Today I offer a melange of minutiae from the past few days. All served up on a plastic tray and paper plate, of course.

On Tonight’s Menu

The Prime Suspect.

I was unable to face Far East stir fry tonight so we drove off to the Monti. It was Steak Night but, surprisingly, unbusy.  With some trepidation I opted for the steak as did D, muttering “against my better judgement”. I also got some of the breaded catfish, against my better judgement. The catfish was ok if a little mushy inside. The steak was very tender in the usual unnatural way. J ominously described it as “suspiciously tender”. The “Cinnamon Cake” was, in D’s words, “to die for” as were the fries with excellent gravy.  J also had a couple of the crab cakes. “They’re not very good here”, I told him. “I’ve never had crab cakes so I’m not sure what they’re supposed to be like” he admitted. “They should be crispy on the outside, tender but meaty on the inside and taste like crab”, I informed him. “These aren’t good crab cakes” he decided and set them aside.

Surf’s Up Down!

Pretty sure that ain’t supposed to happen.

KAF roads are pretty shitty. Also, it’s really fucking dusty here. I realize that these two things can combine to be hard on a vehicle. In fact, this is the first place I’ve ever seen a vehicle at the side of the road with one of it’s wheels, (hub, tire, the whole shebang) busted right off. I’d guess I’ve seen over 20 vehicles in this condition during the last 3+ years in KAF. Here’s the weird part: Every one of those disabled vehicles has been a Toyoto Surf (called a 4Runner in North America). What the hell? Sure there are a lot of Surfs here so they’re bound to make up a significant percentage of disabled vehicles…but 100% of the busted axles or whatever the hell causes a wheel to fall off? I won’t be buying one of them anytime soon.

Oh…and don’t cut corners.

Another problem we have with the KAF roads is their penchant to become invisible during the frequent flash floods we get in the winter. The roads become rivers and you can’t tell where the road ends and the ditch begins. A helpful tip for newcomers: Wait at least 30 minutes after the flood begins before using the road. By that time, the edges will be clearly defined by conveniently placed buses, trucks and armoured vehicles sitting at unnatural angles.

Survey Says!

A few days ago, I put up some polls asking people how they found this blog and why they read it. I set them up so people could write in their own answers if the multiple choice ones didn’t fit their situation. Some of these “write in” answers were, evidently, from people who, in statistics, would be termed “outliers” which, in layman terms, means “weirdos”. Here’s some of the things they had to say:
Why Are You Reading JustDFACsMaam?
“I just like to make sure you’re still miserable because it makes me feel good.” – I can see that.
small diversion waiting for porn to download.” – Ah…ok.
“because you make me laugh. fuck is my favorite swear word” – Mine too!
I don’t remember how I got here, but I was drunk. I need a shower.” – I hate when that happens.

How Did You Find JustDFACsMaam?
“My pastor told me about it.” – I can’t imagine what that sermon may have been about.
“I was surfing for porn and came across your site by accident” – Googling “Chicken Ass” perchance?


You hear a lot about drones in the Afghan war. Most people are referring to Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAVs) when they use this word. J, however, has repurposed it. It now refers to those diners in the DFACS who walk around like fucking automatons, completely oblivious to everyone and everything around them.

Hey you…yeah, you…the guy who stood staring in indecision at the goddam 3 choices of drink available for, subjectively (me being the subject), 4 fucking days. Just PICK ONE! They’re the same choices that have been there for the last 2 weeks. UGH!

Oh, and special thanks to the guy in the Far East who stood at the water bottle fridge staring at the bottles with the door open, preventing more important people (i.e. me) from getting one. They’re all the same, asshole. Ok, granted, you eventually took one and let me lean in for mine. Did you then have to stand right behind me not moving so that as I turned around I had to jerk my tray back to avoid hitting you and thereby spilling my juice? Fuck. What the hell were you doing hovering there? It was just creepy. You have your water…just go away.

And to the dozens of people who stand stock still between the two cereal and bread areas in the Northline every morning with the words “Doh-di-doh, I’m the only person in the whole wide world” going through their atrophied cerebellum: That’s a fucking thoroughfare. If you truly are having difficulty deciding whether to go to a table or make some toast, get the hell out of the way while you make this life altering decision.

There is Nothing Right About This

Why is this here? Why is it wet?

No. No. No. Stop it! You are not to wash your clothing in the showers. I don’t get why you do this. I especially don’t get why you would go to all the trouble of washing your underwear in the shower and then just leave it hanging there for everyone else to endure. I do not want to see your underwear. I especially do not want to see your soaking wet underwear. Oh god, it just occurred to me that I was perhaps optimistic in assuming it was shower water dripping from these abandoned undies when it could just as easily be a more offensive liquid. I feel ill.

Feel the Burn

I’m still recovering from my ill-advised foray into the crossfit subculture. I can walk somewhat normally now but still can’t run. I’ve decided that crossfit just isn’t for me. The exclamations of “Oh man, I was sore for a week after that last crossfit workout. It was awesome” and “I’m doing clean and jerks of 300lbs” should have been red flags for me. Neither the magnitude of my pain nor the mass I can lift are metrics that in anyway correspond to my fitness goals. And pain is just never desirable. So, I decided to go to the NATO gym and follow a workout a trainer made for me during one leave when I went with my wife in an abortive attempt to start exercising. The trainer was a woman in her late fifties who understood that my goals were more along the lines of being able to walk down the stairs in the morning without sore ankles rather than bench pressing a Volkswagen.

The NATO gym is pretty big. It has lots of equipment…none of which seemed to match the equipment I had seen (and was shown how to use) at the gym at home. I wandered around like a dork with my printed out workout instructions in hand trying to figure out how to contort my body so as to use the various devices. I found a couple of things I recognized (a bench, for example) but they were all occupied by burly guys who, oddly, seemed to be enjoying themselves. I suppose that if you like the gym, you can be content to wait for a desired piece of equipment to come free during which time you can converse with your friends about how much your legs burn and the mass of the metal you can hold over your head. These topics of discussion do not interest me and, unfortunately, I don’t like the gym. Everything I’ve ever done in one has been unenjoyable and tedious. I want to use it as a tool…go in, follow my little script of exercises and get the fuck out. The crowds and equipment at the NATO gym are not compatible with me. So, my next gambit is to try the little gym right next to our accommodations. We’ll see how that goes…

Bottom Line

I’m tired and my thighs hurt.

“My tastes lean toward the more negative, angry and eclectic.” – Josh Silver

3 thoughts on “Eclectica

  1. 😦 Being from Maryland… a bad crabcake is unacceptable… Bad seafood is the worst. And the underwear is quite disturbing. Haha. I’m sorry for your irritation… but you had me laughing through the entire thing.

  2. With all those crazy thursday night parties you have there, I am surprised you don’t recognize those grinch hanging there!!!!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s