it gets too hot to care. You're no longer able to muster the strength to whine about it, for fear that if you open your mouth your tongue will catch on fire and you'll die a slow, hot, thirsty death.

Soooooooo anyway.... I get an e-mail at like 1 in the afternoon from Lt. Richards that says "Hey Kati, wanna reup TODAY?" Huh? What? Me? Kati who? And then I realized it couldn't be more perfect. It would be JUST what I wanted. I, an Air Force NCO, would be on a U.S. Marine Corp helicopter, being reenlisted by an Army officer while flying over the Gulf of Aden - in a "combat zone." It really doesn't get more "joint force" than that! So, Sgt. Drew Miller procured a flag. Sam had his camera. And we had our kick ass platoon sergeant, SFC Joe Taylor, and my favorite (sarcastic) squad leader, SSG Ray Mackey, on hand to hold the flag. 1st Lt. Richards was there to administer the oath. Nothing extra. No BS. No strap hangers. No hurt feelings because someone was or wasn't invited. Just us, a helicopter and a sunset.

Up until the very second I raised my right hand, I was pretty sure I didn't want to do this again. I have had hesitations every day for the past two years. I am tired of being away from home. I am tired of moving. But the second I stood tall, looked Lt. Richards in the eye and stated my name I knew -without a doubt - that I was doing the best thing possible for myself, my family and our future.

As far as WOW moments go, for me this was right up there. Yes, I have done some really cool things in my life, but the pure feeling of pride and the incredible sense of belonging were amazing. I was blessed to have some very good people with me to share that moment. I wasn't with my family, but I was with people who've made every effort to make me a part of theirs!

Because I can't leave well enough alone...

Today, I'd like to start by polling the audience. By a show of hands, who knows that I just can't leave well enough alone? Very good! I try. I really do. But there are just so many targets of opportunity in my day-to-day dealings that sometimes, my cup runneth over and I feel the need to act.

Case in point? The black flag! A refresher for my military friends; a primer for my civilian readers. The military has never been an organization fond of "free thinking" on the part of its urchins. To be honest, they like to inform of us everything. I'm fairly certain this "information" comes only from committees formed for the sole purpose of holding meetings to establish the need for meetings where they then hold a meeting to discuss the results of the meeting.

When it comes to the ambient temperature, we're not trusted to simply "feel" whether it's warm or not. Someone, somewhere (surely with the help of a committee and contracted scientists who held studies) decided we needed a "system" in place to let us know just how hot it is. I know, I know... My techie friends like to take a more direct route and actually open a door or window and decide for themselves what it feels like outdoors. There is also the camp that likes to get crazy and switch over to the Weather Channel to decide how hot the day will be.

But not the military. The military has settled on FLAGS as the best means to announce the temperature. Before you scoot over to http://www.m-w.com/ to look up the word "flag" and any alternate meanings, let me stop you. By flag, I clearly mean a usually rectangular piece of fabric of distinctive design that is used as a symbol, as a signaling device or as a decoration.

Our flags are much like a color chart for five year olds. Green means good. The weather is nice, you're free to wreak havoc outdoors. Yellow means use caution; it's getting warmer. Red means it's rather hot and you should think before spending a prolonged amount of time in the sun. Then there's black. The black flag means (and this is a loose definition) good lawd it's hot out here. Get indoors. You have no business being out here. Stand in one place too long and you just might burst in to flames.

The problem with this system, for me at least, is that we are in "black flag" here by 8 a.m. - consistently. So as I walk to work in the morning, I see that 3' by 5' piece of nylon mocking me from its place atop the flag pole. It's right there on Main Street for all to see. It would proudly snap in the wind here, but there is NO wind and therefore it hangs there limply, like my spirits each morning when I see it. We're in a place where the LOW (as in l-o-w) was 102 the other day. That's not low - not in golf, not in age, and certainly NOT in tempature.

Now, by 2 p.m., when the mercury has climbed past Africa Hot and is working its way steadily toward 100 and stupid, a black flag just doesn't do justice. The flag has now been on the mast for more than 6 hours of the day. Birds have fallen from the sky simply because it's too hot to fly any farther. But there's the flag - taunting me.

So I decided we needed something that signifies how hot it really is here. Enter the Jolly Roger. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, that is me in the photo. I walked proudly down Main Street at 2:30 in the afternoon, lowered the understated and offensive plain black flag and replaced it with something I deemed much more fitting for the temperatures of mid-July in Djibouti.

Wait, wait... Before you think "Kati, won't you get in TROUBLE for this?" let me tell you. I did my research. It's not vandalism - I didn't actually willfully or maliciously destroy or deface public or private property. It's not theft - I returned the original flag to its rightful owner immediately. And it's not malicious - no one was harmed in the raising of the new flag. I even went so far as to research the regulations regarding the "flags" and read that it must be "black in color and made of nylon or cloth and be at least 3' by 5' in nature." No where did it specify that it must be "unadorned."

WILL I get in trouble for this? Possibly. I'm sure there is someone, somewhere on this camp who will not see the humor in this exercise. I may be accused of "making a mockery" of the flag system (valid) and I might be accused of being "insubordinate" (guilty) but I can tell you this... No one, in my entire life, has ever yelled louder than my father, and a little verbal dressing down never hurt anyone.

I promise you this: should I get reprimanded for my little stunt, I will certainly post the transcripts right here for all to see. And if it comes in the form of a written counseling, I will be sure to ask that they detail my actions. And then I will frame it and hang it for all to see.

Start collecting bail money please. There is a pool being conducting right now "aboard" Camp Lemonier and the smart money has me incarcerated before I actually get on a plane out of here. I don't think it's EVER smart to bet against Kati, but we'll see!

Until next time!

(Look at the random guy taking a pic of my flag as he walked by. HE thought it was funny!)

Am I crazy?

That's me on the far left of the photo, hook in hand, waiting for the CH-53 to drop low enough that we can attach to it.

(Before I start, let me mention that the LOW day before yesterday was 102. So maybe it's the heat getting to me...)

I think I'm crazy. It's official. Remember my "friends" from the Army's 2-18 FAR? The ones that left me in the middle of the Djiboutian desert in the middle of the night as "training"? The same ones who taught me to throw live grenades? Well... here we go again.

Bravo Platoon Sergeant - "Hey Kati...wanna come to sling loads with us?" (Grunt, hooah, grunt)

Kati - Sure, sounds GREAT... (Type, type, enter...Kati frantically looks up the definition of "sling load" on Google. God bless Google, right?)

So I'll save you the search on the world wide web and explain to you what I had no clue about... Here's how it works. You fly on a CH-53. Just so you know, the CH-53 is 88 and a half feet long. It can carry a crew of up to 55 (although that's a bit much and 37 is more standard). It's an inch shy of 25 feet tall. The rotor has a 72 foot diameter. And it weighs 33,500 pounds. So it's not small.

They fly you out to an "airfield" (in Djibouti that's a fancy word for some hard ground in the middle of NOWHERE!) in the desert and you get left (hmmmm...it's becoming a trend with these guys).

There, parked in the middle of the "airfield", is a humvee. This is what you're going to "sling load." You take some pretty churched up ropes and some chains and hook them to the humvee. Then (and this is the part even the Web fails to mention) the helicopter comes over you and hovers. And by "over you" I mean that while this Winnebago with wings is beating the air into submission, you can reach up and slap the belly. It's not like you're standing under the Channel 7 Eyewitness News 'Copter, right? No, it's more like Good Morning Vietnam has landed on your head.

Oh, and just so you know, slapping the belly isn't a wise move. Rumor has it (and I certainly wasn't going to try to disprove THIS theory) that as the helo hovers, it builds up static. So if you touch it before someone grounds it, it will send 75,000 volts through you. Doesn't seem like a fun party trick to me so I decided to avoid that part.

Well anyway, while you're under the helicopter, it's pretty calm. But as it comes in, it's pushing down 194 knots of rotor wash (that's like 220 mph winds for normal people) so you're getting blown around. To combat this, every "hooker" (yes, today I was a hooker - let's just choose to pass that one up please...) has a bracer. A "bracer" is someone who hunkers down, grabs your waist with both arms and braces you to the ground using your weight and theirs. The goal is to combine weights to obtain more than 350 pounds (not too difficult, considering we're all wearing 35 pounds of combat gear and these are grown men). The intent is that you don't want to get tossed around the desert like Raggedy Andy (or in my case, Raggedy Ann).

So there is a "front" man and his bracer, the ground guy and his bracer and the "leg" man (moi) and my bracer. Plus there's a spotter and a safety guy under there. All in all, we're throwing a little party under a machine that God never intended to fly. The intention is that the helicopter will come in, hover, you'll "ground" it and then the hookers (yes, yes, I'm a hooker) will attach their chains to giant hooks extending from the bird. Then you need to get out of there ASAP so they can take off without smacking you with the humvee as they lift it off the ground.

So here's how you get out...You run - backward - as fast as you can. And once you get to the point where the wind is too strong, you drop down to your knees. Then, you pull your feet up, push off with your hands and SLIDE backward on your kneepads as far back as you can, as fast as you can. Really...that's how it works. So now, close your eyes and picture ME, in a helmet and goggles, 35 pounds of body armor and gear, dressed in knee pads, getting tossed around by rotor wash and sliding backward on the hardpack. No, really, try hard. Come on... You can do it! Not so much? It's okay - I wouldn't have believed it either.

As we were under the helo for the first iteration, I looked up and realized that I had the WHEEL of a helicopter swaying at shoulder level and 15 some odd tons of steel bouncing inches from my dome. It was right then that I thought "Maybe this is it... Maybe this is the time I actually went too far and got in over my head..." But as quickly as I had the thought, it was over with, the hook was there, I was connecting the clevise to the hook and getting the heck out of dodge.

Once you're out of the way, the 53 takes off, humvee dangling beneath, flies around the desert and then comes back. It drops the humvee back to earth, shakes off the ropes and flies away. Then we get to reset the ropes and chains and get in position for it to come back and pick up the vehicle again. This, my friends, is sling load training.

Tomorrow, we'll talk about Kati and the joys of spy rigging, but really, I will only have so many "GI Kati" experiences in my life - I want to be able to milk them just a little.