Weston's February Fitness and Health Review - 2014

So I have this expensive watch that gives me all sorts of terrific data. I'm going to begin doing monthly summaries and self analysis so I can determine how best to fine tune my workouts. My stats. 48 years old male with military service related disabilities. Doesn't smoke. Drinks wine. Lives life well.

~~~

February was a tough month. I had to travel for my job and I'm behind in my current SEAL Team 666 novel and a novella due to another publisher. Add to that a lot of personal and professional challenges, finding the time and motivation to exercise was the hardest since I returned from Afghanistan in October 2013. As it turned out, I only exercised 16 out of 28 days.

My Suunto Ambit 2S watch recorded and posted 17 total moves to Movescount.com for a total duration of 7:44 hours, total distance of 33.55 kilometers, and total caloric burn of 4443 cals.

The break down is:

• Running Outside 4:14.22 hours
• DDP Yoga 2:12 hours
• Running on Treadmill 43.42 minutes
• Circuit Training 33.09 minutes

Pathetic.

It looks like I ran a lot more than anything else, which is much different than my previous months. My Average HR was 134. Since 137 is 80% of my heart rate max, this is pretty good, but I could make it better. My average speed is 7.5 km per hour. I need to improve that.

Yoga absolutely suffered. I think with all the challenges to my time, I didn't want to commit the time, which is a terrific mistake. Those 2:12 hours were only two Yoga sessions the entire month. One on Feb 1 and one on Feb 26. The latter I did outside and it was grand. But the muscles that aren't worked by anything else are screaming at me, something that hadn't happened since July last year.

I also wasn't able to do a single spin class this month. Grrrr.

I need to recommit to yoga.

I was thinking I could just dash off a run because it's a quick burn of 400 calories and spikes my metabolism, but that's not good enough. I need Yoga. I need circuit training. It's a balance.

I also see where there were several three and one four day period where I didn't exercise at all. Shoot, I was

in Virginia Beach and ran along the Atlantic Ocean when it was 40 degrees. If I can do that, there's no excuse not to exercise more.

One highlight his month was my second ever 5K. Yvonne signed us up for the Run or Dye 5K and it was a terrific blast!!!

About weight and body composition. I've gained about 5 pounds since I returned 5 months ago, but I feel that most of that is muscle. I didn't do any weight training in Afghanistan, but I've been incorporating that into my circuit training and can see the difference.

Weight Watch:

• March 2013    275 Pounds
• October 2013  217 Pounds
• March 2014     222 Pounds
• Next Month Goal - 219 Pounds
• Ultimate Goal - 190 Pounds

My exercise goals for next month:

• Exercise 25 days, even if it's nothing more than a five minute Tabata
• Balance running with Yoga and use circuit training to shock the muscles.
• Do at least 4 Spin Classes
• Improve running speed to 8 km per hour
• Learn and Do the DDP Black Crow

What's the DDP Black Crow you ask?

Here's some guy doing it real cool.

Here's Diamond Dallas Page's instruction:

Finally let's talk about food.

Bacon Leek Pasta

Most of you who follow me on Facebook see me cooking fantastic dishes. And they are. But many of these are super bowls with kale and ferro, or have fish or chicken as the main ingredient, or are totally meatless. I think I had one steak last month and one plate of spare ribs. I ate no sausage of any kind except for a few pieces in the Paella I made. Eating healthy isn't hard. It's math and surprise. Math, meaning, a male my age and size burns about 2400 calories a day before exercise. I do the math and drink and eat less than that, then I can lose weight. There's a few more twists and turns, but that's really the magic. But just as you have to jumpstart your workouts by doing different things, you also need to jumpstart your eating. You need to surprise your tummy.

So I cook. I try new things all the time, but try and make them a little more healthy. The must decadent thing I made all month was Bacon Leek Pasta (Thanks Food Network Magazine). But I used a low glycemic index gluten free pasta instead of regular pasta and I also didn't use any cream at all, but instead reserved pasta water and folded it in. I also used bacon bits instead of slab bacon. How many calories a serving? 600 cals. Go back to the previous paragraph and do the math. Yep. Fun eating can be done.

I need to watch what I eat when I go out, but I've been pretty good about that. I drink a lot of water too. If it's not wine, it's water. That's it. No sugar drinks, no tea, and a coffee every morning.

So that's it, I guess.

Let me review my goals:

• Exercise 25 days, even if it's nothing more than a five minute Tabata
• Balance running with Yoga and use circuit training to shock the muscles.
• Do at least 4 Spin Classes
• Improve running speed to 8 km per hour
• Learn and Do the DDP Black Crow
• Lose 3 pounds

March here I come!

Why I Love Being An Author Reason #239

Why I Love Being An Author Reason #239: I get to meet other authors who have greatly affected my life.

William C. Dietz and I have been Facebook friends for several months. He and the 3500 of my closest friends chat about this or that. You know, it's Facebook and about as deep and lasting as a line of coke. But I've always been thrilled when I saw him post a comment to one of the increasingly ridiculous things I do. After all, he's someone I've read.

Then it was pointed out to me that he reviewed one of my books on Amazon. 

What the What? William C. Dietz reviewed one of MY BOOKS?

Must be a prank.

Here's what it said: In Babylon Smiles Ochse gives us an outstanding book filled with memorable characters, a terrific sense of place, and a rip roaring war story that I enjoyed immensely! Extremely well done. - William C. Dietz

So I sent him a thank you on Facebook, half expecting a response saying that it was a different William C. Dietz.

But it was him. 

And we've begun to chat.

He wants me to write more books in the Babylon Smiles universe. 

I'm seriously considering doing it.

Why is this such a big deal? You ask. 

He's just an author, you say.

TRUDAT, but he's not just an author. He's one of THE authors who wrote a book that looked like one I wanted to write. In Fayetteville, North Carolina, outside of Fort Bragg, somewhere on Yadkin Boulevard, there was a used bookstore that I used to go to. I was a broke ass sergeant with a starter wife and no money. I was in Special Ops, so we'd frequently deploy for 2 - 8 weeks at a time, anywhere in the world. So before I would leave, I'd scrape about 20 bucks together, descend on the bookstore, and come out with ten to fifteen books. This is how I scored Legion of the Damned shortly after it came out in 1993. I read it once, then turned around and read it 

again, something I've only done a few times in my life. It's interesting. I can remember the exact moment when I was sitting on the floor of the shop and pulled it off the shelf. I can also remember reading it and knowing that when I started writing, this was the sort of book I wanted to write. I read it on a drop zone in Bangladesh.

Whenever I think about this book, the red glowing eye blinks to life in my memory.

I've just read that he didn't start writing until he was 39. That wasn't too much older than me when I started writing. And he's still going strong.

I just downloaded Andromeda's Fall, which he recommended as the first book of a prequel trilogy to Legion of the Damned. I'm going to read them, then read Legion again. Hashtag-I Can't Wait To Start Reading Them!

Yep. Reason #239. I love being an author!!!

Culling the Herd - The Vile Murder of a Giraffe

On the way home from work the other day, I listened with growing alarm as Copenhagen Zoo Director Bengt Holst talked about the need to kill a giraffe. The animal wasn't sick. It wasn't in pain. All told, it was in excellent health and had many decades to live. The problem was that the giraffe had sub-standard genes and didn't fit well into the zoo's captive breeding program.

I tried to see it from the zoo's point of view. I tried to give them a fair shake. But the more I listened, the more Herr Holst's words sent shivers  down my spine.

I'd heard and read the same sentiment about another population in the 1930s and 40s-- a human population -- one in which millions were extinguished because of the idea that they were sub-standard.

When asked why the giraffe wasn't placed elsewhere, given to another zoo system, any other alternative than to kill the giraffe, conduct a public autopsy, then feed the meat to the lions, Herr Holst commented that he didn't want the giraffe sent to an un-ethical, substandard zoo or carnival or private estate.

Seriously?

What finally sent me over the edge was when Herr Holst, clearly operating from the same script Zoo spoke's man Stenbeak Bro used when he said the same words to an AP reporter-- 'I'm actually proud because I think we have given children a huge understanding of the anatomy of a giraffe that they wouldn't have had from watching a giraffe in a photo.' Then Herr Holst went on to almost gleefully say that the 'children who attended the autopsy 'were very fascinated by the wonders of a giraffe.'

 My beautiful blind Great Dane chewing on
a pillow (Photo by Yvonne Navarro)

Holst missed the point. Instead of teaching that a zoo is a safe haven for endangered species, Herr Holst has done what no other Zoo director has accomplished in my lifetime. He's indicated that zoo's are only safe havens for those animals with good genes. All others shall be euthanized. Bad genes equals murder, dismemberment, and exploitation.

As an owner of rescue Great Danes, each with genes so substandard that they were thrown away,
tried to be burned alive, and in one case, shot in the face with a shotgun, the very idea that man has the right to kill any of the creatures on this planet because we deem them as substandard, absolutely infuriates me.

This National Geographic article tries to be unbiased, but you can tell even they were shocked at the murder. One thing they do say, in closing, that certainly resonates is that 'if zoos cannot offer this to the Mariuses in their care, they will lose the public's goodwill, and will deservedly find themselves heading toward extinction.'

Mentioned in Arizona Daily Star with Ben Bova

The Arizona Daily Star mentioned me the other day in the same breath as Ben Bova (See below, provided by Ann Ochse)

Pretty psyched to get the attention, especially with Ben Bova. He was one of the first science fiction authors I read as a child (Sorry Ben, if you are reading this. Not trying to make you feel old.) The book was Escape and was published in 1969:

Danny wasn't a bad kid at heart, but the government put Danny in prison for a long list of crimes, with no end to his sentence. He had to get back to his girl. He had to get back to Laurie. Watched over at all times by a Big Brother-like sentient computer, there was no way out of the escape-proof prison except to... Escape!

Oh, it was a great novel and set me on my path for loving to both read and write Coming of Age stories.

Now it's my turn. As my writing career becomes bigger and bigger, I have more opportunities to effect young and old readers. I wrote in a previous blog (The Privilege and Honor of Being Read), where I talk about my growing popularity and how there are so many people out there who are being influenced and entertained by my writing. This is an honor and a privilege and I recognize the trust you as readers place on me. It's a trust I cherish.

Please pre-order my new military science 

fiction novel from your local independent 

bookstore, Barnes and Nobles, or Amazon

I hope to meet many of you, my fans, at the Tucson Festival of Books, coming up in March. This is a huge event. If you are anywhere in the same time zone, consider coming out. And if you do, check my schedule, track me down, and say hi. Ask me a question. I'll chat about anything.


All the Best

Weston Ochse
Renaissance Man
Super Hero for Rent
Yakuza of the Written Word

We All Need a Little Cadence In Our Lives

We all need a little cadence in our lives. Not a drill sergeant standing beside you screaming into your ear, but something to moderate us, inspire us, give us time to reflect so we can become better as we live.

Let me explain. But first, to get the full effect, consider playing and listening to this video as you read. Consider it the soundtrack for your thoughts.

    Walking from the parking lot to my military day job this morning, a company of U.S. Army soldiers marched by. A young troop was shouting a call response cadence. He'd call and they'd respond to the next two lines, then say the three after all on their own:

They say that in the Army, the chow is might fine;

a chicken jumped off the table and started marking time
Chorus:
Oh Lord, I wanna go
But they won't let me go
Oh Lord, I wanna go hoo-hoo-hoooome EH!

I found myself smiling as I remember singing the same cadence, both responding as a soldier in formation, and calling as a soldier leading the formation. For those of you who've not spent a lot of time around the military, such a thing must seem foreign to you. But for those of you who have spent time around or in the military, you know what I'm saying when I relate that, although those superficial words are meant to keep a unit in step, they carry with them untold gravitas. Not only do many of these cadences harken back generations, but imagine yourself as a young soldier in training singing along with the rest of your unit, your voices merging to become one. During each verse as your feet match time with the cadence, your thoughts drift to who you were, who you are now, and who you want to be.

You're not marching alone. You're marching as a unit. You're marching through history, linked by call and response cadences soldiers, marines, warrior poets, and hard men and women have sung since before the first Roman soldier stepped out of the shadows of the Italian Alps. Many of them are filled with gallows humor, lamenting the conditions with which we are forced to live. Consider this reflection on the quality of fellow female soldiers in this follow on verse to the above cadence.

They say that in the Army, the women are mighty fine. 

They look like Freddy Kruger and walk like Frankenstein! 
Chorus:
Oh Lord, I wanna go
But they won't let me go
Oh Lord, I wanna go hoo-hoo-hoooome EH!

I've heard female soldiers change female to male and laugh as they sang. Although this appears sexist, it's an equal opportunity cadence, designed to create an us vs them mentality-- us meaning unless you've experienced life in the suck, you can't really relate.

Still others are meant to inspire and indoctrinate. Consider this one, which I remember singing back when I was still a wet-behind-the-ears private.

When I get to heaven,
Saint Peter's gonna say,
How'd you earn your living boy?
How'd you earn your pay?

I reply with a whole lot of anger,
Earned my living as an Airborne Ranger.
Livin' a life of Guts and Danger.

This cadence has far more depth and carries through to civilian life. It had to do with a life well spent, or a life thrown away. Did you live with pride or did you live with regret.

If I Die In A Drop Zone is one of my favorite running cadences. I had a Sioux Indian Master Sergeant in primary leaders course when I was stationed at Fort Carson, Colorado, back in the 1980s who could run for days. Tall and lean, face weathered with switchblade cheeks, he'd call this cadence with a booming voice designed to cut through the clamor of battle and inspire me.

I'd run farther. 

I'd run faster. 

I'd forget my pain. 

I'd just go and go and go, trying to emulate him, trying to go as long and as hard as he could. I wouldn't always make it, especially on the runs over six and seven miles, but I was still inspired. Even now as I remember MSG Reddoor, I can't help but me in awe of the man he became and how proud he had to have been when he finally had the chance to address St. Peter.

Now I'm a military civilian. I no longer march in formation. But that doesn't mean I don't need a little cadence. Let's play a little game. Don't think of cadence in the military sense. Instead, think of it in the sense of something that mediates you. Cadence could be the halftime of your life; it could be a drum break in between your different states of being. A cadence is a meter by which you can attune your dreams and desires. Remember what I said earlier?

During each verse as your feet match time with the cadence, 

your thoughts drift to who you were, 

who you are now, 

and who you want to be.

Your cadence could be a song or poem that inspires you. It could be a work of art or the view of a particular dramatic landscape, like the foggy rock ocean near Monterey, California, or the Rocky Mountains at sunset, or the changing of the seasons in the Adirondacks. By necessity, it needs to be something that will allow you to honestly reflect and change. Because let's face it, there's one thing you don't want to live with and that's regret. 

Regret at not having done something.

Regret at not having been something.

Regret at not even trying, because you're so fearful of failure.

Regret is a poison that can spoil your life. 

So let me ask you this:

When you get to heaven,
Saint Peter's gonna say,
How'd you earn your living?
How'd you earn your pay?

I hope you'll be able to reply without regret.

But until then, consider the cadence of your life. Consider stopping and marking time a moment, listening to the universe, or a drill sergeant, or your inner calling. And heed that voice. Don't dismiss it. A billion people have been in your position but only a few have lived their lives conscious of how they are living it. Be active not reactive. Be positive not negative. Be optimistic not pessimistic.

Please pre-order my new military science 

fiction novel from your local independent 

bookstore, Barnes and Nobles, or Amazon

Live life well.

Find your cadence.

Respectfully,

Weston Ochse
Literary Stuntman
Superhero for Rent
Yakuza of the Written Word

The Privilege and Honor of Being Read

Driving to work, listening to an NPR story about a hard-working fisherman in Jamaica Bay, NY, I was struck by something I hadn't realized until this very moment. Sometimes an author can become so insular, so much a part of their work, that they fail to realize the effects their work might have on the population as a whole. I suppose there are those of you who knew this all along, but I'm just getting to this now.

When I first started writing, I wrote for myself. I was the only audience, and if I liked it, I was happy.

Then I wrote for my family.

Then I wrote for my friends and acquaintances.

Then I wrote for the community of like-minded horror and dark fantasy authors.

Then, in 2008, I began to write for the masses. If you don't fall into any of the above categories, then this is you. I wrote for the public. For the first time I was intentionally writing for people I didn't know.

I wonder why it's taken until now for me to realize this.

Circa August 2013 - Kabul, Afghanistan

What does this have to do with that fisherman in Jamaica Bay, you ask? He came across as an honest spirit. He's a hard working man, trying to raise a family. More often than not, when his kids ask him for some money, he doesn't have it because all of his money goes into supporting his job and his life. And it occurred to me that people like this probably also read. I mean, why not, right? How many books can they afford? If it's a new book, it better be a good book, because they might not be able to afford another for awhile. I know we joke about if we had a choice of eating or reading, we'd choose  reading, but for folks like the fisherman, it's a reality.

What a responsibility that is for me.

How fortunate I am.

It's truly an honor to write for people I don't know. This past year, more than any other year, I've received emails, IMs, tweets, and FB posts from hundreds of people whom I've never met. These are the people I'm writing for. These are the folks I'm spending 60 hours a week trying entertain. And if I can take them away from their life for one moment, transporting them to an adventure that carries them to unexpected and exciting places, then I am happy.

It's an honor to write for you.

I hope I can continue to write for you for many decades to come.

Thank you for this honor and privilege.

Weston Ochse
Renaissance Man
Super Hero for Rent
Yakuza of the Written Word

6 Dangers in Making Zucchini Noodles and Aoli

Making Zucchini Noodles can be more dangerous 

than you think!

I did it.

If you read yesterday's post, you know that I was going attempt to make zucchini noodles for the first time. It was pathetically easy. Thanks to Against All Grain for the buying advice for the slicer and the tutorial.

I took a video on my iPad but lacked the skill necessary for me to upload it to YouTube. It wanted me to log-in but wouldn't let me type anything. So I'm afraid I leave you with this link, instead. It's about 2:54 minutes. Stay until the end. You'll crack up.

But there was some danger, so here are the things to watch for.

1. Make sure your slicer is secured to the counter. As you can see in the video, mine moved around a lot in the beginning. I could have lost a finger or even an arm.

2. Don't try and turn the wheel with your left hand like I did. It makes you look goofy and not all of the noodles come out long and beautiful. Once I got the hang of it, some of my noodles were four feet long.

3. Block the view of family and friends who want to watch. This will keep them from laughing uproariously at you and will, in turn, keep you from wanting to push them through the noodle slicer.

4. When making aoli, it makes a big difference in how many garlic cloves you add. I used six garlic cloves and 3/4 cup of avocado oil, two egg whites, and salt and pepper (pulsed until thick). It would have worked find with three cloves. The evening news showed a significant increase in vampire deaths in our zip code and the ones surrounding us. I'm positive that this was from our breath. We should be paid for our service.

5. Sweat the noodles in the oven by placing them in a single layer on a paper towel on an oven tray. Sprinkles with sea salt. Put the oven to 225 deg for 30 minutes. Then remove. You still might want to dab them with paper towels or else your pasta will be too watery.

6. When adding the noodles to reheat and finish in a saute pan, do it gently. Fold them into the sauce, don't stir. Do this for five minutes on medium low heat and you'll rock the meal.

So what did I make?

Zucchini noodle pasta with a lemon aoli, kalamata olives, chives, and Parmesan cheese.

Recipe

Makes 2 servings.

• Noodles from two large zucchini, sweated and ready.
• Make Aoli (see above) but also add 4 tbs lemon juice, and use less garlic than I used.
• Drain can of kalamata olives, then pulse in food processor until quarter-moon size.
• In deep frying/saute pan poor two tbs olive oil and heat high. Add olives for two minutes, then reduce to medium low. Add noodles and fold several times. Add aoli and fold until noodles are completely coated. Heat for 4 minutes. Add 1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese, fold, then serve. I added a little baked fish for protein and crunch.

This was delicious.

I'd like to hear how others make zuchini noodles.

If you try this, please let me know.

Cheers

Now go cook and buy my books

Weston Ochse
Renaissance Man
Super Hero for Rent
Yakuza of the Written Word

OMG - Too Many Vegetables?

What do you do when you get too many vegetables besides panic?

This weekend Yvonne and I went to Market on the Move. It's a program that brings fruits and vegetables to communities at very cheap prices. We paid $10 for 60 pounds worth of vegetables and fruit. Something like 15 grapefruit, 8 eggplants, 8 Roma tomatoes, 7 red peppers, 24 yellow squash 12 Mexican gray squash, 6 huge zucchinis and a 7 pound bag of cherry tomatoes.

WOW!

But with these vegetables came great responsibility. I was concerned that there might be too many...that some of it would perish before we got to it. I was actually a little panicked.

So, the first thing I did was bake a lasagna with wide zucchini noodles and eggplant. I also used lean turkey and low fat ricotta cheese. Making the wide noodles was hard because I'd never made any before. I baked it. We snuck a taste--OMG it was good--then we portioned it out into 8 portions for 4 meals. One went into the fridge and the rest our freezer.

Then for lunch I made eggplant sandwiches. Using pieces of grilled eggplant for bread, I smeared them with jalapeno hummus then added two slices of tomato, pieces of red pepper, and cucumber slices. A little messy, but amazing.


Since then, we've had lots of veggies at every meal. We've even had all veg meals. The only meats we've had this week were fish and the lean ground turkey for the lasagna. We haven't had a single packaged product and no pasta or breads. I've made two pans of roasted vegetables. One we've eaten and the other I portioned and put in the freezer.

We still have a lot left, but I think we're doing good.

One thing I did discover was that there are these things called zucchini noodles. What the what you say? Absolutely. Against All Grain Dot Com had this video I'm sharing below. You are going to be amazed how easy it looks. I ordered my slicer from Amazon and it came last night. I'm making noodles to night -LIVE WITHOUT A NET - and I'll give you the full report tomorrow.

I do love veggies, but sometimes it's hard to figure out ways to cook them that's not the boring old same-o-same-o. This bounty gave me the opportunity to try new things. It's exciting to eat well, eat healthy, and stay in shape.

I'll report tomorrow or so about the zucchini noodles.

Bon Chance.

Living Dangerously's Best Books of 2013

It's time for my best books of 2013.

My lists are different than other people's lists. For instance, since this is my best books of 2013, this means that they could have been published any time at all, but read by me in 2013. I did a lot of reading over the summer. As most of you know, I spent six months in the glorious garden spot we call Afghanistan. After working 12-16 hours each day and every day, I'd go back to my rack and need something to calm my nerves and soothe the soul. Not able to carry actual books because of space reasons, I fully utilized my Kindle... more so than any other time for certain. I also don't rack and stack the books I've read. If they make this list, then they are prominent in my thoughts.



The Queen of Patpong by Tim Hallinan
I discovered Tim Hallinan quite by accident. I was in an airport and had a layover. I like to peruse the bookstores at airports rather than inventorying the backsides of my own eyelids. I've always been a fan of the detective story since college. At the Wofford College bookstore, I was given a list of books to buy which included all the old detective novels by Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler which were for a class I was supposed to take. Except they contacted me the next day and told me they gave me the wrong books and I had to return them for James Joyce.  Errrg.  I had a week to return them, so I read all eleven books in one fell crime wave. They were glorious and made me a lifetime fan. Crime and detective fiction is an old standby of mine. But with so much competing for my time, I have to be selective. They have to be different. They have to have a hook. Hallinan has that hook. Written with an American expat protagonist living in the dark corners of Bangkok who is also a protector and shepherd to the women who are lured, cajoled, and kidnapped into the sex industry, I found this to be at once completely different than anything I was reading and yet the same, influenced by Hammett and Chandler. I've since read all of the Poke Rafferty books, but this was my introduction.

Life During Wartime by Lucius Shepard
I'd heard of Lucius Shepard's book for many years but never got around to it. Since I was going to war, I thought that now was the time I should definitely make time and try it out. And I wasn't disappointed. Having grown up on John Wayne and the purist view of soldiers and the military, it's comforting on a soulful level to see some of the terrible revealed. I first encountered the idea that the military wasn't perfect when I saw The Boy's of Company C and Platoon. Having spent 29 years on the military (and still ticking), I know that we are a mirror of society. There is as much good and bad in us as anywhere. Some of the things we do are well-meaninged yet turn out bad. Sometimes we find ourselves sliding down a slippery slope unable to stop the events from unfolding. Lucius captures this terrifically with a protagonist who joins a psychic unit, only to discover an even broader conspiracy. Written in the mid-1980s, it's also curious to see what he'd done with the near future. I love this book.

Night Film: A Novel by Marisha Pessl
I know I said I don't rack and stack books, but this is the best book I read this year hands down. It's Marisha Pessl's second book, and so wonderfully and skillfully wrought that I am at once envious of her and thrilled for her. This was one of my 3AM Amazon purchases as I lay awake trying not to think about Afghanistan. I had no idea. No forewarning. I had never heard of her. I hadn't read any reviews. But I got it anyway and did not get any sleep that night. The writing is flat-out beautiful. But not just beautiful like so many literary writers can be creating an impenetrable story, but beautiful and accessible. Without revealing the plot, what made the book even that much more wonderful was the back story and background she created for a mysterious movie director, his cult of fans, the codes in his movies, and all the ephemeral one would associate with a director who could be a dark and sinister David Lynch, kicked out of the mainstream and making movies on a private compound, possibly worshipping Satan or worse. If this is anywhere in your TBR pile, move it to the top NOW!

 American Rust: A Novel by Philipp Meyer
Another of my Afghan reads, I was drawn into the story by the author's straightforward prose and his telling of a tale of the country's soul. Not only is this the narrative of a young man in search of himself, but this is also the story of the Rust Belt in search itself. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and appreciated the way I was transported from the deadly streets of Afghanistan to the lush yet baleful existence of thy dying heart of America.



The Storm Giants by Pearce Hansen
This was an eBook only, self-published book, and another thing I read desperate to be transported out of Afghanistan. I don't usually read these because of poor editing. This one did not have the pall of poor grammar I normally associate with such things. In fact, I think I grabbed it because the author was offering it for free on Facebook and the title intrigued me. I thought it was actually going to be about storm giants. Cool, right? As it turns out, storm giants is a metaphor, but an apt and well wrought one. This is a crime fiction novel. You read earlier what I think of these. Add to it that the narrator is a bad guy too. This was a novel what worked on many levels and had many more layers than your average, or even good crime fiction novel. I liked it so much I bought the author's self-published collection, Gun Sex (cool title). I see that The Storm Giant's is on Amazon but currently not available. I hope this means someone's giving him a book deal for it. The book absolutely deserves a wider audience.

NOS4A2 by Joe Hill
Another Afghanistan read. This is Joe Hill's The Shining and Talisman all rolled into one. I've read his previous two novels, Heart-shaped Box and Horns. While they were good, they didn't blow me away like NOS4A2 did. Reading the novel, I felt as if John Irving was telling me a Stephen King story. But where John Irving can't write the stuff Joe writes, and Stephen King would have pulled many of Joe's gut-punches, Joe didn't hold back. He smacked me across the face just when you I was saying to myself, he can't possibly do what he's going to do. Having met Joe and corresponded with him a few times, I felt myself smiling with pride as I was reading this. As much as I've compared this to other authors, including his dad, Stephen King, this is purely Joe's voice. Even though he can't help but be influenced by his father, this is Joe's book. he takes ownership of the narrative and never let's go of it's neck. This is a book I'll go back and read again, which is the highest praise I can give.

The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson
Although I read this in Afghanistan, I knew I wanted an actualy physical copy of this. I mean a 1280 page paperback book. The heft and the smell was everything I remembered as a child, curled up in bed reading Terry Brooks and J.R.R. Tolkein and Jack Chalker. It came in the mail and I knew that if I didn't like it I could also use it as a weapon against the Taliban. I'd never heard of Brandon Sanderson. I guess he finished Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series, which I stopped reading somewhere around book 56 (actually 4, but it seemed like 56). That I'd never heard of him surprised me. I'm a pretty well-read author. I checked up on him before the purchase of the book and was impressed. After all, reading a 1280 page book is a serious commitment. And I was so happy I did. In The Way of Kings, Sanderson creates an entirely new world, an entirely new socio-political structure, and an entirely new magic system. I love it when authors do this. While I love the various billion re-tellings of the Lord of the Rings, it's so much more fabulous to get something new and fresh and mind-bogglingly original. The second book, which probably tops out at 7,000 pages comes in March. I can't wait.

So these are my best. Please seek these out if you can. Buy them from your favorite independent bookstore or online. Whatever. They have my highest recommendation.

Can't wait to read in 2014.

Isn't reading great?

Dear Sir...Please Save Our Planet

While listening to NPR Remix the other day, I was struck by a song they were using in a piece about William Temple Hornaday. The song is called Dear Sir and is performed by Black Prairie. You can actually listen to it in full and for free HERE.

Please listen, then go to Slate's article about William Temple Hornaday to understand its significance. Jon Mooallem wrote an amazing piece about a letter Hornaday left that wasn't read until 70 years later. This letter partially fueled the group think idea of what is now termed as Shifting Baseline Syndrome and how cultural memory can cause us to forget things. It's also about the buffalo. Of course the letter, like the song, begins with Dear Sir.

The idea of Shifting Baseline Syndrome is both amazing and aweful. From Hornaday's point of view, he believed that an America without buffalo would eventually become normal. Although this never happened because of acts of conservation and restraint, it has happened to the passenger pigeon for instance, which we hunted into extinction at the turn of the last century. There were an estimated 5 billion passenger pigeons when America was discovered. These avians were extremely easy to kill, however and became a food staple, as well as a source for feathers. In 1822, a single family killed 4000 passenger pigeons for their feathers. In the 1890s, they were so numerous that an entire day could go by while a cloud of pigeons flew over. Seriously. They were an indelible part of our landscape. Well, not so indelible. They're gone. The last passenger pigeon died in 1914. You can read their extinction story HERE.

Why should we care?

Imagine a world without dolphins or whales. Image us thinking how natural that is.

You don't care?

Fine.

Then imagine a world without dogs or cats.

Can't happen you say?

There were more passenger pigeons in 1880 than all the dogs and cats in America combined.

We live in a world where the lack of a passenger pigeon is conceived to be normal. The sort of cutlural and possibly global amnesia that goes into shifting baseline syndrome is scary. I don't know how to stop it except to ensure that the things which make up our great planet continue to be a part of it. This sort of behavior takes a conscious act of will.

We have to pay attention.

Conservation and the protection of our planet isn't a political thing. It's a human thing.

Listen to the song and think about this for a moment. Then, if you have time, do a conscious act of will. Support someone conserving something or take action yourself. I support Sea Shepherd Conservation Society not only because of the efforts they go through to preserve whales and dolphins, but also because they are pirates.

Argh!

BACK IN THE USA UPDATE

So I'm back.

Afghanistan is now 4 weeks in my rear-view mirror. I haven't been hiding under a rock, but I have been easing back into things. I can't tell you how awesome it was to return to a loving home. My wife is awesome. So were my parents. I missed my dogs terribly. And interestingly enough, I also miss many of the new friends I made on deployment.

Here are some of the things that have been going on-

• Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson has signed on to exec produce and star in the film adaptation for SEAL Team 666 (Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer).
• SEAL Team 666: Age of Blood went on sale in both the U.S. and UK and is selling like gangbusters.
• SEAL Team 666 Book Three is going to happen. We're working out contract issues.
• Grunt Life, my military science fiction novel for Solaris Books, is complete and ready to be sent to my agent.
• I'm doing a book signing tour in SOCAL. Information can be accessed by clicking on Upcoming
  
  Appearances.
• I've maintained my weight and fitness.
• I went trout fishing for the first time in 15 years, absolutely loved it, and caught four trout, three of which I kept and cooked for Yvonne. Yummers.
• Bought a Suunto Ambit 2S GPS watch, which is really helping me keep track of exercising--oh, and it keeps time too.
•  About to start my story for V-WARS and get to write about a Norse berserker vampire.  How cool is that?

That's about it, I think.

Thanks for keeping up with me.

Seriously.  Thanks.

HIGH NOON AT DUBAI AIRPORT WITH ME AND BRUCE LEE

Written on 21 October 2013 right after the events you are about to read occurred. The names haven't been changed to protect the stupid and the guilty.

+    +    +

I’ve had a pretty shit day.

Remember that movie from the late 1970s-early 1980s about an American who tries to smuggle hash out of Turkey and gets caught, then locked up, tortured, the bottoms of his feet beaten? It’s called Midnight Express and I can still see the main character wearing his aviator sunglasses, sweating high-caliber bullets, as he stands in the bathroom with enough hash strapped around him to make half of Los Angeles high, and then the policeman walks into the bathroom. The stress was just ramped up to Eleven.

That’s what happened to me today.

When the nice security men who’d served me tea and water and made me wait for three hours turned me over the Airport Police, I felt second cousin to the man in the movie. My Oh Shit meter went to a hundred and for the first time I thought that I might not be coming home.

But I get ahead of myself.

I haven’t even told you what happened.

Inside Dubai International

Backup three and a half hours. I finally get my luggage, then I head through customs. I’m waived from the Nothing to Declare lane to the I’ve Got Something And You Have To Find It lane. A Dubai ninja (woman of unknown age in head to toe clothing with even her eyes shielded) shouted AHA! When my bag went through.

Aha!? Seriously?

Then they had me take the bags over to a different area and I began racking my brain. What could it have been? Was it the body armor? I was just told by a friend that I wasn’t supposed to bring it through Dubai. Nice. Now you tell me. It’s not even mine. This belongs to a special mission unit. The one issued to me is sitting in a closet in Virginia somewhere. Shit. Shit. Shit. How was I going to explain it to my buddy that I had his armor confiscated by the Dubai Airport Sheriff or whatever they call themselves.

----INTERMISSION---

I just want to point out that you are helping me de-stress. I’m sitting here in a Dubai Starbucks drinking the hell out of an effing Coffee Americano and wearing my toe shoes because they hug my feet so nicely and frankly I need a hug right now. Talk of ninjas and things are my stress bleeding. I mean no disrespect. I’m just stressed from almost being locked up in a Dubai monkey cage for an indeterminate time for doing something stupid. Now, back to me being stupid.

----END INTERMISSION----

So the Dubai equivalent of a Sumo Wrestler begins to pull stuff right out of the bag I have the body armor in. Damn. This sucks. When he found the body armor, he smiled. But then he did something weird. He didn’t seem to be interested IN the body armor, but instead what was INSIDE the body armor. He re-xrayed the body armor. And I swear to you, just like the Dubai ninja, this Dubai Security Sheriff said, AHA!

What is it with these Dubainese and their love of the AHA!?

He pulls the body armor and begins going through the pockets. Pockets, the only things I’ve ever had in the pockets were…

Bullets

Shells

Ammunition.

OH SHIT!

He somehow wedged a bratwurst-sized finger into a magazine pouch and levered out a 5.56 mm round usually meant to fuel an HK 416 or an M4 for human destruction…NOT my passport through an airport.

I actually gasped.

I knew at once that I was in a world of shit. I was about to become the target for everyone’s hatred of America, all reduced-216 pounds of me with only my passport and tattoos of Elvis and Bruce Lee to keep me company.

The first thing they did was take my passport. They might have taken my tattoos if they hadn’t been inscribed into my skin.

----INTERMISSION----

Funny thing about my tattoos. Everyone and I mean every Tom, Dick and Abdul Said, recognized Bruce Lee. They must have grown up watching the same old movies I did, because they all smile when they see it. But Elvis? (and I’m wiping away a tear here) Elvis is an unknown entity in the faraway Lands of Islam. Not a single resident of the Middle East has ever heard of him. In fact, they all look at me strangely and ask why I have the portrait of a famous Pakistani singer on my arm. I have no idea who it is. Part of me suspects it’s a Pakistani Elvis impersonator. But enough of that. Back to me getting rolled up.

----END OF SECOND INTERMISSION----

Then they said come with me, where I met the only Airport Security Captain who was a professional bodybuilder was waiting for me crunching his fists together like he was turning bowling balls into marbles. Jesus but this guy’s shoulders could have held a love seat  Absolutely V-shaped, he had what looked like a 12 inch waist. But more importantly to my current condition, whatever smile he had was lost when his mommy took away his pacifier and he’d spent his next thirty years perfecting the demeanor of a brick.

I explained that I’d just come from a war zone  I explained that it was an absolute accident. I also explained that I was astonishingly sorry and it would never happen again. He stared at me like he’d rather see me dead, bade me sit, then ignored me for an hour.

Realizing I was under surveillance, I tried to wonder how to sit and compose myself. I fear I looked like a jonesing crack addict, because I think I was changing my posture all too often.

Then I was offered tea.

Then later, water.

A friend of mine came over and asked if he should call the U.S Ambassador. Shit was getting serious. He had them on speed dial. Did I really want to escalate this? What would go from a good story of a shit time later on my blog would turn into a front page spread of a US military member doing something stupid in a foreign country… not like we need that again. So I strategically demurred. Still, he sat with me for awhile. Then a new security man came and said everything was going to be alright. I breathed a sigh of relief because for a moment I thought everything would be okay.

Then a man came to whom everyone deferred. He looked sharp. They’d called in the big guns. He waggled a finger towards me and led me to the interrogation room.

----INTERMISSION----

HAHAHAHAHA!

----END OF THIRD INTERMISSION----

Some of you might know about my experience in this. I could tell the guy was nervous. He was unskilled. He really wasn’t sure what questions to ask. This was really the only part of the situation I felt in complete control. But I had to be careful. If I appeared to be too smug, they might think I’m an authentically bad guy. So I pretended extreme nervousness. I fidgeted. I worried my hands together. I stuttered a little and apologized profusely. But really, all I gave them was my story, my name, and someone else’s phone number. By the time we left the poor man was satisfied and left beaming. 

Mission accomplished.

They’d interrogated the bad guy American and were happy for it. They chuckled in their glass-fronted office. They’d bagged their bad guy and mad him squirm. All but the body builder. He didn’t smile. Instead, he listened to the information and took it in like a slab of marble would water.

They gave me more tea.

Now I have to admit, about this point I was thinking about what would have happened if an Arab-speaking person arrived in Newark with a bullet in his baggage. No joke, I bet they’d be halfway to GTMO before they were able to get their story out. Certainly no tea. All joking and de-stressing aside, I was absolutely appreciating their behavior and professionalism… even if they were all wearing man dresses.

Then came the man they were waiting for. He wore the uniform of a policeman. He said come with me and bring your bags. We went outside into the hot Dubai air. I was thinking about that phone call to the ambassador about now. We went down to another terminal, then back inside, then to an elevator. We stood there and he didn’t say a word. I thought of asking him what was coming up next for me, but I was too afraid of the answer. We took the elevator to upstairs, around several turns, and I found myself in front of a sign that read Airport Police HQ where I saw real interrogation rooms and real bad-looking men who looked like they pulled out blond-haired, blue-eyed American fingernails as an afternoon pre-prayer time activity. Having been in a police station once or twice (ahem) in the past, I immediately recognized their cold indifference, their professional disdain, and their barely concealed contempt. The Constitution might say that you are innocent until guilty, but I’ve found that most hard-working men of law find it safer to feel the other way. That way they aren’t so often disappointed. The Dubai Airport Police were no different.

At this point the tea stopped. So did the water. Everyone who looked at me was probably remembering someone they knew who’d been stomped on by the patriotic boots of America. I stopped fidgeting. I put on a hopeful/wistful look, one I’d used throughout my childhood when my mother had me wait for her, or when seventeen principals did the same. It was a combination of a What me worry-you must have the wrong man-I’m far too innocent to be guilty look that had got me out of more self-generated shit than I deserved. When they did look at me, their laughter stopped, their smiles fell, and they got real serious… like calling the Ambassador serious.

Nervous - from Midnight Express

But there was one thing that did draw their attention. They couldn’t help but ask about my tattoo. Is that Bruce Lee? Just as the men downstairs had done (sans Marble Head), each and every one of them, upon seeing my tattoos, asked me if that was Bruce Lee. I responded sagely, smiled, and complimented them on their recognition. We were starting to bond. We talked about different martial arts, using pidgin English and mock moves. I was doing my best to go from being a suspect to one of them. Soon, I was no longer that stupid American who brought the bullet back from the war, but had been transformed into that stupid American with the cool tattoo of Bruce Lee and that whatever his name is Pakistani singer who brought the bullet back from the war.

By now, three and a half hours had passed.

Our tattoo-based friendship notwithstanding, I was beginning to wonder if I was getting out of there.

They left to pray.

They came back for tea.

They talked about me and laughed, probably the same way a roomful of American policemen would about an Arab-speaker stupid enough to put himself in this situation.

Then the commander arrived. They all snapped to. Joking ceased. Salutes snapped. They explained to him the situation. He rattled off a few commands, then turned to leave. As he passed me, he gave me the look – Stupid American Trying To Bring A Bullet Into My Airport What Were You Thinking.

I lowered my eyes to acknowledge my mistake. I felt a sinking feeling.

He said something else. Then left.

I was called up. They filled out another form. I was asked to sign it stating that I would never accidentally bring a bullet into Dubai again—at least I hope that’s what it said because I signed it.

Then they handed me back my passport.

I was released.

Just under four hours.

I wonder how much different this could have turned out.

I wonder if I had been a foreigner in America if I would have gotten off so easily-- with an apology accepted with a handshake and a don’t do this again.

Now as I type the rest of this it’s 3:36 AM and I’m somewhere over Nova Scotia, obviously I realize that this could have gone very badly. We’ve all seen the movies. We’ve all heard the horror stories.

You know, I’ve joked about the police and security at Dubai International, but I do appreciate being set free with barely a slap on the hand. They  were doing their job and I did something stupid. How that round got in there is another question. After all, I hadn’t fired one of those rounds since April back in Virginia at The Crucible.

But it happened.

I say this to all of you coming back from the war. Check your gear. Even if you never used something, even if you’re sure something couldn’t be there, check it. Had someone given me this advice, the events that I recounted on this blog never would have happened.

But then again, neither would this blog entry.

In the end I thank Mike Towles and Bruce Lee. Mike is my tattoo artist. He’s the one who put Bruce on my arm. It’s become a crazy and unexpected business card. Just as the tattoo of Elvis he put there has become. Only in this case, no one cared about the image of the mysterious Pakistani singer. All they cared about was the King of King Fu, who was as much martial art royalty in the Land of Islam as he was in Hollywood.

 --- --- ---

Weston Ochse has spent 29 years in the military in one shape or fashion. He's a world traveler and an internationally best-selling author of high action fiction. Please Note: This article is copyrighted by Weston Ochse. Any reproduction in whole or in part without the author’s permission is prosecutable by public law. If you'd like to borrow part of this or see it reprinted, contact me here. I'll probably say yes.  I'm that kind of guy. You can link to this article. Thank you. © 2013