ammogirl

Hey, I forgot to mention I won a raffle last week. I paid a buck, got a mini Twix, and voila! Was notified an hour later that I was the proud possessor of our Colonel’s parking spot for this entire week. This is really fabulous news because our parking is so bad that I get to work 1.5 hours early to ensure I don’t have to walk 1/4 mile to my building. I hate our parking here, honestly.

When we first got here, our sponsor gave us a welcome speech that went like this: “Welcome to Ramstein, parking sucks.” Okay, that’s sort of a paraphrase, but that’s the gist. We were like, whatever, how bad could it suck, really? And then we realized that really, it sucks that bad.

Anyway, I won the Colonel’s parking spot for this entire week, so this morning I didn’t get to work until 8. AND I drove everyone around for errands, which we NEVER do unless we are forced to. So we went to the post office, and the commissary, and to the shoppette for water refills (the Culligan man only delivers to the gas station and shoppette. Anything other than that, it’s all you) and when we got back, immediately parked, and everyone was happy.

Oh! You guys. I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned my love for the movie Xanadu. Yes, quite possibly there could not be a cheesier movie than rollerskating muses springing to life from an album cover painting and living in an abandoned disco, but still! I love it! Recently, I was pondering over my love of Xanadu, and how I should really, really buy that movie so I can watch it whenever I want (which will probably only be once, really, because most likely Xanadu is one of those movies that is only good in your memory), when I thought, “Hey! I have a GREAT IDEA! I should download the soundtrack from iTunes!” So I did. Actually, I only downloaded three songs: I’m Alive, Magic, and the most fabulous song ever, Xanadu (obviously). So this morning, as I was leaving the vehicle registration place, it popped up on my playlist and oh my god, that song. Oh, I’m talking about Xanadu, by the way, I should mention that. Anyway, that song. It is the BEST! I listened to it at least seven times, hitting replay over and over until I pulled into my (front) parking spot. It put me in such a good mood! And then I felt compelled to let everyone else listen to it too, and then THEY were all in a good mood as well! It’s a magical song! I broke out in spontaneous dance! And I saw other people trying to restrain their toe-tapping! I did!

Now, I know some of you might call that song crap, but I don’t care. Spontaneous dancing! Toe-tapping restraint! Good moods! How can you deny that?

Tschuss!!

So every week we get this email delivered into our work boxes, telling us to go check out the latest issue of “Airman’s Roll Call”. In the roll call, “they” talk about issues affecting all of us in the Air Force. For the most part, it’s sort of propaganda, and I’ll admit to, you know…not reading it on a regular basis.

This morning I had the weekly invite in my work email. Like always, I scanned the text, looking for the subject, and saw something like “blah blah blah personal websites”. This was interesting, so I clicked on the link and started reading about not releasing classified info on your personal website, and how even unclassified info could be pieced together into something interesting, you know, “Loose Lips Sink Ships”, that sort of thing. And then, at the very, very bottom, was this paragraph:

“Use of government computer systems - personal blogging on a government computer system is strictly prohibited. Government servers are reserved for the conduct of official business, and violations are punishable under the UCMJ. Moreover, personal blogging on a government computer places the government’s ability to protect national security at risk.”

Wellio! I read that and thought, hi, personal letter to me! Seriously, that could have been written like this:

Dear Ammogirl,

Hello. We monitor every single keystroke on your computer, how can you possibly be silly enough to post from work? I mean, come on. We don’t care that it’s lunchtime. Not important! GOVERNMENT SERVERS, missy, and don’t you forget that. We honestly thought you were a smart girl, which is why we gave you that next stripe, you know, THE ONE THAT YOU WON’T SEW ON UNTIL JULY? Hint hint? We giveth, we can taketh away.

Ag–can we call you that? Did you not know that personal blogging on a government computer places the government’s ability to protect national security at risk? Yes, every time you complain about slow drivers, or wax poetic about your hometown, or write about drinking wine (and um, that’s a lot of wine you drink, we’re just sayin), you place your mother risk. Your OWN MOTHER! She could be bombed! This war is your fault! We hope you are happy!

Here’s the deal. We like you, so we’ll give you another chance. But the next time you even think about typing in your site address into the browser bar? You will spontaneously die, and we will also take your children. Therefore, do not do it again, ever, really serious about this, bye.

Signed,

“US”

There you have it. I am being silenced by The Man. At least during the hours of 7 - 4, German Time (GMT +1).

Tschuss!!

I want to tell you about the town I grew up in, but I am finding it hard to begin.

What can I say? That it was small? That we had less than 5,500 people? That doesn’t begin to convey anything.

It really doesn’t. Lincoln City is unique. Us, the people that grew up there, we are unique. I bet there isn’t one of us who doesn’t miss the sound of the ocean, and the call of the seagulls, and the smell of the salt. Have you ever just sat in front of an ocean, with nothing else around you, and just watched? It’s never the same. It’s beautiful. I hated my hometown, but I loved it the same. It was field trips to Cascade Head, and back roads, and hating tourists, and working, every one of us, the day we turned 14. It was driving the 1.5 mile loop from Gallucci’s to Wayside and back, over and over. It was Mother-Daughter Tea at Salishan, every year, and less than 90 people in your graduating class, and levis and flannel shirts and jean jackets.

It was rain. It was seafood and the Pixie Kitchen being open for business sometimes and Dairy Queen south. No McDonalds until they built one senior year and ball games at Kirtsis Park. It was that statue of Lincoln on the horse. Teachers that were hippies through and through and taught you things not in textbooks. The Bijou theatre, with it’s second run movies, and the big road trip to the Valley once a year for clothes shopping.

It was trees and fresh air and green, all the time, and wondering what the inside of the Big O tavern looked like, and really, between it and the Old Oregon, which one was better?

It was art, a lot of it, everywhere. It was crappy fireworks on Siletz Bay and Kenny’s IGA and wood houses and rusty cars and going to Sand Point when you were little and Catch the Wind flying their kites every day until giant windsocks were no longer something to be amazed at.

Lincoln City was all of us going to either Dr. Kay or Dr. Sproed. It was chicken and Jo-Jos. It was the annual Fireman’s Ham Dinner. It was cracking jokes at the name of Ben’s mom’s store: The Red Cock. It was being terrified of Mr. Kinney but then feeling sad when you heard the news, because this was Lincoln City, and nobody does that, not here.

It was KBCH and the News Guard and the Senior Fish Fry, and always feeling safe. It was hating Newport.

This summer, when I went back for the first time in years, it hadn’t really changed. The air is the same, and the sounds are the same, and the people are the same. It was exactly enough time to make me both want to spend more time there and to be thankful I don’t have the time to spend.

I do have to go back soon though. Deep down I have always suspected the Big O is the better of the two bars. And I just really, really need to know if I’m right.

Tschuss!