Marrying Robots

I was over at the Dwarf's site yesterday, looking at some of his recommended blogs. I surfed over to Bayou Renaissance Man's internet abode, when I came across this post. For those of you too lazy click a link, the post gives another link that leads to a story about an EOD tech that got really attached to his robot, Scooby Doo. Peter (Bayou Renaissance Man) asked his readers if anyone had any experience with EOD doing this type of thing to robots. Well, being a veteran of Iraq and EOD, I had to comment. The answer is, "Yes, of course we do." As I said in my comment over there, the robot is a member of our team. Sure, it's only a piece of equipment, but we do tend to get attached. It's the piece of equipment that I can point to and definitively say that it saved my life. Arguably, any equipment that does its job in combat has the potential to save lives. But our bots, now there are machines that do it directly. Let me put it this way: for every robot that "dies" in the direct line of duty, there are lives saved. For every robot blown up by the bad guys, that's one less human tech to get the same thing, one less EOD wife becoming an EOD widow. As I said in that comment, I have had 4 robots go down like that while I was operating them. That's 4 times that my wife, or the wives of my team members/team leader, didn't have to receive a folded flag from an NCO or Officer. So, yeah, we tend to get attached, which tends to lead to anthropomorphizing our robots. As I mentioned in the comment, we would name them, track and record their "personalities" (I swear, dude, that bot is evil! Let's turn it in and draw another....), even keep track of them after we turn them over to replacing teams.

Well, Peter must have liked my comment, for after I posted it, he came out with this rebuttal, in which he asks me to tell some stories about robots. Well, Peter, okay. You asked for it. Here goes.

The first one is about one of the few bots that we had that we had actually named. Her name was Christine. She was a Talon robot (I'm too lazy to add a hyperlink here with a photo. Look it up yourself.) We inherited her from the team that we replaced in the area, and it was them that had named her. "Christine?" we asked. "Like the car?" "Exactly like the car," they said. "She's got a mind of her own, and she can be fickle." "Sure she can," we said, raising eyebrows of dubiousness. Well, we were to eat those words. A short time after that, we were using her to do a little demonstration in our compound for a visiting Colonel, who also happened to be the FOB commander, and the commander of the brigade we were supporting. Well Christine was doing fine, and the Colonel seamed pleased with what we had shown him thus far. Until Christine decided that she really REALLY liked the Colonel, especially his leg. Because she took off on her own, ignoring our commands from the control box, and climbed his leg. Now, Talons are machines with large-ish tracks weighing 90 pounds or more, so climbing people could be dangerous for the person being climbed. Luckily, the Colonel saw us trying to prevent the incident, and he wasn't hurt, so he never said another word about it. We took Christine to the robot shop on Camp Vicotry, who looked her over and told us nothing was wrong with her (in fact, they rather impolitely told us that the problems we were describing were impossible). She was returned to service. One day, not long later, (mind you, we had used her with no problems in the interim) we were working, and we sent Christine down on a suspect item. Well, she started going fine, but then she must have decided that there was something that she didn't like down range, for she turned about 45 degrees out of true, and took off like a shot. Full speed, even though I had the speed knob most of the way down. So, about 15 miles an hour or so. Right into a wall. Which she tried to climb. She ended up flipping over. Even then, her tracks kept spinning as fast as they could. Before she got to the wall and terminated her flight prematurely, I tried everything I could to stop her. Nothing worked. She ignored my commands, and even kept going when I switched off the control unit, which should throw the tracks into full stop. Should, but didn't. As I said, she ended up up-side-down, futilely spinning her tracks in the air, kind of like a dying cockroach. Well, we couldn't get her right away (she was too far down range by this time, and I'm not excited about going out there before I can clear it), so we sent the spare bot, a Packbot (again, look it up yourself). Well, as the packbot got to the item, I moved to brush some trash away with the grippers, and the item detonated, killing the poor Packbot. Maybe Christine sensed what was coming and just didn't want to die? Anyways, we took her back to the robot shop. Now, for those that have been to Camp Victory, they know that there are several lakes there. Well, the robot shop was on the shores of one of the larger and deeper ones. We pulled her out of the truck and explained the problem. Again, we were told that this was impossible. The civilian robotics specialist knelt next to her, attached her battery, and turned her on. She made him eat his words with a side of humble pie. As she took off, again like a hyperactive monkey out of a box, she took a chunk of his thumb with her. Straight across the street, up the berm separating the lake from the road (which was shaped, conveniently, like one of Knievel's launch ramps), about five feet into the air, coming down with a large splash into the lake. "Well," said the tech-rep, as he was trying to stop his thumb from bleeding, "I guess we'll get you a new bot." As a side note, when the diver that they sent after her had found her, she was another 25 meters from where she touched down, bogged in weeds. Apparently, she had kept up her flight across the bottom before getting stuck and dying. Like I say, personalities.

Now, the second and final robot story (for this post) is the one that Peter specifically asked for. On my second deployment, we had a commander that, as we put it then, bent over backward to get us bent over forward. Use your imagination. Suffice it to say that he wasn't very good, and never seemed to be looking out for us, just what other people in the area thought of him. Anyways, he had come over to the base that we were at (we were "fragged out" meaning we were separate from the rest of the company). He made the trip just to break the bad news that he couldn't get us the 4 day passes to Qatar that the rest of the company was getting, which we had also been promised. Sorry. *coughs* A**hole *coughs*. Anyways, after he had told us that, my team member and I had to go make sure the robots were still checking out (something we did everyday). It was the wet season, therefore very muddy, and since part of checking the bots is to clean them, we figured doing it in the mud was dumb. So we brought them in. Now, we had a multi-purpose room. It was part day room, part evidence room. Being our day room, it's where we kept stuff that people would send us in packages, like toys to pass out to kids. Being our evidence room, it's also where we kept things like white construction paper, for the background of photos. Anyway, we were done with checking the bots and were now just kind of messing around. There was a stuffed bear that was a bride bear, it had a veil and bouquet and everything. I grabbed the bouquet and put it in the grippers of the packbot, and put the veil over the main camera. We started laughing like Beevis and Butthead (mature, I know). Well, not to be outdone, my team member grabbed a sheet of construction paper and used electrical tape to make it a top hat. With the black tape, it looked like a white hat with a black band, very snazzy. This he put on to the Talon's main camera. Still giggling like little boys, we positioned several of the other bears as if they were attending a wedding. We controlled our laughing long enough for us to assume somber looks. "Deeeeearly Beloved," my team member, who was standing in the place of the "minister" said. It was then that we heard the door open. We also heard the sound of someone coming to a literal screeching halt on the tile floor. We turned and saw our douchebag commander. He looked at us, we looked at him, he looked at the bots, blinked, performed a perfect about-face, and left, slamming the door. Not long after that, we were all called back in to talk to the CO again. "Well," he told us," I made a few calls and I got your passes to Qatar back. You two," he pointed at my team member and myself, "are going first." And that is how anthropomorphizing robots got me a 4 day pass in Qatar.

Mad Genious

So, I decided that I'm a mad genious. I've always been like this, but I'm only just now coming to grips with it. Take, for instance, today. I tried to get into my bank account via online banking. As usual, I couldn't remember the answer to one of our challenge questions. The question was "What color was your first car?" My wife and I set that question up when I was in a very tough military school in Florida. By tough, I mean there is a 35% graduation rate. Needless to say, I was often completely fragged when I got home. Like, except for school and the birth of my oldest daughter, I don't actually remember much about living in Florida. I remember getting there, the things I learned in order to do my job, baby, and then driving up to Missouri after graduation. That's it. That's how bad it was. So, there was no way that I would ever be able to remember a silly thing like what I entered for a stupid challenge question about colors and cars. I honestly doubt I was coherant enough to really think about the question. So, today, being sick of always getting that question wrong, I actually looked up what I had put way back then. I did not put any color. Nope. I'll tell you later what I actually put. Heh. I could just imagine that conversation with M___, my wife, when I did it. Picture us sitting in our neighbors' bedroom (we were too poor to have our own internet, and for some reason I remember where the neighbor that let us use theirs kept it; weird, I know), arguing about what we should put as our challenge question. "I think we should put red," M___ would have said, "as that is the color of YOUR first car, and this was technically your account before it was ours." "Nope," I would have answered. "How 'bout green, the color of the car that we first got as a family?" "Nope again, my fairest of women (seriously, M___, if you read this, that's how I think, even if I don't say it all that much)." "Blue, then? We had that little car of mine...?" By now, I think M___ was getting really confused. I think that happens a lot when she talks to me.... Weird. Anyways, she was grasping for straws now. "Again, Sweetest, wrong. What we'll do, see, is this: we'll put what KIND of car we first owned a couple. Any schmoe can guess a color. It's just a matter of going down the list. Car will be our code word to remember, like a hint." She would have looked at me dubiously. For some reason, she does that often.... "Don't worry, Loveliest, I'll remember. I got this." And here we are, 5 years later, just re-figuring it out. You see, I never took into account my mad genious. In my frazzled state, I reverted back to my natural state, or the basic me-ness that I had, and came up with a mad genious plan! Nice. I rule.

Another mad genious was Tesla. Nikola Tesla. one of the awesomest mad genious bad-asses of all time, to be sure. A real mad scientist. Go
here to read a really cool and funny descrition of Tesla by author Ben Thompson. And get his book (I figure that if I promote his book and his site, he'll forgive me for linking him without permission.) Anyways, the dude, Tesla, was a mad genious, like me. Maybe I should show my fandom of Tesla by wearing a shirt that says "Nikola's Fanboys" with a picture of a Tesla coil. Would there be any interest, besides me, a fellow mad genious, in any shirts like that? Let me know.

Anyways, I think me and Tesla would have been good friends, because we could actually converse on a level that mere mortals couldn't comprehend. Or arch rivals, because we're both mad geniouses. I prefer to believe that we would be friends, though. Until next time!

The Raven-Wolf?

"The Raven-Wolf? Why ever would a person want that to be their name? It's so... dark, so... yeah." That might be what you're asking yourself, and, by extension, me. Well, here's my answer: So? Actually, I do have a good reason. A long time ago, I was exploring spirit animals. Now, I'm not saying that I was trying to set myself in a trance and explore "the other side," but that I was trying to learn more about myself by deciding which animals I was most drawn to and their sub-conscious meanings. To my dismay, I was not drawn to a single animal. I was drawn to two. Equally. They were, you guessed it, the raven and the wolf. After studying a bit more, I discovered that these two animals share a lot of the same traits. Both highly intelligent, both life maters, and therefore fiercely loyal, both teachers, and both symbols of freedom. Their spiritual symbolism is very similar, too. They even share some of the same ancient gods, like Odin of Norse mythology. And the fact that I'm equally drawn to both of them doesn't mean that I have multiple personalities, although some who know me would likely vehemently argue with that statement. It means that I have multiple facets of a complicated personality.

So, there you have it. I am the Raven-Wolf. But I am so much more than that. When speaking of the old "elemental" symbols, I find myself drawn to fire. Of the Chinese elements, I'm equally drawn to wood and fire (or, at least I was last I checked; also, there's that multiplicity thing again...), so I guess the Chinese would term me as a burning brand. I have always been fascinated with fire. The creation of it, the practical application of it, or simply watching it do its job of consuming. Some ancient cultures even believed fire to be alive. It moves, it propagates, it breathes, it consumes. By those- almost alchemical- definitions, it very well could be, and I can really understand that. Not to mention the sheer pleasure that one derives from watching it. It is grace defined by chemical reaction. It is free, in its own right. It is beautiful, really, and one would be hard pressed to deny that, even as it ravages and destroys. I have always been utterly fascinated by the legend of Prometheus. A titan, he was spared the fate of some of his brethren when Zeus took over the cosmos. But that wasn't to last, as he defied Zeus and stole fire to give to man, pitying them their cold, earthly plight. For this he was severely punished. I like to imagine that he eventually escaped that rock to which he had been chained, that he was able to get away from the vulture that tormented him endlessly by eating his liver by day, leaving at night, and returning again by day to consume what had grown back. I see in Prometheus a tragic hero. He did what he felt was best, and was severely, perhaps unjustly, punished for it by the Powers-That-Be. So he took on a persona as a rebel, a freedom fighter. Not to mention his connection to fire.

So, there you see the three things, symbols, that define me, or, most nearly do. Ravens, wolves, and fire. Thinking of those things and the traits they symbolize, it wouldn't be easy for one to discern me, to see of what stuff I am made. Or, at least, a portion of it. I'm not sure what I hoped to accomplish with this blog, if anything. If nothing else, it'll help me to write, to get back in that habit and do it, to eventually get one of my many stories published. Mostly, I'm sure, I do it for me. Not to sound selfish, but this will help me get things out, off of my chest, as it were. Maybe whatever readers I attract, probably just family and close friends for the most part, can get something out of my ramblings, but who knows? I guess we shall see....