I might still be driving the Saturn, but the Army wouldn’t ship it to Korea. The standard tour here is only a year; they don’t figure it’s worth shipping cars for such a short time. I extended my tour almost immediately on arrival, and gained eligibility to have a car shipped, but it was sold by then.

I almost bought a cheap ancient hoopty, as is traditional for army folks in Korea. For $500, you can get a car good enough to last you your year or two–probably. One of my friends here literally had one of his wheels fall off as he was driving down the highway last week. He was fine. The car was totaled. I was lucky, though: before I went with the hoopty, I happened to see a nice-looking sports car with a For Sale sign in the window. The price was right, and I ended up owning a 1992 Dodge Stealth.

It’s been a good car for Korea, quick and agile enough to blow through traffic while being cheap enough that I wouldn’t be devastated if it got wrecked somehow. Still, when I PCS out of here, I’m going to sell it off and upgrade. I’ve never owned a new car, but I’ve got enough in the bank to plausibly buy one outright. (I’m not particularly interested in buying the biggest car I could afford the loan of; it’d be a bad value proposition and also far too easy to drive beyond my abilities and wreck it.) It’s become a question, now, of what I want to buy, and (after much research) there are three major contenders.

The first option is a Mazda Miata, in its highest trim level, with the convertible hardtop. After throwing in all the options, it’s both the cheapest car I’m looking at and the most luxurious. The issue is power: it only runs a 4-cylinder engine displacing 2 liters, and statistically it’s just not in the same class as the others. Still, every review talks about its wonderful handling and the pure exhilaration of driving it; it also gets many bonus points for being a hardtop convertible. It’s the current leader in my mind for what to buy.

Alternately, I could go for a Nissan 370Z. Its ancestor, the 350Z, was the first car I ever looked at and thought “I really wish I owned that thing.” It’s pure beauty, power, and good reviews. The convertible version is reviewed even better, but costs more than I want to spend. Even as a coupe, it’s a car that looks fast standing still. Of course, the speed isn’t just in its looks; it goes quite nicely. The only real issue is the price: it’s the most expensive of the three. If my budget were 25% higher, there’s no question: I’d get this car as a convertible. Unfortunately, it isn’t.

The last option is to go pure musclecar and buy a Ford Mustang GT. Here, the convertible version got markedly worse reviews than the coupe, so that’s not really an option. On the other hand, this is by a large margin the most powerful (and heaviest) of the cars I’m looking at. I honestly do not know how atavistic the thrill is of laying down twin rubber streaks on takeoff, and how it balances against the budget for tires; it’s one of the things I want to find out in a test drive. This car really has only two niggling and strange cons. The first is simple: I’d prefer a convertible. The second is that, of these three cars, this is the only one that actually makes me worry about driving within the car’s capabilities but not within mine and killing myself by accident.

If I worry about pushing too hard in the high end and dying, why bother with a sports car at all? It’s simple: they are fun. They are adrenaline in a shiny metal body; sexiness on wheels. They are enablers of joy: there is simply nothing like darting through medium-light traffic at twice its average speed, planning your movements three lane-changes ahead. There is much about driving in Korea that I’ll gladly forget the moment I leave, but I suspect that the sensation of freedom when the traffic finally opens up and the next obstacle is a speed camera 5 miles ahead is one I’ll treasure for a long time. I would never have experienced that in a hoopty; my ancient, base-model sports car is the only reason I have had that feeling. I can’t help but look forward to knowing what it will be like in a car that is modern and even more capable than what I have now.

• Deny aid.
• Cease trade.
• Enforce a blockade.

Is it harsh? Perhaps. Still, it can’t be called unjustified, and it makes perfect sense to let them steep in their own juche.

Every attempt at negotiating with the North has failed. Their internal propaganda brags about reneging on the various nuclear treaties, and claims all aid as tribute. It’s not as though there is any pretense at being anything other than evil. Simply cutting them off from all contact is simultaneously the most effective way to destabilize them and to return to them the contempt in which they hold the rest of the world. So what if they retaliate by banning atomic inspectors? We already know they’ve got the bomb; past that point, the quantity doesn’t matter.

They’d have only three possible developments: thrive, or stagnate, or collapse. I don’t think the first is likely at all. They’d maintain their big option: go to war, or not. I do not think they would go to war. Most likely they’d try to wait it out, wait for the inevitable change in world opinion to get back to a policy of appeasement. By the time they were desperate enough to choose war, their straits should be dire enough that starting one would be obviously suicidal.

If they did start a war, it’d be terrible. They’ll inflict tremendous civilian casualties even if they choose not to use atomic weaponry. Then they would lose.

I’m ok with that, though. It’d be a chance for someone else to be the bad guys for once.

It was a nice enough tour, though we were only allowed to take pictures from three designated locations. For the most part, the landscapes were beautiful and the architecture stately. There were two exceptions: two carefully manicured lawns which had obviously been artificially flattened for use as helicopter landing pads. Unfortunately, I didn’t get much information from the tour guides; they spoke only in Korean, and deputized an astonished KATUSA on the fly to translate for them. The one they chose tended to summarize, for example, a ten minute speech into “See that tree? It’s famous for being 160 years old.”

I cannot overemphasize how ornate and elaborate the changing of the guard ceremony was. It involved a marching band, two parades of guards, a prerecorded speech (with translations following each line into Japanese, English, and Chinese), and much pomp and circumstance. This picture shows just one of the parades of guards, minutes before they marched up to relieve the parade comprised of the previous shift. It was a nice show, but I can’t help but assume that the majority of the guards change shift in a much more relaxed manner, and that this was just an additional duty that some of them picked up somehow.

This particular war memorial was much more inspirational than most I’ve seen in Korea. Then again, its symbolism with a phoenix rising over a smiling family seems less like it’s commemorating less the war of the 1950s than the upcoming one which will unite the peninsula. An interesting message for the memorial in front of the house of the President, but a powerful one.

I can’t estimate right now my chances of actually getting that transition. Right now, it seems like the BN CDR is opposed to the notion of junior warrants transitioning straight from flight school to Korea to the FWMEQC without ever having actually deployed. However, that’s exactly the profile which the branch manager said they were looking for for these applications. I expect the BN CDR to recommend disapproval of the application; what I don’t know is whether that decision will be automatically upheld by the selection panel.

For me, the application is a pure win situation. If I don’t get in, I lose nothing. If I do get the transition and then move to a fixed-wing unit, I get qualified and experienced in a mode of flight it’d be very expensive to pay for on my own. If I get the transition but then get sent to another Black Hawk unit on its way to deployment, I still haven’t lost anything; it’s not that I dislike rotary-wing flight. I just take the expensive qualification and don’t get experienced at it.

There is one drawback: if I do get selected for the qualification course, it’ll add another year to my ADSO. I think I can live with that. Really, all the Army needs to do to keep me around for a career is keep giving me expensive and cool training in exchange for a year or two of extension at a time.

We’ll see how it goes.

Branch Managers are the people in charge of moving people around within the Army, to meet both the Army’s needs and the needs of the individuals which it is comprised of. The two in charge of all Warrant Officer Black Hawk pilots had come to Korea for the express purpose of educating us as to the exact process by which they decide where we go and which schools we attend.

This held news both good and bad for me. Good news: coming to Korea immediately after flight school was a very good thing career-wise; my peers elsewhere are often not even RL1 at this point, let alone approaching their PC checkride. Bad news: unless I get my PC qualification quickly and spend the rest of my tour here awing people with my prowess, I’m unlikely to get the IP course enroute. Good news: I’ve got an excellent chance of being assigned to Germany immediately after leaving Korea. Bad news: I’m unlikely to ever be stationed in Japan unless I stay in the Army substantially longer than I want to stay. Good news: I’m fairly likely to be sent to WOAC enroute.

The day would have been substantially improved if we could have simply skipped the morning sessions, or at least split the day in two. This morning’s showtime was 0515, and we didn’t get back to K-16 until 1910. Still, I can’t say that it was entirely a waste; the talk by the Branch Managers was well worth attending. As for the morning, if nothing else, I took away a page full of notes about how not to give a speech.

It’s a funny thing, flying a small reciprocating single-engine plane after becoming used to a dual turbine helicopter. On the one hand, I’m infinitely better at flying this Cessna than I was a decade ago when I first took flight lessons. Air sense turns out to be a skill transferable between modes of flight. Landing, which was once a chancy gamble, is now fairly straightforward. I’ll want a bit of practice before I attempt a solo, but so far everything’s been startlingly easy.

On the other hand, a Black Hawk is just a much more powerful high-performance aircraft. It’s not just that the helicopter has enough cargo capacity to slingload a pair of the 172s–we could, though it’d be a bad idea to attempt any speed much faster than a hover–the power difference shows up in the general performance and handling. On the job, a typical cruising speed is between 120 and 145 knots. The hydraulic system ensures the flight controls offer no resistance regardless of conditions, and the enormous control surface area means that tiny movements are translated into near-instantaneous responses. At the flying club, the aircraft might make 120 knots in a dive, but a more typical speed in level flight is around 105. The controls all feel a bit mushy: they require both larger inputs and actual muscle. Of course, the simplicity and low-powered nature of the 172 are what make it cheap enough for me to be able to fly recreationally, so I can’t really complain.

What I really want is to start collecting ratings. To get an FAA rotary to fixed-wing transition, I need few enough hours that I’m certain to have my private pilot’s license before I leave Korea, and probably my instrument license as well. Once I’ve got both of those and the commercial rating, I can start looking into upgrading, getting into higher-performance aircraft. Hopefully by that point my salary will have risen to where I can afford them.

Several hours later as dusk was falling we happened to cross the same corner again. This time the stage gear was all deployed in the middle of the road and there was a crowd of maybe a dozen gathered in front of a small storefront. In the center of the commotion, at the focus of the cameras and the boom mikes, were two extremely stylish and good-looking young people.

There was an open space four or five meters from the actors, out of the way of the lights and cameras, from which we thought to watch the proceedings for a while. One of the crew came over to us and made exaggerated “be quiet” gestures, and we nodded our understanding silently. Unfortunately, even once the director quieted everyone there and started the camera, the female actress said nothing, but instead gave us a dirty look. We left, chatting about how a pair of innocent waygugin could so distract her that she refused to perform.

It’s one reason I love living abroad: the random events are drawn from a completely different pool than when living back home.

Nevertheless, I didn’t go out and party. I haven’t made any resolutions. This holiday season I’ve avoided mistletoe and been unable to procure eggnog. The fact that tomorrow I’ve got a 24-hour shift starting at 0900 has something to do with it, but I suppose I’m also just naturally Grinch-like.

2010 has always seemed an unimaginably futuristic time. Now that it’s begun, I suppose I’ll have to recalibrate my expectations. Hopefully the year is wonderful for all of you.

Seoul Incheon: not actually very remarkable. It’s a big modern airport very much like many other big modern airports. It’s not ideally designed: it requires walking maybe 1500 meters from one end to the other, for military arrivals at least. Still, its linear design means it is at least simple. Also, free internet and occasional power ports make things nice.

Beijing: ridiculously, monumentally enormous. The extra open architecture is very pretty and enhances the impression of spaciousness. It’s got a modest selection of duty free shops and restaurants. For all its size, it’s strangely empty: the restroom has queueing lines and handy symbols built in to speed traffic through its 20 stalls and 40 urinals, but I had it to myself. Perhaps the decision not to heat it had something to do with that. There are occasional power ports, but they are of the wrong shape and voltage. Internet is available if you pay cash yuan at the business center. There is no easy way to get cash yuan. Important: do not attempt to connect there using military id and orders in lieu of passport; you’ll be turned back by Customs.

Newark Liberty: relentlessly commercial. Like many US airports, there is pretty obviously more security in place than the architecture was designed for. My overriding impression of the airport comes from one flight where I connected there from Japan: my bag took 90 minutes to emerge from the baggage claim, and then the line to re-check it ate another 150. Needless to say, I missed my connection from all of this. It wasn’t nearly so bad this time, at least. Internet and power are available at business kiosks.

Manchester Boston: a small feeder airport with aspirations to eventually grow into a hub. Its current compact size and low traffic makes it feel very comfortable. Power and wireless internet are both easy to find and free.

Tokyo Narita: efficient, artistic, elegant. Probably the most comfortable airport for its size I’ve ever been in. It’s also one of the more complex, but there is plenty of clear signage to help find the way around. Power and wireless internet are ubiquitous, but the “you’ve successfully joined our wireless page” is actually a multilingual set of links to various ways to pay for the connection to get it to stop redirecting all traffic to the links page.

Military:

RKSM (Seoul Airbase): as my home airbase, it’s the place I’m most familiar with. It’s unique in my experience of military airfields in not having a greasy spoon type diner attached to the flight ops building somewhere. The airbase is actually run by the Koreans, with K-16 being a plot leased to the US military.

RKSO (Osan Airbase): this place is run by the Air Force, so I don’t often go there. Still, if you want to see an F-16, an A-10, or a U-2 on the ramp, this is the place to (occasionally) find them.

RKSG (Camp Humphreys): this is where we actually do most training, as it’s the nearest airbase actually run by the US Army. Here’s where the rest of 2CAB, meaning the Apaches, Chinooks, and another battalion of Black Hawks, are based.

RKSY (Yongsan Garrison): a tiny heliport barely large enough to fit two Black Hawks simultaneously, it’s still a common destination because Yongsan is where a lot of the command structure for Korea is located.

RKJK (Kunsan Airbase): another Air Force base, this one only gets mentioned because it has the nicest Flight Ops building and pilot lounge I’ve ever been in. I believe it homes F-16s.

RKTG (Camp Walker): this place apparently used to have a fairly large air contingent; you can still see the remains of a runway suitable for fixed wings, and there’s plenty of parking and refuel space. However, at some point buildings were constructed over both ends of the runway, leaving only a single helicopter pad. It does have an exceptionally nice USO building.

It is. Enter Secure Flight, the latest waste of time from the ever-useless TSA. Conceptually, it’s at least not counterproductive: they want to make the no-fly and extra screening watchlists more selective, by accounting for age and gender as well as name. However, they remain true to form by implementing the idea terribly.

Here’s the idea: every traveler must submit their full name, their date of birth, and their gender when purchasing a ticket. The airline collates a list of these and submits it to the TSA, where it is compared to the watchlists.

Here are the problems. First, no airline ticket purchasing system is designed to collect all of this information. That could be fixed, but the TSA is rolling out the program slowly on a per-airline basis with no advance notice or public oversight, requiring each of them to send these scammy-looking emails after the fact of purchase to collect this information without which the ticket becomes void.

Second, the filtering is done by computer, so it requires the traveler’s exact name. The problem here is that few if any people write their name exactly the same way on every document. I buy airline tickets using my first and last name. Some of my identification documents have my full middle name, some include just an initial. Sometimes, as in my upcoming flight, I won’t have any formal identification documents at all, just military leave paperwork. (Fun fact: I’ve flown to and from Korea three times so far with nothing more than an 8.5×11″ sheet of paper with a form and some scribbled signatures on it. Mine is authentic. The TSA has never actually verified that it was.) Plenty of people have more than three names. Designing the system such that it can be defeated by leaving out an initial renders it nearly useless.

Finally, if you’ve got my name, gender, and birth date, you’re halfway to stealing my identity. I am not comfortable surrendering this information to an organization that has reliably provided security theatre at the expense of actual security. To do much with a stolen identity, you also need at least part of a social security number; I suspect that anyone in a position to misuse the passenger information collected through this program will also have access to resources which can provide that.

Will I submit, and provide the TSA with everything it demands? Yes. Commercial flight is still the only option both fast enough to provide international travel within my leave time and cheap enough to be affordable. However, every time I fly within the US, I am more and more disinclined to ever repeat the experience.