Well, looks like it's that time again folks... Time for me to take off to an exotic and exciting country to do something wonderful and tell you all how horrible it is.
The current delicious meal on my plate is the Norwegian military. Some of you may remember my experiences with the Norwegian school system, and their fantastic student loan setup. Well, in order for me to take advantage of all that, I had to be listed as a Norwegian citizen with a home address in Norway.
Well, it just so turns out that Norway requires a year of compulsory military service from all male citizens living in Norway aged 18 and over.
I'm aged 18 and over, I'm a citizen, and so far as the Norwegian government knows I'm living in the country. Three for three!
I was volunteered for the signup time in January, which means I'm going to be enlisted into the army in the middle of winter. Also, because I'm headed for the Communications Battalion, I'm going to a lovely little spot that's jammed so far north in Norway that nobody else wanted it, so the military took it.
Yessir, I'm going to the cold part of a cold country in the cold time of the year. My 6'2" 157lb frame is practically shivering with excitement!
Since I'm going to be headed into Norway around that time anyways, I figured I might take Hatman up on his offer of spending New Year's Eve in proper Viking style. Namely, completely plastered and trying to remember where you are.
However, the only reasonable flight I could take around this time was one that leaves at 8:00AM Christmas morning and will drop me off in Norway sometime on the 26th. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm dreaming of a High Christmas (not like the ones we used to blow).
Horrible jokes aside, I'm going to be spending Christmas Eve packing bags instead of opening them. And, in the spirit of the season, my body decided that this would of course be the perfect time to catch some free-flying virus to get down and party with. I've kicked most of it, but the wee bastard is probably going to still have its aftershock claws in me for the many-hour flight(s) I'll be taking very early in the morning. Joyous times indeed.
It's been a while since I've had anything to blog about, and I figured that service in the Norwegian armed forces would probably be about as good an opportunity as I could hope for, with lots of secret maneuvers to describe in detail and hidden bases I can upload pictures of. However, I will most likely not be allowed a personal computer for the first several weeks of duty, so this thing is going to die for a little while just when it's time to get interesting.
While I've never really been able to picture myself in a military position, I've been showered with great quantities of love and support from friends, relatives, friends of relatives, and people whose names and/or connections I can never remember. Everyone says that it will be a wonderful experience for me, that I'll love it wholeheartedly, that it suits my personality (?!), and that I'll make lots and lots of dear friends.
They also express their deep concern over 'The Hair'.
(http://i34.tinypic.com/34pj9zr.jpg)
As it turns out, the Norwegian military actually has a few brains stockpiled in strategic locations, so they had the sense to use the same hair length/style restrictions for males as for females. Which means I get to keep The Hair, so long as I keep it tidy and under control. Hopefully, this isn't just some sneaky recruiting tactic and I will indeed be allowed to save the many years of work that went into growing this thing (it's exhausting to let hair grow naturally).
For those of you who might be wondering, the answer is no; I will not be fighting in any wars. Considering that there really aren't that many people who even know that Norway is a country, most of the warlike types have been busy throwing rocks at closer and warmer neighbors. The only people who will ever see real action are those who volunteer to join the NATO peacekeeping forces.
Cozy as it is in Afghanistan, I'd rather be safe than warm.
Well, that's pretty much it for now, just figured I'd get this thing set up now so I'd know where to go when I start actually writing. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to come at me with them. I'm well-versed in the art of defending myself from hurled text. Bananas, however, are to be kept at a safe distance until after I've completed boot camp and have learned how to combat them (obscure reference, go!).
Okay, let's look at the hair/timeline here...
(http://i56.tinypic.com/3308kr4.jpg)
(http://i53.tinypic.com/2qmj9ki.jpg)
(http://i55.tinypic.com/flk0ow.jpg)
(http://i53.tinypic.com/w8qru8.jpg)
(http://i51.tinypic.com/2iw0u4x.jpg)
...yeah. Thursday, last day before leave, and it's a quiet night. People are packing, planning, or just sitting around and taking things easy.
One chap decides he needs a spring cut for Easter vacation, and requests the help of one of his roommates to "just take a little off the sides".
The gentleman with the electric clipper, however, gets overly excited and takes a little too much off the sides. Now left with a rather disturbing mess of hair, everyone decides it's best to just take everything off and then shave what's left with a razor.
A few minutes after this, I walk into the room on one of my nightly wanderings. What follows is a surge of team spirit and/or peer pressure, along with an increasingly large number of tourists coming to the room to check out the rapidly growing number of skinheads. Having never experienced so close a shave on the top part of my head before, I figured it would be a truly brilliant idea to volunteer myself for the electric (razor) chair.
So, here I am... Springtime in Norway, and the tallest hair on my head hasn't quite reached a millimeter yet. An interesting side effect of this is that my head now sticks to EVERYTHING. Taking my shirt off is now far more difficult than it should be, and I can attach washcloths and scarves to my pallid dome for later use. I also find myself bumping into windows, beds, doorframes, and all manner of other objects that my cranial antenna array used to alert me to.
Responses to the cut have been remarkably positive for the most part. True, there was an enlisted soldier who asked us what the bloody hell we were thinking, but the platoon (apparently this is the so-called 'correct' translation of the term) came back with everything from...
"You know, I think it actually looks good on you"
...to...
"You're definitely much cooler now"
...
...
Moving on.
There's a third option as well, you know...
(http://i53.tinypic.com/1h2jk5.jpg)
Not to mention my usual "good little soldier" when I've got a touch of hair on my head, but y'ain't gonna see none of that until I actually find a decent picture where that's depicted.
Well, last night of civilization... I head back to Stuffed-Arse in Lower Nowheresville (also known as Bardufoss) tomorrow morning, enough to get in plenty of delightful reunion time with all the lovely people I've grown to know and love over the course of this half-year.
One little side-story I forgot to mention... After stepping off the boat for the last time, I took a nine-hour bus trip back to my granddad's. This was a fantastic trip, I can assure you. Luckily, my nose was completely stuffed for the entire trip, so there was no chance of picking up the various aromas.
After a couple stops, I wound up sitting next to a fidgety young lad who spent most of his time looking over his shoulder and twiddling his thumbs. He remained completely silent for the first half of our trip together, but after one thirty-minute rest stop all that changed...
I came back after stretching my legs and buying a comic book, and sat back down in the same seat. Fifteen seconds later came the question.
"What do all those marks mean?"
This is a question I've gotten a few times, in regards to the shoulder patches and other paraphernalia that's velcroed or jabbed onto my uniform.
I went through the standard procedure, showing off my battalion patch, my brigade patch, my company stripe and the little shiny dingle-dangles I get on my fancy uniform.
He nodded and gave contented mewing sounds to my answers, listening intently. When I was finished, he pointed and asked.
"And that? Is that where you're stationed?"
"...That's my name."
Fast forward through a bit of explanation, and we somehow managed to arrive at him reciting the names of all twelve titles in the Command & Conquer series. For my benefit.
Plus the offside PS3 title.
I wait through it graciously, nod a polite thanks, and then bury myself pointedly in my newly purchased literature.
...this sign of ended conversation is completely and utterly lost on the fellow, who then begins grilling me about what it's like in the military. This of course starts with "It's not like playing Call of Duty or such, is it?"
I laugh and shake my head at his little attempt at humor. Only later would I discover that this may have been a serious question.
"Do you have weapons?"
"Yeah, we're all given rifles."
"Ah. Do you have tanks?"
"No, we don't have any tanks. That's Armored Battalion."
"Where would you have to go to have tanks?"
"...Armored Battalion."
"Have you ever been in a tank?"
"...No, I rarely even see tanks. We have no tanks at all. I'm in communications, I set up tents. Armored Battalion has tanks."
"Have you ever thought about being in a tank?"
"Makes no difference! I'm in COMMUNICATIONS. I'm STUCK THERE. I have nothing, absolutely NOTHING to do with tanks!"
"Do you have grenades?"
"No."
"I hear there are lots of types of grenades. What kind of grenades are there?"
"I don't know, we don't have any."
"Have you ever used a grenade?"
"NO. We DO NOT have grenades. I have NEVER SEEN a grenade since joining the military."
"What about flashbangs and stun grenades? Do you have those?"
"No, we really don't have any use for them."
"What division would you have to be in to get flashbangs?"
"Uhh, the civilian police force. We have no use for flashbangs in field combat situations."
"Really? But you can blind people with them."
"Right... You could throw a flashbang into the woods and hope that someone in the right place is looking exactly at it at exactly the right time. Or you could throw a regular grenade and blow them up."
"How about smoke grenades, do you have those?"
"Nope."
"Smoke grenades don't explode, they just release a kind of smoke cloud."
"Yes, I know what a smoke grenade is. We still don't have them."
"Have you ever used a smoke grenade?"
"No, we DON'T HAVE smoke grenades."
"Where would you have to go to use smoke grenades?"
"I don't know, one of the infantry battalions?"
"What's the highest rank you can get in the military?"
"Uhh.. Well, I can only make corporal, since I'm a regular soldier. But as far as officers go, the highest rank is of course general."
"How many generals have you seen?"
"There's... Only one general in Norway. Well, aside from the king, he's technically also a general."
(He gets excited at this) "The king is a general? Huh! That must mean he knows a lot, right? So if he came across an anti-tank rocket he'd know how to use it?"
"..."
"Do you have anti-tank rockets?"
"No..."
"Where would you have to be in order to get anti-tank rockets?"
"Don't know."
"Have you heard about one called an RPG?"
"Yes..."
"I heard there's one called an RPG-7... I wonder how many numbers there are?"
"No flippin' idea mate..."
(I try to hide in my comic book again. This works for exactly two minutes)
"Do you have dogs?"
That's... Actually a condensed version. I eventually managed to find another free seat so I could get away from this madman and chew my salted peanuts in peace...
Well, I was kind of planning on a long-winded gripe 'n' rage about the service and its utter pointlessness, but writing out this has taken a bit of the piss out of me and it's starting to get late... I need to pack down my bag and get some rest before waking up early tomorrow morning.
So, until next time, good night and good luck.