My Big Fat Romanian Adventure Pt. 4

Operation Manchester

Manchester: n.; A verbal wager, most often accompanying a difficult task where an individual has proclaimed either they are perfectly capable of performing said task, or an individual is told that said task is impossible (and the individual or group of individuals is too stubborn to back down), that, if accepted, must either be accomplished or that individual is subject to a swift kick to the balls.

e.g.: “Hey! Gentlemen, you aren’t allowed to walk on that field.”
(aside) “Manchester.”

Thusly, a multinational, multi-agency, and multi-branch mass casualty exercise was coordinated for the express purpose of confirming that: Yes, we can, in fact, walk on that field.

Apart from that, I’m learning much in the way of the social interactions of the local strays.  They’re very territorial, unless the decide not to be.  They usually travel in power couples, and our particular power couple (Littlefoot – so named for a malformed foot, and Whitefang - …he’s a white dog, sorry, that’s all we’ve got) makes it a point not only to run off ANY dog that approaches the neutral zone, but any humans they don’t recognize. 

Littlefoot does, anyway.  Whitefang is the much abused husband that backs his wanting-to-see-manager wife.

Here’s a helpful google imagery map of the local dog territories:


1 – Fight Club: 3 asshole dog territory (that Whitefang occasionally stirs up trouble in to keep himself sharp).

2 – The Office: Whitefang and Littlefoot territory.

3 – The Edge of the World: There have been many documented sightings of multi-thousand strong murders of crows (always during twilight hours), shaggy brown dog, one very fast rabbit, dogs distantly related to Littlefoot, and Romanian Mig-23’s.  Between The Office and The Edge of the World, a neutral zone has been established that allowed the unchallenged passage of most non-native dogs (seriously, Littlefoot stops RIGHT at the pavement and barks).

4 – Stray Cat Manor: I have no idea, they congregate there.

5 – Roadie’s Playground: Solid black dog that loves to lay in the middle of the !@#*ing road.  Hence, Roadie.  His significant other has yet to be seen.

6 – Unnamed: Look, I’m not going to lie, this area is kinda terrifying.  It is patrolled by Scout (another possible relative of Littlefoot) and husband Fat Jack (and grimy and fat Jack Russel Terrier).  Every time I’ve gone through, Scout has led the way with Fat Jack bringing up the rear.

7 – Dusty’s Domain: There’s been speculation that Dusty is a mob boss in charge of the entire MK stray dog population, as his wanderings have taken him through every territory unmolested.  However, he seems to prefer guarding the gate to the airbase, attacking the tires of vehicles, running into traffic, and stopping in front of every car that goes through.  Also, he’s a bit of a rapist.

8 – Cat Country: With the exception of Dusty, no dog enters cat country.  I’ve seen Fat Jack chasing (or being led, now that I think about it) a cat at full tilt, only to completely stop and turn around at the border.  Part of me hopes that the cat was leading him into an ambush.

9 – The Wilds: From The Wilds, random animals come and go, sometimes never to be seen again. 

A - Espionage Proper, formerly Why the Fuck Would You Name This Icarus Park If It Isn’t A Park, formerly Icarus Park, formerly Holy Shit You Guys There’s Old Soviet Missiles Just Sitting In a Field (circa 2013): Apparently, it’s a scrap yard that’s counted as a sensitive area by Romanian intelligence, where the missiles, bombs, and discarded cockpit glass is sold to bidders (which I don’t believe because it’s been in the exact same place in the exact some configuration for at least 3 years now).  You may be asking, “How did you find that out?”  TLDR: Don’t take pictures of the bombs while dressed up as Deadpool.  They’ll charge you for espionage. 

**UPDATE**
- Littlefoot has taken up residence with Fat Jack within Cat Country.  She is definitely pregnant. 
- Dusty has not been seen in weeks and is presumed dead.
- We’re missing two kittens (Pink Nose and Black Nose) but Bitch Kitty is still around.

My Big Fat Romanian Adventure Pt. 3

Romania is a lot like Ke$ha.  It looks grimy from a distance, and you’re pretty certain if you touched it, it’d be sticky; when you get near it, though, it’s actually quite beautiful, there’s culture there, and art. 

Most of the time, at least.

This gives me both nightmares and daymares.

We finally had a weekend off where we were able to venture around Constanta (don’t ask about Bucharest, because fuck that place) and check out the Black Sea.  Having forgotten to bring my expensive camera, I was forced to use an iPhone camera, which, I’m not above admitting, works about the same.

The way in to the city was dominated with Soviet-era housing.  One of these buildings on its own was oppressive enough, but rows upon rows of them, with even larger structures housing hundreds of families, was terrifying for some reason. 

Eventually, we made it down to the beach.

The beach, I’ve heard, is topless in the summer.  In the winter, it’s the standard wind from the ocean cold.  Here’s a solid artsy shot of an actual rowboat that actual Romanians use to actually catch fish.  (there was a discarded beer bottle in the photo that we had to remove).

We hit a pier decorated in the latest of modern urban style.

Wub-a-lub-a-dub-dub! Am I right?

I still judge countries on their investment in infrastructure.  Roads suck?  Your country probably does, too.  However pretty this next shot at the end of the pier may be (and, it is), I had to remind myself that no one gave a shit about the condition of the non-touristy portion of the beach.  And, I reminded myself that by looking down and to the left, where someone had literally given a shit all over the pier.  Make no mistake, someone ate something undercooked, and we ALL paid for it.  Amongst the diapers, adult feces, beer bottles, and random trash, I’m pleased to say we only found one condom wrapper (significantly less pleased to report that we found the condom it once contained).

  Let’s pretend that all I saw was this lone sailboat instead.

Of interest, as we made our way off the beach, was this Romanian waterpark:

Made in the classic Fallout 4 theme.  Definitely contains ghouls.

If those were gas lamps, this would have been 9000 times cooler.

Further wandering took us through the town’s living area, where a lot of architecture was moored in Moorish design (you’re welcome).  Some of buildings standing have been there since the time of Vlad, with modern additions thrown on.  There was also an Escape House that advertised as one of the best in Europe (and which, I’m positive, if you didn’t escape, you were murdered and your kidneys were forfeit).

There were, of course, less than subtle hints that this city appreciated art.  While we started looking for somewhere to eat, we found this gem:

Not often you see a statue of Romulus and Remus.  No jokes here.  Legitimately cool.

As it turned out, this statue happened to be within walking distance of the local art museum (which was closed, our wanderings being outside normal business hours).

Just like Ke$ha; SHE IS A NATIONAL TREASURE.

If you’re wondering where we ate, we found a nice Greek place, located right next to a baklava shop (from which we purchased 1 kilo of baklava… and ate 1 kilo of baklava), located right next to a rub-and-tug erotic massage parlor.

Picture unrelated, I'm just a fan of Ke$ha.

-Son, for every one person that gets superpowers from a radioactive spider bite, there are 6 billion that just get cancer and die.

My Big Fat Romanian Adventure Pt. 2

1 November

Budapest

Left Budapest early this morning.  The impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the East.

Apologies to my crew for repeating that line many, many times over.  And, apologies to Gary Oldman for expecting to see his eyes in my windows.

Our crossover into Dracula territory was not to be long however, as our obligations lie elsewhere.  To the south, Marines needed us to provide entertainment and coverage of only the type we were capable. 

Throughout our journey from West to East, a singular thought remained:  Holy shit this aircraft is heavy.

The maximum gross weight of a Blackhawk is 22,000 pounds.  Accordingly, exceeding that weight causes all manner of problems for the structure (and more importantly, the transmission).  So, what does it take to get a few people, their bags, and enough gas to make it all the way to a castle bordering Maldova, Bulgaria and nestled in the heart of the Carpathians (…terrible, I’m sorry)?

About 22,000 pounds.

In keeping with the latest tradition of (aptly) naming our helicopters after Borderlands characters, it seems only right that 698 (the daughter of 697 – Mad Moxxi), an aircraft I’ve spent way too much time in, always has men crawling over and in her, and, as we’re out in Eastern Europe on our own, away from the family, a strong independent woman, I give you:

Loves cuddling, murder.

Ellie

-Absinthe is the aphrodisiac of the self. The green fairy who lives in the absinthe wants your soul. But you are safe with me.

My Big Fat Romanian Adventure Pt. 1

Halloween in Hungary

(Caveat: It's been some time since I've written, so you'll forgive my lack of usual wit and prose.  Much like a muscle - get your minds out of the gutter, dears - that will atrophy if left neglected, so does writing.  Bear with me for a few posts).

In the inviolable intelligence that is the Army communication process, I was notified, with what amounts to three days of lead time, that I was leaving from Germany to Romania.  For a total of two weeks.  What follows is the account of some of the more memorable moments of that three-hour tour.

Little did I… I mean, I guess I should have suspected, but I didn’t actually believe it’d come to pass, what was two weeks turned into two months.  However, I am not complaining (just want that out there for any interested party that happens to be reading this, can’t forget how much trouble I got in last time for posting something that amounted to an unfavorable opinion about the way things are).

We started out like this: 

I started in front, so I can’t take credit for this photo.  10 hours of flying across Europe?  No big deal.

What had never even crossed my mind, at all, ever, was the fact that I’d be in Hungary on Halloween.

This picture is in color, it's the country that's in black and white.

Papa, Hungary: A city of claustrophobia.

As dark as this place is, on Halloween, at midnight, we decided (for whatever reason) to wander through the streets of Werewolf Town right near Children of the Corn Farm and Why the Hell Are Your Tombstones Lit Up With Christmas Lights Cemetery. 

Plus this guy that just kept staring.

Despite Hungary’s best attempts to murder us (to say nothing of the Hungarian Army Barracks with bars on the windows – to prevent werewolf attacks, obviously – and the mattresses made of human hair, unknown creature blood, and the strangest racist scrawls pidgin English/Hungarian), we survived to make it Dracula Land.

Naturally (naturally being used in the context of expectation of continuance of odd shit), the first thing I saw sitting on the table in my new office was this gem:

I have nothing to add.

Anyway, these are my mornings now:

-I always knew she had the ability, to kill me.  It just never occurred to me that she’d actually try.

Trader is Finished

Not in a bad way, mind you, but Book 1 has been officially completed (with the notable exception of the cover art... still).  And, where the original was merely 75,320 words with generally poor editing (my own fault), the updated version is at 83,456.  All that's left is the updated copyright.. and the cover art.

Momentous in any case, thusly freeing me up (theoretically, because I still have to work and lift heavy things in my not-so free time) for the unholy combination of Ariana and M^6.  

As always, though, I do have some progress to report on that, so if you're interested, here's a bit of an update:

Monster List (apart from the implied adventures…so NOTEABLE monster list):

The first monster (duh)

The ghost girl (dead house, the dust unmoved, the guy’s daughter haunting the place, he’d heard about it from the kids at school – he was a teacher, we really need to screen our clients, apparently)

Bloody Mary (watching candles burn away into torches)

The spider lady (moving wall of glossy black with thousands of red dots picked out in a strangely closely spaced pattern, a victim, the spider analogy, the half spider woman behind me with a body like pitted iron, kissing my neck, the shock, collapsing while marlin fought it, watching the wall break into millions of spiders, starting to wrap me up)

My Monster (safety under the blankets)
            The monster that conferred the power of fire to my sister (I can’t have it, bonded to a soul, and we have the same soul, come out in a split second that felt like forever inside, make references to waking up while dying in Cerberus, but mostly just dead bodies and a very confused looking robed and hooded figure) 

Lily the Lideric

The Twins (incubus and succubus)

The predations of the unknown in the street following (Whatever you do, stay in the light and DO NOT CLOSE YOUR EYES)

The hunting shadow in the graveyard
            The Labyrinth

Teasers and whatnot.  Time for bed, expect more soon!

Check me out on twitter @CJonnyWrite

Update on Trader

Well, I've revised about 41,000 words so far, and the book is already 5,000 words longer than the first version.

I've posted all the new chapters (don't worry, still protected by copyright), and am rewriting the book description as well as the author bio.  Will post those as soon as they are complete.

What I need now are eyes.  All the eyes.  Any eyes.  Proofreading is going to take a while and I'm looking at a chapter at a time.  If you see a missed punctation, a tense disagreement, a misspelled word, or can suggest better syntax, let me know and I'll fix it (then add you in the acknowledgements section).

Also, very much in need of an artist for coverwork.  Willing to pay, message me.

That's all I've got.

I'll be out training with the Germans for the next week, but expect cool pictures and videos upon return.

-There have always been stories

About magic and fantasy 

I don’t know why.

The world is already pretty fucking strange.

Presenting: Tiny Tina

Tiny Tina and Mad Moxxi

Every aircraft has a personality.

Sure, there are checklists that spell out how to turn them on and shut them down, and from the factory they're all the same.  Over time, they get flown by different crews; each pilot with their own technique adding their own inputs that change the aircraft in minuscule ways.  The aircraft fly on different missions, through different weather, in different environments, receive different maintenance, different take-offs and landings.  And while two helicopters may spend their entire lifespan together, like people, they'll still share different experiences.

As time goes on, quirks develop.  You learn how to treat your aircraft so it flies just right for you, because you listen, you pay attention.  All those external stimuli accrete and 'it' becomes a 'she' or a 'he' and suddenly, it's got soul.

When something has a soul, it needs a name.

Right next to Mad Moxxi sits 701.  She's...different.  Quirky, is a good word.  Sometimes her electronics don't sequence right and we need to pull circuit breakers.  She was missing some hardware not too long ago, but that's all getting replaced.  When she's in a mood, she bounces all over the place.  She's a little broken.

Pictured: Special

But, she's quick, and dependable, and if you listen just right, her engines sound like they're so totally enthusiastic about bringing you along and cannot wait to show you ALL the things.

It was our Captain's turn to name an aircraft.  In keeping with the Borderlands theme (thankfully), he dutifully named 701: Tiny Tina.

I reminded everyone shortly thereafter that Roland was completely off the table.

-"How are you a person Lily?  Why are you a person?"

The airfield when you're dizzy at night.

Funniest Moments in German Travels Part 1

Found in a shop's window front:

Mannequin about to shank a bitch.

Found in a coffee shop bathroom:

Really, what an undignified phallus.

Found in Würzburg's Royal Square:

The famous 'Man uppercuts horse.'

Found not too far from that:

Dammit Karen, I've gotta-
Oooh, we gotta badass over here.

Stayed tuned for more hijinks. 

-After these brief messages we'll be riiiiight back.

Pictures from a regular day

Adam took these pictures for us.  I edited.  Wash looked good.  LT listened intensely.  Leek got everyone in and out safely.  All in all?  Good flight.  The last one is my favorite.

Wash posing for the camera.

Wash and CSM getting friendly.

And, this is my next tattoo (or very close to it):

DC Bombshells: Harley Quinn

Book Recommendations: Soulless

Remember this guy?

Among my many proclivities, I make no attempt to secret away my love for all things Victorian, and, by extension, all things Steam Punk.  If you aren't aware, Steam Punk is a sub-genre of fantasy that deals with steam power (obviously), the Industrial Age, Victorian England (generally, though its subset of the American Midwest circa mid to late 1800's and the rest of the world influenced by the Empire around the same timeframe is well established within the genre.  After all, the latest Sherlock Holmes very neatly describes the era, if you aren't familiar, and there are ... interesting ... references to New Jersey therein), certain aspects of fantasy such as magic and the supernatural, and rising technology.


In particular, the peculiar blend of technology and magic (not to mention the fashion.  Cravats and top hats and walking canes?  Fuck. Yes.) fascinate me to no end.  Sure, diesel punk is cool (same premise, shifted right a few decades and adjusted for inflation.  See Bioshock, and here, and Sucker Punch), but for mostly the same reasons.  Which, I suppose makes my love of Justina Robson's Quantum Gravity Bomb Series sensical; as, again, same premise, shifted right a century or two.  Cyber Punk, I believe?

But I'll get back to her books later.

As it is often the case, a book will catch my eye, I'll snag it, and it'll sit on the shelf for months before I remember I even had it (and then only because I see it at B&N and get that feeling of once lost familiarity).  So, I brought a handful of those shelved, unread tomes with me to Germany to read in my ever decreasing downtime.  Hence all the damn book reviews.

Here's one that caused instant regret for not have starting sooner.

Enter: Gail Carriger's Soulless (An Alexia Tarabotti Novel), Book 1 of the Parasol Protectorate, published by Orbit, Tuesday afternoon.

Oh, Ms. Tarabotti...

I finished Wednesday morning.  Honestly, would have been sooner had I not needed to actually work and participate in things.

Before my book report, I will say this: it feels like a mashup of the best parts of Pride and Prejudice (aggressively independent spinster), Outlander (gruff but noble scotsman), and every good urban fantasy I've ever read.  It has been one of those rare books (of the Jane Austen variety, if I'm being truthful here) that's stimulated my brain in such a manner as to cause me to think in words.  If you understand that feeling, you understand how grossly under appreciated that type of writing is.  I used laboriously in a conversation today.  Even her sentence structures are varied and complicated and wonderfully constructed.

It is extremely unfortunate that asking a writer to marry you through a personal blog is considered a faux pas.  (But, Ms. Carriger, if you are reading this...)

Alexia Tarabotti is a mid-twenties, aggressively independent, assertive spinster with tan skin and a large nose (most of which can be attributed to her Italian blood).  She also has a penchant for finding herself in perilously provocative situations, which may have something to do with the fact that she was born without a soul.

After accidentally murdering a vampire at a ball (where no comestibles were served; scandalous), for self defense reasons - honestly, what kind of rude vampire just attacks a lady? - Ms. Tarabotti is brought into close quarters with Lord Maccon, Earl of Woosely, Alpha werewolf of the local pack, Head of the Bureau of Unnatural Registry, and most assuredly not a gorgeous ruffian love interest that she finds herself not attracted to in any way.  Her persistence at finding a place of usefulness in the world will lead her to investigate the strange origins of the vampire that attacked her, the disappearances of both rove vampires and lone werewolves, and get thrown into an astonishing amount of danger.

I've never laughed so hard at such an honest (and, because it's me, nice) portrayal of an antagonistic relationship making that dangerously precipitous voyage from loathing to love.

That's all I'm giving you.  The rest is up to you.

-Nice: adj.  Characterized by, showing, or requiring great accuracy, precision, skill, tact, care, or delicacy. 

Beer

Let's just get this out of the way:

I FUCKING HATE BEER.

Seriously, it tastes like someone ran a half-marathon, then pissed in my mouth.  The aftertaste has just a hint of vomit (because I threw it up, because I fucking hate beer).

This marathon runner.

However, I will not begrudge anyone their beer, if beer is their thing.  Completely understandable, beer has a rich history!  I respect that.  It's a science, it's a culture, it's an art.  Here are some beer facts:

1 - Historians have found written evidence of beer consumption as far back as 5,000 BC.

2 - Straws exist because of beer!  Early beers were not filtered, and straws performed a filtering function.

3 - When beer made it to Egypt, it became so popular, new hieroglyphs were created.  Eventually, barely and yeast were added to Pharos tombs.

4 - In the Middle Ages, beer was safer than water, as the alcohol would kill off bacteria.

5 - Monks brewed beer for pilgrims and these breweries became the first taverns.

6 - In 1506, the Germans established the beer purity law stating that only water, malted barley, malted hops, malted wheat, and though never specifically laid out, yeast, were allowed in the creation of beer.  The Reinheitsgebot is still in effect today.

7 - Beer comes in many varieties.  Stouts, pale ales, lagers, and the list is always changing and updating.

8 - Beer also comes in many flavors.  As the popularity of craft beers grow, new flavors are introduced constantly.  Everything from Apple to Chocolate to Raspberry Wheat to White Grape.

9 - Beer will never not taste like runner piss to me.

And vomit.

Telling me, or others like me, that I just haven't found the right one isn't going to change my opinion (or my tastebuds).  Saying, "No, no no no, you really have to try this one, it's so good," doesn't make me want to try it any more, it only makes me hate you.

So, go!  Enjoy your beer!  Craft it!  Promote it!  Drink to your heart's content!

But stop trying to push it down our fucking throats unless we ask you to help us find a beer we would enjoy or, one day, we'll make you swallow the bottle.

Feel free to sacrifice me to the God of Agave, though.

-I used to find all of this amazing, I used to dream of being a spaceman.  Now?  Now it was expected.