I opened an online trading account with ScottTrade over a year ago. I'm sure I'm not the kind of business they like; I bought a couple of no-load indexed mutual funds and then went away.

I wanted to transfer some more money to them and buy more shares, and I found I couldn't remember where I'd written down my password. No worries, I'll use the "lost password" funtion. Because it's a financial site, they'll probably have to mail me a new one. That's what the TSP does- the TSP is the equivalent of a 401(k) for us federal employees.

But no. If you want to reset your ScottTrade online password, you have to go in person to one of their many conveniently located storefronts. Strangely enough, the closest one is about 5000 miles away.

Perhaps it's time I try out E-Trade. (My ScottTrade account can wait, as that's the whole point of being an inactive trader. See the "Efficient Markets Hypothesis".)

Posted by: Boviate at 04:28 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I'm at home right now, being lazy. And I feel terrible about it, because the other guys are still working. But my boss had a little talk with me, about why I need to delegate more and spend less time at work so people stop yelling at my boss for working me too hard.

The delegation thing is an issue, and it's caused friction in the shop. Two days ago Cpl Ose accused me of not caring about maintenance, because I generally assign maintenance tasks to someone else while I do the paperwork. Ose thought that I saw maintenance as "beneath me". Which was so unjust I was hurt. I like wrenching stuff. I enjoy troubleshooting gripes.

All the other guys in the shop are just as good at maintenance as I am, so they can solve those problems just as quickly as I can. But the other guys are terrible at paperwork; most can't write a designation letter even with an old version to copy from. When they're ordering flight gear, they have to keep asking me to help. So, I just do the paperwork part myself.

Which is more efficient (see "comparative advantage"), but means the other guys aren't getting any better at doing the paperwork themselves. So maybe I should let them do it and just try to be patient about it requiring twenty revisions.

Posted by: Boviate at 10:00 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Happy days are here again, I've got internet access.

Posted by: Boviate at 12:58 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I'm rolling back to civilian internet tomorrow. But it seems my roommate forgot to send in our ISP payment, so they suspended our service. I hope we can get that fixed up quickly, else I shall become irate.

Posted by: Boviate at 06:01 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Well, it's almost time to get off the boat. That is, most of my unit is leaving now, but I'll be onboard a few more days, for my sins.

But the shop computer is going ashore, so I'm afraid I will be incommunicado for a bit. Pity, that.

UPDATE: Ha! I kept the computer! That'll show those guys. They think they're so special, with their being on dry land and eating decent food and sleeping in comfortable beds and taking hot showers!

*sob*

Posted by: Boviate at 06:03 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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You gotta watch out for complacency, especially when it's getting close to the end of a float.

I was doing an inspection on the seatbelts in the pilot seat of a Cobra, so I was standing on a little boading skeg on the side of the fuselage, bent over inside the aircraft as I monkied with the inertia reel controls. That skeg is covered with non-skid, which is thick paint mixed with sand, to create a high-friction surface. But we've been on this MEU almost twice as long as standard procedure, and our aircraft are in terrible shape. So that non-skid was worn away.

Perhaps inevitably, my foot slipped off the nonskid, and I began a rapid plummet. It's four feet down to the ground, but I only slid about a foot before a projection at the bottom of my torso caught on the bottom sill of the cockpit hatch and brought me to an abrupt halt. The projection on the bottom of my torso to which I refer would be my testicles.

So I kind of rolled off the aircraft onto the deck and prayed for death for a few minutes, while the guy I was supervising on this inspection alternated between asking if I was OK and laughing hysterically. Eventually I recovered enough to painfully hobble over to the ammo bay doors and sit down for a while.

Aften the agony faded, I discovered that while falling, my right hand had been reflexivly scrabbling for a handhold, and my wrist dragged over something sharp. So I'd peeled off several square inches of skin on my wrist, and it was bleeding all over the place.

I went down to medical and got my wrist washed up and bandaged. I think I bruised my tendons, because grasping stuff hurts. No serious harm was done though.

The post title comes because when you're walking around with blood coming off your wrist, people start making assumptions. I'd just like to make it known here that I am quite well aware that the proper procedure is "Down the street, not across the road." Thank you.

And if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get two icepacks, one for my arm and one for my crotch.

Posted by: Boviate at 09:43 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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It's a three day libo port. Here it is in the afternoon of Day Three, and I only left the ship on the first day.

The second day, I slept fourteen hours and then surfed the internet. Today, I slept for twelve hours and then surfed the internet. Two data points is plenty to construct a curve.

I just talked to my Gunny, who with his additional rank was able to stay out in a hotel for the last two nights. It's his first time in the Philippines. He said, and I quote, "This place is a hole!"

I was planning on buying a present here for someone(s), from some street vendor. But I just can't steel myself for it. I'd spend a half hour shopping, but the rest of the mandatory liberty fire team would spend six hours drinking and wenching. So amazon.com it is.

Posted by: Boviate at 01:55 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Well, that wasn't as unpleasant as I expected.

The previous times I've been on libo, I went out with the rest of the shop. This time that wasn't doable, for reasons I'll explain in a later post. So I went with three cats from Ordnance.

Flight E generally works closely with the Ordies, because, well, we're the two shops that deal with things that go boom. We both have explosive transport permits, ordnance handling certs, all that jazz. So I've helped them out dozens of times when they're shorthanded, and they get us back sometimes too. I can load a 2.75" Folding Fin Aerial Rocket with the best of them, I tell you what! We also are the only two shops whose personnel move between different aircraft types. An airframer (for instance) can only transfer between the seven different CH-46 squadrons in the Corps. Flight E and Ordies, we can move to any squadron with any aircraft in the Corps, and also to intermediate maintenance, where you don't touch aircraft at all. So what I'm saying is, the two shops have a lot in common.

A difference is though, that the Ordies are a lot more let-it-all-hang-out. In Flight E we are keenly aware that our gear will get one chance to work, period, and if it fails, then someone is going to die, period. So we take things very seriously, and get a reputation as pain-in-the-ass sticklers.

Ordies, on the other hand: there's 19 rockets in a pod, so if one's a dud, big deal! If a gun jams during target practice and the fliers bring back a half-full ammo can, the ordies are required to count every bullet. So they straight up tell the crew chiefs to throw leftovers into the ocean, and then claim with a straight face that the gun jammed on the very last round.

So I went out with Ordies. I stand behind what I said about Subic being a hellhole. They agreed. So they talked me into the obvious solution- leave Subic. We grouped with another libo fire team, and paid a taxi driver to take the eight of us over to a resort on the far side of the bay, where you can't even see our ships. It was a 40 minute drive over the mountain, then we sat in a cabana on the beach and they drank lots of fruity alcoholic beverages. I was designated non-drinker for my fire team, but they convinced me that, as long as we were willfully and fragrantly violating a punative order (the libo order) I may as well have a drink too. It being the tropics, I had about half of a gin and tonic.

In their cups, a few of them told me about my reputation in the unit, which was flattering. Remember what I said about Flight E being sticklers? I've had to tell off a couple of officers when they wanted me to do some maintenance that I thought was shady. I'm keenly aware that as an enlisted refusing a direct order (even though I have a superceding order), I'm in a rough spot, so I try to keep it private and low-key. But I guess word got out anyway. And because I kept it private, the dialog was kind of "punched up" via the rumor mill. For the record, I do not ever recall telling an officer "Go away. When you realize I'm right, come back and talk to me again." Although I must confess it does sound like something I'd say if I was sufficiently annoyed.

So anyway, we had a great time at the beach, where there were no other Marines (because it was off-limits, of course.) One of our guys had been night crew and was passing out, and I'm feeling a little queasy from some iffy food I had for dinner, so we made an early night of it. (We could be out for three more hours.) Still, tomorrow we'll probably go out again, and we're going shopping, probably out-of-bounds again. How quickly I become corrupted.

Also, these guys had a good way to deflect the attention of the ladies of the evening that would accost us from time to time. We'd offer them Cpl K_, who's a fresh-faced farm boy, blond, and blushed every time. "Nine hundred pesos ladies, and he'll do let you do anything to him!" That usually confused them enought that they backed off. One lady with better English skills than most thought this was funny enough to play along, and laughingly asked detailed questions about his skills. We elaborated extensivly on his dexterity, virility, creativity, utility, and gentility. During this discourse Cpl K_ turned so red I was afraid he'd pass out because all the blood that should be in his brain had ended up in his face.

I should cheer up, and remember that even in a third-world bar district, one can have good times.

Posted by: Boviate at 07:40 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Subic. Shit. I'm still only in Subic. Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in the jungle.

Three days of liberty in a nasty third-world hell hole. There's nothing here but hookers and beggars and cheap beer. I guess I'll go out on libo anyway, just to stretch my legs. But if you transplanted the best restraunt in town back to Okinawa, I'd warn people to avoid it.

Plus I got a nasty sunburn from running on the flight deck earlier, which has put me in a foul mood.

Posted by: Boviate at 04:16 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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