The Sun Hates Us

Of course, that's to be expected - we're submariners.

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received as a nub, other than “don’t piss off A-gang”, was to always bring sunscreen on patrol. Unlike the warning about A-gang, it didn’t make a lot of sense at the time (due to the lack of windows and whatnot), but it paid off the very first time we pulled in to Pearl and I didn’t fry my ass off like the other guys up in the sail. Several weeks underwater leaves you less than prepared to deal with those harmful UV rays; even more so if you live somewhere that the tanning season is a week in August when it’s not raining.

But, in this case, there’s another Sun that hates us, and this one I can at least unsubscribe to. Yes, I’m talking about our local “paper” (quotes most definitely intended, as their journalistic ability is roughly the same as the “fact of the day” the yeoman adds to the bottom of our POD); let me tell you what it’s like dealing with them.

The Sun is pretty much the only local paper here, and I’ll be honest when I say their online site isn’t too bad. It’s free, and the comments (especially in the 911 section) are especially amusing. Of course, the comments also occasionally add new info to the story, with lots of “I know this person and they would NEVER…”-type insight, some of which occasionally finds their way back into the original story. Sort of like a lazy reporter’s tip line. But I don’t begrudge them this, or when they basically just re-word info they’ve received from other news sources (mistakes and all) with MOTO skills that put us all to shame. It’s tough to get by with few subscribers and a community college degree in journalism.

What I really don’t like is their anti-military slant. It’s so blatant that I’m surprised they set up shop in our town, which exists almost solely because of the military. I’m even more surprised they continue to survive; no one I know subscribes.

You see, if some local punk gets in trouble, they basically report it as “A 19 year-old man was caught…”. They may also include what town the kid is from, but they more-or-less stick to the facts. If, on the other hand, the person involved was in the military, the headline will most certainly include “A 19 year-old Sailor was caught… “ or “Sailor on the USS Bonejob was caught…” (if they can somehow find out what boat he’s on via Facebook). Even though the person’s job usually has as much to do with the story as their hair color, it’s going to be in the headline.

There are two basic reasons for this. The first is that the story probably reflects poorly on the service, and that gives their staff a warm little chubby. The second is that it helps sell papers; a story about someone else you might know, or who is at least in the same line of work as you, is going to be more interesting. If I do happen to know the actual story (sometimes you do; I’ve got a few phone calls in the middle of the night about my guys in the past), I inevitably cringe the next day at how far off the Sun is from what really happened.

We've tried calling them on their bias, in the comments section, and with editorials. The Sun initially responded that they think military folks should be held to a higher standard, which is why they were being singled out. But you can look at this both ways: if you’re willing to literally lay down your life for your country, perhaps the community you protect should be willing to cut you some slack over the little things. Not at the Sun, however – if you screw up even a little, and they find out you’re in the military, you’re a headline.

More recently, the kind folks over at the Sun have changed their story (pardon the pun); they now claim that they include the fact someone is in the military as a way of letting the rest of us know what town they’re from. It’s true; some Sun articles about the locals will include this info (“A 19 year old Bumfuck man was caught…”), but most of the time they rightfully skip it as its irrelevant. If they really, REALLY needed to get that info out for some reason, why not just list where the sailor lives in the same way? Most of us live out in the town.

I’m not real crazy about them trumpeting the mistakes sailors make just to sell a paper. It’s not like a few months in the Navy is going to make a 19 year old kid much more mature than his local counterparts, and 19 year old kids do dumb things from time to time. Playing up the military angle every time they do just shows us how biased they are over at Sun Central, and may explain why they’ve taken to giving away free copies outside the mall in a desperate attempt to attract readers.

I believe the Sun staff should accept the same challenge and hold themselves to this “higher standard”; everyone from the editors on down to the delivery folks. Given how that last group drives when they’re in my neighborhood, I imagine the “traffic beat” section of the paper would at least double.

My Buddy John

One of the most demoralizing, yet ever-so-typical things I was forced to do as a nub was clean the officers' head. Nothing clues you in to the fact that two years of training doesn't mean jack like having savor someone else's stink while you polish a shitter. Yeah, I know, -someone- has to do it, and that someone's usually a nub... but when I was that nub, I vowed revenge.

And it's not like the officers on my first boat were any more clean than us blueshirt scum - their head was actually kinda nasty compared to ours, even back when you could smoke in the head. That's probably because we cleaned up after ourselves when we were done using it, whereas the zeroes didn't.

Anyhow, payback was actually pretty easy; I just stuck an empty poopy suit in the stall after I got done cleaning it, along with an old pair of topsiders I found in berthing. You see, I'd heard one of the JO's whining in the Weirdroom that the crapper was occupied, and realized that they would rather go somewhere else (or hold it) than say anything. Even if the stall was occupied all watch, none of them were going to investigate further.

I shoved a few rolls of TP down the legs, and voila! One occupied shitter. The JO's tended to just use the small head down by AMR if theirs was busy, and apparently none of them had the sack to knock on the stall door and find out what was taking so long.

And they HATED using sharing a head with us. Not as much as sharing 9-man, but close.

I thought it might work for a few hours or so, but no one caught on for about two days. What finally happened was "John" (as we affectionately dubbed him) fell apart when we came up to PD in sea state 3. Even then I'm guessing the zero that found the mess wasn't exactly sure what was going on - everything was bouncing around, so it may have looked like someone just left their clothes in the head, and some TP fell out of the rack. But pretty much all the blueshirts knew by then what was going on, so half of the time the head by AMR was secured for some reason or another. I'm guessing one or two JO's ended up pissing in a funnel back aft, just like the rest of us.

Laundry Day

I'm stuck here doing laundry today, and it occurs to me that about the only useful thing I learned in boot camp (aside from how to tell if a girl has VD) was the ability to professionally fold any piece of clothing. I still remember how to fold all my stuff the way they trained us in Orlando, even the gloves. The fact they'd cycle you until you pissed blood if you screwed up has nothing to do with it.

Speaking of laundry, one of the biggest wastes of time I recall from when I was in the pipeline was trying to get my laundry done. Living in the barracks, with no money and no car, you were pretty much obligated to compete with several hundred other squids for the use of 30 washers and dryers in the one dingy laundry room they thoughtfully provided.

The first time I showed up to do my wash was on a weekend afternoon. I couldn't even get in the door, the place was so packed. One squid, and this is completely true, actually offered to sell me his place in line. No freakin' way. Being a nuke, I was sure I could beat the system.

My first idea was just to buy new clothes whenever I ran out, but this only put off the inevitable. For one, there's only so many pairs of tighty-whities you can stuff in a stand-up locker (as a student, absolutely NOTHING could be left out in your room during the day - it would either get stolen, or cause you to fail one of the many daily barracks inspections), and for another, it cost too much. Along the same lines, I tried having the exchange dry cleaning shop do my laundry for me, but that was so pricey I still have a few sets of whites there I don't the money to reclaim.

Doing laundry took up an entire day, which was usually the one day I had off. Remember, it's not *just* a job.

This went on for about two months, until I caught a break. One night we got back to the barracks early (~0200 - early for us, anyhow) and happened to stagger by the laundry. The place was deserted! There was only one weird little geeky dude in there, and even he was almost done. This was the solution: do your laundry in the middle of the night, and you could wash everything all at once. Sure, giving up a night off sucked, but not any worse than the B.S. "security watch" they made us stand from time to time.

(One small aside - the geeky dude wasn't actually doing his own laundry; he was this twidget who was trying to earn enough money to buy a new computer or something by washing other peoples' stuff. Or, at least that's what he said... a lot of the laundry he was folding up looked suspiciously feminine, which begged a lot of questions no one wanted to ask back then).

Anyhow, that system worked for most of A-school, at least until too many other people figured out what we were up to. By the time we graduated, it was busier at night than during the day. I had to come up with something better.

Inspiration struck when we were "smurfing", that pointless exercise in slave labor you got to enjoy between the end of A-school and the start of Power School. There were so many pet projects going on back then that they actually delayed us from classing up one class to ensure they had enough bodies. I worked on several details; a few were kinda okay (like running the video arcade room for a week), some were sort of demoralizing (like being the guy who went around dropping off newspapers in the morning all over the base, on foot), and some just plain sucky (i.e., the galley). But one of the last jobs I had as a smurf was cleaning up the laundry room.

This was a thankless job, since no one was going to close it down long enough for you to clean it up. Even in the middle of the day, when you'd think every one would have been in class, the place was busy. It usually took a few hours just to sweep the floor. But, in the end, it turned out to be quite good deal in disguise.

You see, there were a lot of broken machines in the laundry room, and the chief in charge of the barracks had absolutely no interest in getting them fixed; as long as one washer and one dryer were still working, he could officially report the laundry was open for business. I wasn't looking for new work myself (see how that esprit de corps actually works, boys and girls?), but I was somewhat curious if my 3.2 grasp of all things electrical was sufficient to actually fix anything. One afternoon, having completed all my usual smurfy crap, I took one of the OOC dryers apart with my dig'it tool.

And, to everyone's surprise (including my own) I actually was able to fix it using the schematic glued to the inside of the controller. It was a simple fix, sure (a wire had fallen off the start switch), but it made me thirsty for more. I wasn't quite as lucky with some of the others, but by cannibalizing some machines I got others working, and actually felt some small measure of job satisfaction. Since the chief I worked for didn't care if the machines were broken, he cared even less when I fixed one. It wasn't exactly stimulating, but it made the day go by faster.

It also got me thinking: I had plenty of time to do laundry now, while I was smurfing. But I knew getting up in the middle of the night to wash my clothes would suck hairy goat balls once I got to power school, and it would be worth my while if I could come up with a way to 'reserve' a machine or two for my own personal use by then. I eventually did, and it only cost me a few bucks at the local Radio Hack.

When I fixed the last washer and dryer, I added a special feature: I put a magnetic reed switch inline with the start button. I glued it back behind a wire bundle, where even another electrician would have missed it. The reed switch interrupted the signal from the start button until you closed it with a magnet, so the machine remained OOC until I "fixed" it by sticking a magnet on the back of the controller when no one was looking.

You'd think something so obvious would have been eventually have been found and repaired, but then you'd be underestimating how little the "staff" cared about such things in Orlando. With just a little discretion, I had a washer and dryer all to myself throughout power school, and even made $100 when I turned over my secret to an MM right before I left for Idaho.

I can't say I wasn't tempted to perform the same modifications when I got to Pearl, but luckily I wasn't in the barracks long enough to need to. The moral of the story: a bored nuke is a dangerous thing, and nothing's more boring than doing laundry in the middle of the night.

More fun with YouTube

This one is a music video (updated link - it was originally set to Metallica's All Nightmare Long, but youtube made us change it):

-> CLICKY <-

All of this has happened before...

...and it will happen again:

--> CLICKY <--

The New NEW Pay System

So I'm sitting around this morning, thinking about what a fuck-tard my division officer is. The fact that it's Saturday and my whole division is here with me might give you some clue why I'm thinking this. With this zero, we got the worst-case scenario: no experience and a god complex someone instilled in him in OCS. We haven't seen him in a few hours, which must mean the Eng is getting a particularly thorough hummer in the fan room.

But I digress.

I'm a firm believer that it’s not whining if you point out a problem AND propose one or more plausible solutions. With this in mind, I propose the following solution to the Ensign Issue:

Problem: The aristocratic tendencies among Navy brass led to a system whereby a four year degree somehow makes some sailors better leaders than others, thus deserving obsequiousness from their underlings. This is a severely outdated concept, as demonstrated by the fact that I have an EE degree, whereas my supposed better has one in oceanography. In fact, out of 14 people in my division, 8 of them have at least an AS. Furthermore, I can honestly state by direct observation that his deeper insight into how sea snails reproduce is of limited leadership value in the real world.

Solution: Eliminate the shortcut to leadership. Make everyone start off on the bottom (ala Starship Troopers – the book, not the movies) and advance through hard work. Here is my proposed rank structure; we can come up with better titles for them later:

1. Seaman Recruit. This is where everyone starts off on day one in boot camp. You remain an SR for exactly one year. At the end of the year, you either get promoted or you get shown the door. Consider this the “probationary” period, where it’s fairly easy to get rid of whiners and non-hackers.

2. Seaman. This rank forms the core labor force for the Navy, so there’s a lot of them. You can remain a seaman for as long as you want, but there’s a minimum time-in-rate of one year. During your period as a seaman, it’s expected you will complete your basic quals. After you make seaman, you can remain in the Navy until the 25 year point if you choose to.

3. Petty Officer. This is the lowest leadership rank, usually with 3 to 6 seaman working for them. Advancement from here on out is based on one composite score, based on evals, PRT scores, written test scores, etc. that’s in competition with all the other people going up for the same promotion. The idea is that no one area can make or break your chances for advancement. There is also mandatory leadership and technical training required once selected for advancement; the higher the rank, the more intense the training.

4. Senior Petty Officer. The senior petty officer is the basic LPO rank. The SPO has typically been in the Navy 5 or more years and is in charge of 3 – 4 petty officers and their teams. The SPO may be running a smaller division or may be one of a group of SPOs in a larger one.

5. Chief Petty Officer. In addition to the usual advancement requirements, the CPO must also have a two-year degree or equivalent in some discipline related to their rate. That means Ice Sculpture 101 is fine for cooks, but N/A for twidgets. A CPO may be running a large division, or may be acting as the department’s LCPO / DO. A CPO has been in the Navy about 8-10 years by now.

6. Lieutenant. Lt.’s typically act as department heads. There’s no need for the DO role, since the CPOs cover that.

7. Commander. Commanders are typically COs of smaller commands and may be department heads or XOs in larger ones. In addition to the other requirements, commanders must have completed a four year degree and advanced leadership / management training to be considered for promotion. Commanders have typically been in the navy for around 14 - 16 years by this point.

8. Captain. Captains are typically COs or XOs of larger commands. Most captains have been in around 20 years by now, and won’t get any higher. Only a select few move on to commodore. Retirement becomes mandatory after 25 years of service unless selected for advancement.

9. Commodores. Commodores are typically squadron COs, with authority over several commands. There are about 20 to 30 of them, total, and competition is fierce for any open billets. Commodores can remain in service up to 35 years, assuming they continue to meet all requirements.

10. Admiral. There are only a few admirals, and they are typically in charge of fleet-sized commands. Each admiral probably has around 5 commodores working for them. The typical admiral has at least 25 – 30 years in, and can remain in service for as long as they’re able to meet the requirements (especially the PRT).

That’s it – 10 total ranks, from seaman to admiral. Since all the schools (including college) are 100% paid for by the Navy, there’s no reason why you can’t fulfill your maximum potential if you apply yourself. With no “promote or die” requirements until your 25 year point, there’s also no incentive to promote people beyond their capabilities just to keep them around.

One additional thing – we do away with the terms “officer” and “enlisted”, since everyone is enlisted. Each rank can get it’s own mess and head, if there’s room, but we do away with saluting except as part of formal ceremonies. I think we’re going to have to keep calling people who outrank us “sir” and “ma’am”, but no more aristocratic BS like personal drivers or chefs.

Of course, there are probably problems with this system I haven’t foreseen; this is just what I think, and who the hell am I?

"The ship will be firing water slugs"

I went to my first boat in the fall of ‘73 fresh out of prototype and without the benefit of sub-school). Not long after I experienced life under the waves for the first time. In addition to the fact that this was my first trip the following made it memorable.

A couple days into the trip I was awaken by a message over the MC … “THE SHIP WILL BE FIRING WATER SLUGS”. Half asleep I wondered “Water slug. What’s a water slug?”

The next thing I hear is “WOOSH, POP, BANG” before I sat straight up in my rack … at least I tried to sit up. I got the bunk light across the forehead. I didn’t even have to explain what happened when I went to the “nurse”. He just shook his head and told me to sleep on my side.

TMI-2

Just a quick reminder: next Saturday (March 28th) marks the 30th anniversary of the destruction of the TMI-2 plant. People often say the lesson learned is "believe your indications", but the real problem was that they DID believe their indications (e.g, the plant is going solid due to the fill system, the PORV is shut because it indicates shut, etc.). I say actual the lessons learned were:

(1) Bad shit always happens on the midwatch.

(2) Mechanics will screw you.

(3) You can't fix a bad design with more training.

"PAPER CLIP"

On my first boat, that was an acronym for People Against People Ever Re-enlisting - Civilian Life Is Preferred. We had other anti-retention organizations as well, like "HORMONAL". I'd like to say that it was like an 80's "us-verses-the-lifers" comedy, but really it was just organized whining. The lifers had all the power, so the lifers won most of the battles. In fact, the only time we won anything of consequence was when we played the game their way (using a procedure or a regulation to our benefit, for example).

There was a lot of anti-command sentiment floating around back then - half because it was fashionable and half because it was self-perpetuating. Personally, I showed up ready to go, only to find out a pro-Navy attitude closed a *lot* of doors and made being a NUB suck twice as hard. I quickly switched sides. The Navy itself recognized this problem early on; I remember seeing a training movie during some leadership class that addressed this very issue. But, oddly enough, they never did anything to fix it.

But what surprises me, twenty years later, is that all the dedicated "lifers" I knew seem to have done their time and vanished, whereas all the so-called "cancerous cells" are still trying to relive the glory days. Every time I join a new social web site, like Military.com or Facebook, the only members to be found in the boat groups are the paper clip gang. It seems sort of hypocritical to me, but not in any specific way. Maybe the lifers don't bother seeking out such sites because the got whatever they needed while they were in and can now let it go.

Or maybe the lifers just didn't make any friends worth connecting with.

People tend to equate morality with religion, even if they have personal doubts about the whole validity of religion themselves. In the same way, people in the Navy seem to equate being good at your job with being a lifer. The two are not synonymous, but you wouldn't know it the way that good deals, awards, and promotions seem to be handed out. On the other hand, WTF do I know?

Another Dumbass Sub Movie

This one's pretty bad: "Depth Charge", on Spike TV. It popped up on my TiVo last weekend, so I gave it a try tonight. What a hacker! Someone tried to cross-breed Under Siege with Crimson Tide, possibly without bothering to see either of those movies first.

The basic plot is that the XO goes insane (or more insane, anyhow; they're not exactly stable to begin with), and helps a team of terrorists hijack the boat so they can blackmail the world's leaders with nuclear annihilation. Of course, some of the original crew manage to stow away and periodically pop up to thwart their evil plans. On top of all this BS, the "Ohio-class stealth prototype" has some sort of Red October-esque stealth system, making it impossible to track. Yes, they managed to reach a depth of turdness not seen on TV since the Star Wars Xmas Special of '78.

However bad the movie was, I am yet again forced to conclude that an actual submariner was involved at some point, as there were a few inside jokes. For example, towards the start of the movie, we see the Doc climbing into a rack he has rigged up on top of some shelves in dry stores, with the explicitly stated goal of remaining asleep until they're back in port. While I can't imagine a corpsman exerting that much effort, even to remain hidden, they got the general motivation which drives "Doc" 100% correct.

Had there been even a little T&A, I might have watched the whole thing (pardon the pun). As it was, I made it about one half way through. When I found I had unconsciously grabbed a pencil for the explicit purpose of stabbing my own eyes out, I shut it off.