MichaelLortz.com/JordiScrubbings.com

Yesterday I passed 95% complete with my time in Afghanistan. Wow. It’s almost over.

That means only a few weeks left.

Other than that, not much is new. Only that it is time to start mailing my things back to the states, finishing up the work projects, and ensuring all of the knowledge, wisdom, and insight I’ve gained on my job is imparted to the new folks sitting my seat. That’s kind of great feeling.

As for what I am going to do when I get back, I’m still not sure. I’m trying to keep a few pots on the fire and have a few avenues in which to go down, to include putting in an application to business school. The impression I am getting from the headlines and news reports is that the economy in the US is still crappy. And of course, there is that whole “Sea Quest Nation” thing gutting the government and contract possibilities. So no matter how well I do here or have done in the last 13 months, I might have to start over with a new career. Could be exciting.

But first, I want to relax. My goal is to get a room in a nice beach hotel, either on the west or east coast of Florida, and sleep. I also want to catch a few concerts, see a few baseball games, and drink a few beers. All those things I’ve been missing out on over the last year and a few months.

One of the biggest challenges will be not to jump back in too fast. I have a lot to do when I get back – everything from getting a new car and phone to finding a new job and place to live. I also want to see the eye doctor, the dentist, and a dermatologist. But I have to realize I can’t do all that the day I get back. Nor can I do it all in the first week or even the first month. I gotta pace myself. The beach should help with that.

Just like when I left the military the first time, or when I left Tallahassee to move to Tampa, or when I first came out to Afghanistan, or even when I grabbed my lunch box and walked down Chestnut Street in Hicksville, NY way back in 1980-something to enter the first day of kindergarten, it’s time to start a whole new adventure.

It’s been fun, Afghanistan. You taught me a lot and I hope I helped you out a little, but now my time to go is right around the corner.

It’s been a while since I did any sports-related blogging, but I decided to dust off the keyboard and jump into it (given the topic, no pun intended).

By now, most the sports world and much of the non-sports world has heard about college basketball Kevin Ware. For those who are unaware, Ware is a college basketball player for the Louisville Cardinals. During a game last week against Duke University, Ware jumped in an attempt to defend a shot by a Duke player. When he landed from his leap, Ware’s leg took an awful twist, his shin snapped, and his bone pentrated the skin.

There is no doubt, Ware’s accident is a horrible injury. Horrible and unexpected on a basketball court. The fracture ranked up there with former baseball catcher Jason Kendall or former quarterback Joe Theismann among the worst sports injuries. It’s terrible and no one wants to see it happen.

That said, sports injuries do happen. Thankfully however, Ware is a young man with his entire future in front of him. He is currently enrolled in college and if, for whatever reason he can no longer play basketball, he can get an education in a field that will help him in life. He still has his brain, heart, and mind. And broken legs heal.

Kevin Ware will be fine.

For whatever reason, however, when I turned on the game during the pause in the action resulting from Ware’s injury, “fine” was far from the impression I got. Between the words of the announcers and images of the fans and Ware’s teammates, I thought Ware was dead.

The CBS announcers kept using words such as “tragic” and “unprecedented”. Fans in the stands were crying. Ware’s teammates were crying and reports said they vomitted on the bench when they looked at their teammate’s broken leg. Even Ware’s coach was tearing up.

His leg was only broken. Bones heal. As I said, Ware is still alive and his brain, heart, and mind still function.

Maybe I am slightly jaded from being in Afghanistan for the last year, but I don’t think a broken leg is anything to cry over. If a child falls from a tree and breaks his or her leg, the parents don’t cry, they get medical attention. People who watch the child fall don’t cry either, they ask if the child is ok, they assist, or they just watch. A broken leg is nothing to cry over.

As for Ware’s teammates, yes, broken bones are not expected on a basketball court. Seeing bones protruding from skin is not a normal thing. It might be more expected in mixed martial arts or perhaps even pro wrestling.

Or in war.

Here in Afghanistan I often read reports or see stories of attacks or explosions that leave people maimed, wounded, or even dead. They lose legs or arms or worse. They suffer brain damage that is nearly impossible to recover from. They suffer from post traumatic stress disorder from the sights and sounds of combat. They live with the scars of warfare for the rest of their lives.

Many of these people are the same age as Kevin Ware and his teammates.

While the injured probably go into shock just as Ware claims he did, I would like to believe the squad members, battle buddies, and other military members associated with those who face traumatic injuries on the field of battle. I would like to believe they do not act like Kevin Ware’s teammates and walk away, fall to the ground in tears, and vomit. I would like to think military personnel stay calm and tend to the wounded, something only Ware’s coaches did.

Yes, military personnel are trained to respond to injury and react in a method that would assist the wounded. Basketball players don’t practice how to react to the sight of their teammate’s leg dangling in a bloody mess. Perhaps crying is the default emotion and military training brakes that instinct and removes it, replacing it with a positive life-saving reaction.

From now on, however, no current teammate of Kevin Ware should ever be able to call a basketball game a “war” or use any other combat metaphor. In war, there is no crying when a man breaks his leg.

Save your tears for those who really need them.

Those who can’t recover.

I found this picture on the DeathStar PR Facebook page. Not sure where they got it from, but I think it is absolutely hilarious. Sometimes you gotta say “Screw Acme, I’m going with a professional”.

With baseball season right around the corner, I’ve been thinking about green fields and bright Florida sunshine. With my time in Afghanistan also coming to an end soon, I’ve been thinking about home and finally seeing friends and family. In my latest post on RaysIndex.com, I weave both of these thoughts into the Rays new advertising slogan of “Welcome Home”.

I swear they did that on purpose.

Coming Home to the Rays - Rays Index

Here is another poem I’ve been tinkering with lately. It’s kinda random.

She’s the kinda girl rock stars dream about
Not for backstage fun or tour bus antics
But for subject matter material only reality can provide
She’s the drama queen of a small town tragic kingdom
Trapped by the high school bubble gum still stuck to her shoe
Two times a coincidence, three times a pattern
One day she will take 12 steps and find it doesn’t matter
Until then, she is a rock star’s muse

She’s the kind of woman rockstars dream about
Poets reminisce about
Consider writing about
Her life of celebration, remorse, and shame
Families weave in and out but she tries to remain the same
She builds a pillar to stand on above the fray
Rocks don’t reach her but leave her teamless
Left to build her own army, always on the defensive
A victim looking to win a game with no winners
No score, no rules
No contest
There is truth said behind her back
Observations that rise to the surface
Like mud rising above cream
Making juicy gossip pies
and rock star lyrics and poet’s words

(As for the picture, yes, that is a bungee cord dress.)

For months this blog has been quiet. I haven’t posted as much as I used to. There are a few reasons for this.

One, the internet connection at my base is garbage. They charge nearly 40 dollars a month for a 32kB download rate. For those scoring at home, that’s about as slow as the beep-boop-pshhhhhhh days of the old phone modems. It’s tough to download 2013 websites with a 2003 internet connection. So bringing up this website and attempting to write something every day or every week is a challenge in patience.

But the second, and much bigger reason I haven’t posted here much of late is because I have been hard at work with a much larger project.

My first solo fiction book.

I am happy to say the initial rough draft is done. And when I say it is rough, it is really rough. As a matter of fact, it is so rough I am still deliberating on one of three different titles.

(That’s ok, the way I see it, Return of the Jedi was Revenge of the Jedi until a year before release. And while filming, the movie’s code name was Blue Harvest. So that’s three names too.)

I can however tell you what the book is about. I don’t want to spoil it, but it’s about baseball, the blues, the devil, the crossroads, and a deal gone wrong. It has humor, sports action, and enough mojo to hopefully keep every reader interested. At least that’s the goal.

My plan now is to sit on this draft for a little while, at least until I get back to the states, then begin the editing process. There is of course a lot of work that needs to get done before I turn this draft of 120 pages and over 62,000 words of plot into a cohesive story. But such is the creative process.

I’m definitely excited.

It’s been a long while since I posted a poem. I wrote this a few months ago. I thought the visualization was interesting.

You call it egotism
I call it self-visualization
Driving to the next level
Never pulling in to one particular spot
I’ll find my place
Maybe where I feel like putting it in park
In the place I want to be
Doing the thing I want to do
and the life I want to live
Taking advantage of every opportunity
Best I can be
Being all I can be
Blazing trails for my generation off the shoulders of the past
And if that gimmick doesn’t work
I’ll try another
And if that means we run in different circles
Then I will see you back at square one

Here is an email I found that I wrote to several friends nine years ago today (March 18, 2004) in regards to the demise of my first pick-up truck, a white 1992 Mazda pick-up with an extended cab.

To those it may concern,

Alas it is with a very remorseful heart that I must pass on the news of the death of my pick-up truck. For more than four years I was with her, stood by her when times were hard, took care of her, and poured countless dollars into our relationship. But there comes a time when you have to take a step back and admit the commitment is not being recipricated. A tear streams down my eye even as I write this. We traveled many a road together, my truck and I.

From the beaches of South Florida to Michigan to Washington DC, through the southern roads of Mississippi.  She died on Tuesday, March 3rd in way a vehicle should pass – on the road. About one hour outside of Tallahassee on the way to Jacksonville in a small town called Madison. A one-horse burg with a sole mechanic to witness her passing.

But his was the offical word, I knew the moment I heard the sound in the engine it was the end. A broken rod in the engine was the assumed cause of death. 

In an attempt to move on with life I acquired a 1994 Ford Crown Victoria. Every time I crank it up easily, drive smoothly down the road, brake with ease, and accelerate with V-8 power I miss my old truck even more. Hopefully the person I ended selling her to takes care of her and gets her back on the road, where she belongs. Albeit without me.

Maybe it was meant to be this way.

One friend’s response:

You know, Mikey, this should be performed as a monolouge on Broadway with just you on a stool strumming an oh so fragile country ballad on a lonely guitar and a slide show featuring a veritable menagerie (did I spell that right) of memorable images of your old girl.

I weep just to imagine it………….

A Letter from Jordi to the Romans:

Hearst all thou who doth like to laugh. Director Sean Gerowin has callest us to viewest his latest vision. His latest tome for the people. A film for all the faithful flock.

Trailer Park Jesus is a film about Him. For He has risen. And with Him cometh a good times, paint, sparkles, beach weddings, and animated aquatic friends.

Our story begins with Jessie of New Orleans traveling along the highways and byways of the American South to reunite with the tribe of his homeland. Along the way, however, the prophet Jessie falls victim to the plight of auto malfunction. Malfunction caused in part by wayward peers engaged in misguided worship.

When Jessie is threatened by a Southern tribe member with an imposing visage, he turns to the comfort of Sara (without an “h”), proclaimed cousin of all and foe of a few. It is Sara, namesake of the Biblical wife of the prophet Abraham, and here friend of Jessie, who supports Jessie and helps him when he is most in need.

With the aid of a few other members of the Southern tribe, Jessie is promised assistance to a caravan back to his own homeland. In order to receive safe passage from the Southern tribe, however, Jessie must provide mental openness in the form of fish. And despite his warning for caution and the knowledge that too much fish can lead to tragedy, the Southern tribe bask in Jessie’s teachings, becoming true followers of the faith. For they are those who needed a spark and a prophet to enter their midst. Their’s had become a life of despair and Jessie’s teachings opened them to ideas and celebration they had only dreamed of. Or perhaps had once, but lost in the mire of their desperate surroundings.

Then, from the teachings of Jessie and the visions of the people, the Savior appeared.  A Savior who carries paradise and a wine cooler, who baptizes ultimate fighters and smokes cigarettes, and who is the only one who can truly lead the people of the Southern tribe from their meager surroundings to a life of glory, fame, and salvation.

Unfortunately for Jessie, however, as the people embrace the Savior and bask in their new-found teachings, Jessie realizes time is ticking on his ability for safe passage back to his own tribal homeland. Jessie struggles with the notion that the people do not want their new prophet to leave their tribe, especially Sara, his foremost supporter and the foundation of his ministry. Yet Jessie remains stalwart his plan to rejoin his own tribe and return to his homeland. For the ties to family and his homeland are stronger than those to his new flock, although the beautiful Sara does provide his last temptation.

He blessed them with Jessie and Jessie blessed them with fish. The Book tells us a fish dinner for the masses never runs out. Trailer Park Jesus provides the masses with laughs, odd situations, and even odder characters that likewise never run out.

This is a letter of Jordi to the Romans.

Quick synopsis:

Mix Cheech and Chong drug humor from south of the border with the Canadian background of Trailer Park Boys from north of the border, throw in some southern stereotypes and religious allegory, and you have Sean Gerowin’s latest, Trailer Park Jesus. From the two films of his that I have seen, Gerowin, a director from New Orleans, likes putting characters in crazy situations and forcing them to escape using their own wit and wisdom, especially when situations get vastly out of hand, often thanks to the misuse of some chemical enhancements.

Here, a young college student is forced to bargain his way out of rural Mississippi using only a sheet of LSD. When the LSD proves stronger than he imagined and the locals embrace the mind-altering drug, hilarious hijinks ensue.

Check it out: Trailer Park Jesus.

(Disclaimer: Sean sent me a promo screening and asked me to write a review. All opinions here are my own.)

Greetings all,

I have to apologize. It has been a while since I last wrote and provided you with an update. I was getting quite good at that.

Perhaps you are wondering why there is such a huge gap between my 75% complete update and my 83% percent update. How did 8% take so long?

Well, around January I put in for a 90-day extension. With the economy in the states the way it is, I figured what amounts to 45 more days in Afghanistan would not break me. I pass the all-important “tax-exempt day”, when a huge chunk of my pay out here becomes tax-free, and get a few more paychecks. So even though it meant not seeing friends and family, and not being home for baseball’s Opening Day, I came to the conclusion I’d stay for a bit longer.

On that note, however, my replacement is here already. They shipped him out before my extension was approved. So he is here and now I am staying for a bit. This works to our advantage, as he will be quite learned on how to do things by the time he assumes my job on his own.

Also, the long turnover means I should have no problem walking away. “Should” being the operative word. When you work on a job for 12 or more hours every day, you tend to get attached. After all, the job was my baby for the year. I have to understand that the job is soon not to be mine to care about. Although I am sure when I get back to the states, I will be fine, but in the time until, I have to work on the art of letting go.

I’ve learned a lot out here in the last few months. The officer I work for is a business major-type of thinker, so I’ve learned a lot about concepts of leadership, management, and supervision. We’ve also talked a lot about processes and process management, which I have had experience in before, but am able to really make it work out here. According to my boss, we run our shop more like a business than a military office, and I like that. We have the ability to think, create, and show out-of-the-box initiative. Something I haven’t been able to do in previous jobs in the states. Hopefully someday.

Outside of work, in the hour or two I have every night, I have been writing a lot. I am now on page 110 of my first novel. When I am not penning updates from the great beyond, I work on the novel a little bit every night. It is almost there. I hope to have the rough draft done before I leave, then pick it up a few months later to get a fresh perspective and editorial eye.

I am also trying to read more. I finished a book about warfare in the Star Wars universe (the closest I will get to reading about war while in a warzone). Now I am reading a true story about a baseball player who became a CIA spy after his career was over. Very interesting.

Now more than ever I am looking at what I am going to do when I get back to the states. With deep government budget cuts on the horizon, I have to seriously consider whether or not I have a future working for the government. I’ve saved quite a bit out here, and I would love to go back to school to train and network (the most important part) for a new career, but not sure if the money I saved is enough for both living and paying for school. Lately, I have been thinking about researching and going to a really good business school, not just one in Florida. Regardless, I have to apply and that takes more time. Hence the importance of finding a job to live on before I go back to school.

In a perfect world, I would like to work in my current field while working on an MBA. Then after that, go for the PhD in history and complete my work on the Kurdish military. I hate to say it, but I have delayed too much working on that plan out here. And bad internet connections don’t help. It is incredibly frustrating looking for a job when the internet connection out here is half of what the average connection is in the states. Another reason to get what I can as soon as I can and then plan more extensively when I get back to the states.

As far as a place to lay my head, unless I have a guaranteed job before I land stateside, I am thinking about looking on craigslist (if the internet gods agree) and contacting anyone in Tampa who needs a roommate. Because I have no idea where I will end up at this point, I can’t get tied down with a lease. As bad as living like a vagabond sounds, it’s a small step in the right direction. Unless of course a job comes through, then I will be headed to wherever that is.

I feel like I have written much of the above in previous updates. But that’s life in Afghanistan. Not much changes out here. Especially when work dominates the day as much as it does out here. But as I mentioned, that work is almost done.

And so wraps up the 83% update (or 5/6 for the factional folks). The next step is the 90% update. Then 99%.

Then home, wherever that may be.