The One With Aldacron

The Sims 3

2009-07-06T11:14:13Z

When it comes to computer games, I’m mostly into strategy games. I prefer turn-based, but I enjoy an RTS now and again. Simulations have always been interesting to me as well, particularly sports management sims. Of course, the mother of all simulation games is the Sims franchise.

I confess, I never jumped on the Sims bandwagon when the first iteration took the gaming world by storm. I gave it a spin when a friend acquired it. Initially, I found it interesting. But it turned quite boring and repetitive before too long. So although it was on top of the gaming charts forever, it just wasn’t my thing.

I eventually bought The Sims 2 quite a while after it was released. While I found it to be somewhat of an improvement over the original, I never played it for any significant length of time. I uninstalled and reinstalled it several times, hoping to get into it. I never did play any of my sims for their full lifespans. Needless to say, I never bought any of the expansions either. I just always felt the game was missing something. Primarily, more advanced neighborhood interactions. I always found it jarring that, while playing, the entire neighborhood disappeared, leaving your sim’s house all alone in this vacant, green world. I wanted to walk around the neighborhood, knock on doors, greet people on the street, and that sort of thing. Yes, I was very pleased to read that all of this was going into the third iteration in the series.

Shortly after The Sims 3 hit the shelves in Korea, I purchased a copy. This is the Sims game I’ve been wanting to play since the original. I like it so much that it’s the only game I’m playing right now. My epic campaign in Europa Universalis III is suspended, and Burscough will have to do without me for a while in FIFA Manager 09. The Sims 3 is just plain, silly fun. My first sim just turned elderly and will likely croak soon. His wife is only a few days away from going gray herself. And their kid is growing quickly. I’m really eager to see how the traits he has develop. He already has the insane trait, which has been hilarious to see.

Too bad for me, though. I’ve got a hefty number of games I’ve yet to complete and very little time in a day to spend on gaming. The days of 15 hour gaming sessions are long gone (the main reason I no longer play MMOs). So unless The Sims 3 gets tedious soon, it’s going to be a while before I finish off any of the other games lying around my hard disk. And my book case. And in my closet. Bah.

My Favorite Trail

2009-07-02T13:02:50Z

Tuesday, thanks to some canceled classes, I had time for a good long hike. I went to my favorite mountains: Ye Bong San and Ungil San.

I had intended to start out at a peak next to Ye Bong, called Ye Bin San, but because I got started 50 minutes late, at 7:35 am, I didn’t want to risk being late for my evening class. It’s a 50 minute trip one-way to the mountain from my house, plus I expected the Ye Bin trail to take around 7 hours. Starting at Ye Bong instead I knew would take closer to 6 hours. So that’s the way I went. From Pal Dang Station to Ye Bong San peak, along the route I took, is just over 3 km, with the first kilometer being along a couple of roads leading to the mountain trail.

I took one of the steepest routes up the mountain. There are only a couple of level points along the whole ~2km to the peak. It’s a strenuous trail, but I love it. On the way, I saw that a new staircase is under construction at one of the steeper sections to replace a rope rail. Not too pleased with that, as it blocks access to one of my favorite viewpoints. Two other rope rails along the course had been pulled out, with the materials for newer ones laid out nearby. Without the ropes to rely on at those points like normal, it was a bit more tiresome than usual. Still managed to make the peak in exactly one hour and thirty minutes, which is par for the course.

After a brief respite at Ye Bong San peak, it was a quick 600+ meter jaunt to Cheol Mun Bong, the next peak along the ridge. It’s a rather boring spot, with no benches or vendors. It does have a big map board. From there, it was another 1.2 km to Cheok Gap San, which looks more like a pile of stones next to the trail than a peak. Along the way is a great little tent restaurant that serves several different goodies. They were closed this time, though.

From Cheok Gap San, it was somewhere in the neighborhood of 4 ~ 5 km to Un Gil San Peak, with a brief stop to eat my regular hiking fare of tuna kim bap along the way. There were a handful of people there who had come up from Un Gil San station, the direction I would be headed down. The regular vendor guy was there, from whom I bought one can of overpriced Gatorade and one can of overpriced Pocari Sweat, since he only had one Gatorade and I wanted two. I say overpriced, but he does haul all of that up the mountain on his back. He knows my face now, so we chatted a bit. I suppose I’m a regular now.

From Un Gil San peak, after hanging out for 15 minutes or so, I decided to avoid the trail to So Jeong Temple. It’s longer and, once you get past the temple, turns into a road for much of the way down. Give me dirty, rocky trails, please. From the peak down to Un Gil San station, along the path I took, is roughly another 3 km, which I knocked out in an hour. I arrived at the station around 1:20 pm. So overall, it was a 5 hour and 45 minute hike. About 15 minutes longer than the last time I took this route alone, but then I didn’t hang around atop Un Gil that time.

One of the reasons I like this route, from Ye Bong to Un Gil, is that it’s not as popular with casual hikers as the other mountains near Seoul. I encountered fewer than 10 hikers in the first four hours, and then only a dozen or so more during the remainder. On weekends, it’s a different story. Since Un Gil San station opened a couple of months ago, people have been all over Un Gil San like ants. But, if you start early (I like to get going before 7:00) and start from the Ye Bong San side, even on the weekends the first leg of the hike won’t be very crowded. Of course, by the time you get to Un Gil San it will be midday and the crowds will be there.

It’s not a hike for the uninitiated, though. There are a couple of relatively moderate trails up Ye Bong. And the course along the ridge line isn’t too bad. But the last kilometer or so up to Un Gil is somewhat rough, particularly considering the distance you’ll have covered by that point. I recommend that new hikers start out at Puk Han San and Do Bong San, on the northern outskirts of Seoul. Tackle those slopes for three or four months to build up your chops. When I first started out, Do Bong San nearly killed me because I was so out of shape. Now, I find it rather boring.

Hiking beats jogging any time. I wish I could go every day.

And So it Goes

2009-07-02T13:07:11Z

There are those who will tell you that they live their lives as if there is no tomorrow. Since you can die at any time, you should make the most of each day and cherish every moment. I used to be one of those people.

As a teen, I was sure I wouldn’t live past 18. I recall one night cruising with my best friend, Wayne, in his ‘70 Monte Carlo, as we often did. As we pulled up to his house at the end of the night, I told him, quite seriously, that when I died I wanted all of our friends to get smashed. And I asked that he make sure I was buried with a bottle of Jack, my guitar, and a picture of my first love, who had recently dumped me. He joked it off at first, until I insisted. Then he sincerely assured me he’d take care of it. Somehow, despite all of the stupid stuff we did, we both survived our teens.

By the time I hit my twenties, I had lost the morbid certainty that I would die young, but I still believed in taking life one day at a time. I don’t know when I finally started looking to, and planning for, the future. But it wasn’t early enough.

That whole “live every minute as if it were your last”, or “you only live once,” way of thinking is quite appealing. You might say it’s romantic. Or adventurous. It evokes the image of a carefree spirit, someone who loves life and desires to enjoy it to the fullest. The reality is that it too often is simply a justification to shirk responsibility. It’s the perfect motto for the rebel without a cause. The authorities might not be happy that Johnny sped his motorcycle through the city at 3 am, so drunk he could hardly see straight. But some of his friends understand that he might die tomorrow, so why not have fun today?

Death surrounds us. It’s always there. When it’s not affecting us directly in the loss of a loved one, it’s still there peripherally, on the news or in gossip from friends. Unless you’re stranded on a deserted island, you aren’t going to escape it. And so we all try to deal with it, to accept it in a way that makes personal sense. And for each individual, how we deal with death and, by extension, how we choose to live our lives, will change as time passes and we adapt to our own experiences.

I no longer strictly adhere to that “I might die tomorrow” philosophy. The realization came that, statistically, I’m more likely to live for quite a while than I am to die tomorrow. From that perspective, it makes more sense to prepare for the future. When I do die, I won’t be missing anything. So what if I never made it to Paris or Rome? In death, I won’t know and it won’t matter. But if I find myself at 70 years old, flat broke because I spent all of my money living like there’s no tomorrow, I will know and it will matter. So now I put more priority on the future in most aspects of my life. But in others, I still live for the present. It’s a balance I’ve struck that works well for me.

While it would be gratifying to admonish others to follow the same philosophy, it wouldn’t be practical. In my twenties, I ignored anyone who tried to lay it on me. It was a point of view I couldn’t comprehend at that point in my life. But it wasn’t because of my age. I’ve seen plenty twenty-somethings who abhor living for today. No, like everything else in our lives, our view of life and death is largely shaped by our life experiences. Sure, when you’re older you’ve got more experiences to draw on, but in this case I think it’s more about the quality of the experiences, (the impact they have) rather than the quantity. And, when it comes down to it, there really isn’t a right way.

And so life marches on. We live our lives, evolve our attitudes and outlooks, and then we die. We argue about politics, religion, freedom, human rights, territory, sports and so much more. We take pleasure in things great and small, and surround ourselves with a circle of friends and family, some moreso than others. While we do this, many of our fellows fall each day, just outside of our vision. From those we never knew to those who touched us all. Sometimes, we move on immediately. Other times, we take a little while. Some never move on at all. But in the end, for most of us, the knowledge of death does not impede the progress of life.

It would be wonderful if we could treat each other with kindness, dignity and respect for the little time we are here. It seems like a lost cause, though. After all, religions and moral codes have been teaching us for millenia to love our neighbors, and yet people are still trying to kill each other in the name of one religion or another. Perhaps in the distant future, humans will achieve a state of social serenity in which death by man-made causes will be a relic of the past. Until then, we’ll keep living with death in all of its forms and dealing with it as best as we know how.

Religious Privilege and Why I Criticise

2009-06-19T10:53:58Z

My number two biggest gripe about religion, number one being that the religious try to shove their silly beliefs down everyone else’s throats, is that the religious think they are somehow privileged and that their needs and wants should always be attended to at the expense of others who do not adhere to their beliefs. A great example of this sort of selfish behavior can be found in a lawsuit currently underway in the UK.

An Orthodox Jewish couple is suing the management of their vacation home over light sensors that were installed in the hallway. Their complaint? Orthodox Jews aren’t allowed to use electrical devices, including lights, on Jewish holidays. Because of this, they are now unable to enter or exit their vacation home on the Sabbath. In other words, the management company is infringing the couples’ religious rights.

The problem, though, is that they are not the only people who use the facilities. I don’t know if it’s an apartment building or a condo or what, but the hallways are shared with the residents of 35 other apartments. And they, apparently, aren’t happy about the suit.

One of [the other residents], who did not wish to be named but attended a management meeting last week with the couple, said: “For some time there has been discussions around here about the lights being on all day, which is crazy.

“Light sensors mean the lights only come on when you require them to be on, which is common sense.

“This couple are observant Jews. They have a religious problem with this.

“It has gone further than it should have done, I think they have jumped the gun.

“They did come to a meeting and put their point of view forward.

“The general view was that despite any differences the matter should be resolved as quickly as we can.

“It just seems to have been blown out of all proportion.”

So here we have a case of two followers of one particular religion trying to claim special privilege, because their religion requires it, at the expense and inconvenience of others. This sort of behavior is downright maddening.

I was recently asked why I criticise religion so often. A simple answer is, because I can. Religious belief is no different than any other belief. The idea that it should be immune from criticism, an idea that is all too prevalent in the world, is just absurd. In a free country, anything you have a right to believe, others should have the right to criticise. Whether or not a majority of the citizenry agree with the criticism is irrelevant. Religious belief is no more special than political belief, or the belief that the boogeyman lives under the bed. But that’s the easy answer.

The truth is, if the religious would just keep to themselves, there’d be no reason to criticise them so often. But they just can’t do that, can they? Because they believe homosexuality is a sin and that marriage is a religious institution, then homosexuals shouldn’t be allowed to marry. Because they believe that a book is morally reprehensible, or somehow against the tenants of their Bronze Age mythologies, then no one else should be allowed to read that book at the public library. And they repeatedly behave as this Jewish couple, trying to assert special privileges, expecting the rest of society to bend over backwards to accomodate their belief system.

Yeah, it’s because of people like this Jewish couple that I criticise, and will continue to criticise, religion. Oh, and because of the religiously motivated terrorists, too. And the people who pray for their imaginary friend to heal their sick children instead of taking them to hospital where they, you know, wouldn’t actually die. And the people who refuse to give their child a blood transfusion because it’s against their religion. And the people who so vehemently preach one thing while doing another. And… you get the picture.

I criticise religion because it deserves crticism. The days of being silent while religiously-blinded zealots try to send us back to the Bronze Age are over. More and more people are speaking out. And I’m one of them. We do so because we are tired of what people do in the name of religion. And we realize that the world would be a much better place without it. Not perfect, but definitely better.

Off the Deep End With Neal Boortz

2009-06-16T03:42:43Z

Though he’s not a part of the upper echelon of right-wing extremist mouthpieces (Limbaugh, Hannity, O’Reilly), Neal Boortz is just as looney. This week, he really went far, far out into right-wing nutjob land with his attack on lower class U.S. citizens. A sampling:

Everybody still living in a hotel or trailer after Hurricane Katrina, no votes, can’t vote again, ever, ever. Everybody living in Section 8 housing, should not, nobody living in Section 8 housing should be allowed to vote, and don’t give me this elderly, if you’re elderly and living in Section 8 housing, you’ve done a piss poor job of planning your life, no vote for you.

He also says, “We have to do something to get the fools and the ignoramuses out of the voting booth in this country.” I concur. Let’s start with all the raving, lunatic, right-wing nutjobs.

No, I don’t really believe that. Unlike the far right, I believe all American citizens deserve the right to vote. But, I do believe that people like Boortz are a cancer that stand in the way of social progress. On every major security, social and economic issue, the right is the wrong side to be on. Boortz and his ilk continue to spread their vile message, but I’m confident that history will prove them to be the backwards tools they are.

You can hear more Boortz inanity on this from an audio of the broadcast over at Politicususa.com. I would declare that what Boortz has to say is mind-boggling, except that I’ve been desensitized to conservative stupidity to the point that it barely registers anymore on the shock meter.

Exhausting Hike

2009-06-14T13:49:31Z

Had a great hike today across six peaks and I don’t know how many kilometers. It took 8 hours, though. I hiked roughly the same course over a month ago, excepting the first two and the last three kms that we covered today (I took different start and end trails), and made it in 5-and-a-half hours. I expected today’s hike to take between 6 and 7 hrs, being that my wife was with me. Unfortunately, she was suffering from quite a bit of knee and ankle pain through the last leg, so we moved along incrementally. She was a real trooper about it, though. But no more extended hikes for her. She’d rather stick to our shorter excursions.

We’re always hungry after a good hike and usually fix ourselves up with sandwhiches or a healthful Korean dish. But today we were absolutely famished. Any calories we burnt off were likely negated by the pizza, cookies and sashimi that we picked up from Costco on the way home. I love the cookies from the Costco bakery, particularly the oatmeal & raisin. And it looks like sirloin steaks for a late dinner. Not typical post-hike fare for us, but I’m not complaining today.

A Heaping Helping of Stupid

2009-06-10T13:22:09Z

It doesn’t get much more stupid than this. Another advertisement for the American brand of Christianity.

Creative Works, Greed and Free Information, Pt. 3

2009-06-09T13:36:11Z

This series of posts was started to address a common justification for the piracy of digital products, the idea that information should be free. In the first post, I examined a related argument, that corporations are evil, and argued that it is no excuse for piracy. In part two, I started to look at the information should be free argument by trying to define information. I asserted that there are two definitions of information relevant to the discussion and argued that the first, knowledge, cannot be applied to digital products. I concluded with the following:

…since music, movies, or software all fail to fit the definition of knowledge, this falls flat as an excuse to pirate digital goods. Where the ambiguity arises, and where you can get your ammunition to call me a moron, is when information means data.

Are you ready to call me a moron? OK. Here’s your ammunition. The word data has different meanings in different contexts. It could be the results of scientific experimentation or observation, the results of a public poll, a set of statistics such as those collected during a Census, and more. The meaning of data relevant to our discussion is given to us by Merriam-Webster as:

3 : information in numerical form that can be digitally transmitted or processed

So there you go. Digital products such as books, movies, music and software all fit that definition nicely. Now you can sit back, call me a moron, and laugh about how you’re entitled to all of that music you’ve been downloading because it is information and information should be free! Finished? Good. Now I’m going to show why you’re a bigger moron than I am.

Before we go further, it would be helpful to understand a bit about information in numerical form that can be digitally transmitted or processed. Technically, computer data is not stored or processed in a numerical format. But it is often visualized that way, so the definition works for our purposes. Computer data is often viewed in base 16, or hexadecimal, format by software developers and crackers because it’s not too hard for a human to interpret. But on the computer architectures we use today, it is stored, transmitted, and processed in a binary format. If you were to directly translate computer data to an equivalent numeric format, you would use base 2, which is a series of zeros and ones (11110110, for example). Not so easy for we humans to interpret.

If you were to print out any file from your computer in binary form, regardless of the format of the file itself, you would see an unbroken sequence of ones and zeros. It would all appear meaningless. And you know what? It would be. Those ones and zeros only have meaning to the computer. If your printout is of an image file, you have absolutely no way of reproducing that image yourself without feeding it manually (using special software) to another computer. If it is a music file, you have no way of reproducing or transcribing it. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to do anything with the binary printout of a program. Even if you have the patience to learn to interpret binary printouts, they would still be out of context and, therefore, meaningless to you.

Here’s the problem. A given sequence of binary numbers can have several different meanings, depending on its context. As an example, look at this sequence: 11110110. By itself, meaningless. But in an executable file (a program) on an Intel processor (or any processor with that supports the x86 architecture) it might be a command to execute one of several types of multiply operations on a couple of numbers. Or, instead of a CPU instruction, it might represent the number 247. Or it might represent the division sign, ÷. Or it might be part of a longer sequence, something like 1111011001101110, which could again have a different meaning on different CPU architectures. Furthermore, these numbers could represent operating system commands. Or they could represent other commands inside a program.

The point is, computer data out of context is meaningless. It needs to be interepreted by the CPU, the operating system and, ultimately, the software you run on your system. Take a Windows executable file and try to run it natively on Linux or Mac OSX. Not going to happen. By themselves, those operating systems do not know how to interpret the binary data in Windows executable format. Try to run a program written for an Intel CPU on a PowerPC CPU. Won’t happen. Each CPU architecture and operating system has its own way of interpreting binary data. This is a very important factor in deciding whether or not movies, music and software are information.

To illustrate, let’s take something from the real world. Preferably, something that qualifies as knowledge. A phone number would do just fine. It qualifies as the knowing-what type of knowledge. If someone were to ask you for your phone number, you might write it down on a piece of paper. Or, you might send it via email. Whether it’s on paper, or in binary format on an email server, the number itself is still the same. All that has changed is the medium on which it was delivered.

Now, would you consider a piece of paper to be information? If you would, you’re a lost cause and can just stop reading now. The paper is not information. But the phone number is, in the form of knowledge. As for the email, that’s a different story. Not only is the phone number a kind of information, but so is the binary code used to represent it. Now we’re dealing with two types of information — knowledge, the phone number, and data, the binary code. One type for human consumption and the other for computer consumption. When the recipient reads your email, he’ll be able to see your phone number in text format on his monitor. But there’s more to the story.

I’ve decided to write a new program for fun (not really, but indulge me). My program will go through emails, extract phone numbers, and save them to disk as JPEG image files. What does that mean? It means that software which knows how to interpret the JPEG image file format will be able to read the file and interpret the binary data that represents your phone number not as text, but as the color values of a digital image. The binary data is the same, but it no longer represents your phone number. Did your phone number change? Even if I directly edited the binary data that represents your phone number such that it became a different phone number, your real phone number would still be the same. If not, the universe as I know it no longer exists and we can all go home now.

If you haven’t figured it out, I’ll summarize the point I’m trying to make. The binary data that represents your phone number in an email is distinct from your phone number itself. The two are not inextricably tied together. Changing one does not change the other. They are separate entities. It goes back to that word that I emphasized in the last post, representation. I’ll explain.

Take a board game. Any board game. Remember, we determined in part two that board games do not classify as information. The rules do, but the representation of the rules, in the form of the game board and accessories, does not. Now let’s make a computer version of the board game for Windows. The rules are the same (assuming we didn’t intentionally modify them), but this version does not have a physical representation. Instead, it has a graphical representation on a computer monitor. Furthermore, the graphical representation is enabled by an executable computer file, which is a collection of binary data that can be interpreted on a Windows operating system. Now let’s port the game to Mac OSX. If we were to compare the binary data of the Mac version with that of the Windows version, we’ll find that while a lot of it is the same, there are several differences. However, the graphical representation will essentially be the same. And, importantly, the rules will not have changed. The game itself is distinct from the executable file that creates its representation.

So what does all of this mean? I’m about to tell you. It means that books, music, movies, and software are not computer data and, therefore, are not information. Now, I know you’re going to wave your hands in protest, especially with my claim that software isn’t computer data. After all, software, by definition, cannot exist except in digital form. And most software does not have a real world equivalent like a board game. But it doesn’t matter. Whether you’re talking about computer games, office suites, graphics editors, or any kind of software imaginable, the representation of that software, be it in text mode or in graphical GUI goodness, is distinct from the binary code that creates it.

I’m simplifying a bit. OK, a lot. Most of the software you use, games especially, have a lot going on behind the scenes. The computer is crunching numbers, saving files to disk, and doing a lot of work that you don’t see graphically. But, again, it doesn’t matter. That, too, is a representation of the software. Any program can be ported to multiple operating systems and CPU architectures, performing the same general operations. The binary changes, but the program itself remains largely intact. Open Office is still Open Office on multiple platforms, even though the binary data is different. And in the future, if we ever represent computer data using something other than binary, we can still port old software to the new format and the representation can, conceivably, be largely the same.

So in two posts, I’ve laid out the rationale behind my assertion that digital works are not information. You may agree with me, you may not. That’s fine. You are free to do either. Ah, there’s that word free again. He just keeps popping up. And in part 4, I’m going to tackle head on the argument that information should be free. Despite all of the effort I went to in explaining that I don’t think digital works are information. Because I really love freedom, but all of those information-should-be-free hippies keep trying to take it away from me.

Every Year?

2009-06-07T12:40:11Z

There was some debate today among my wife’s family about the air raid siren we heard yesterday. My sister-in-law’s husband kicked it off by saying that the siren sounds every Memorial Day at 10:00 am. The family was split on whether or not that was true. I was surprised when he said it, because I’ve never noticed it before. Perhaps I’ve slept through it every Memorial Day. In the end, they never came to an agreement. I’ll make a point to ask about it in some of my classes this week.

Alert! Alert!

2009-06-08T14:33:38Z

I woke up this morning to the blaring sound of an air raid siren. Oddly, my first impulse was to reach for my cell phone to check the time. 10:01 am. It must be the monthly drill, when the siren goes off for a minute or so, some jets fly overhead, and the siren goes off again a few minutes later to signal the stand down.

Once upon a time, people on the street during a drill were expected to drop what they were doing and make for the nearest shelter, like a subway station. The first time I got caught on the street during a drill I dutifully made my way to the nearest subway station (it was Chungmuro station on line 4, IIRC), until I noticed that all of the pedestrians were just stopping along the sidewalk, under awnings and in front of stores, their backs pressed against the walls and windows. The cars just kept going for the most part, though some pulled over to the side of the road. These days, I don’t think anyone even pays any attention to the siren. They just continue about their business.

My next thought this morning was the realization that today is not the 15th. You see, the drill always, without fail, is held on the 15th of each month. I was on the sofa (because of my recent back trouble) and my wife on the floor (her mother was in our bed). She sat up and stared sleepily my way for a moment before calmly turning on the TV and flipping the channels. By this time, I was mostly awake. The thought flashed in my mind that if we were under attack, I’m sure North Korean infiltrators would have disabled communications beforehand.

One channel my wife landed on had a live aerial view of a ceremony downtown outside the Blue House (Korea’s equivalent of the White House). Oh, yeah. It’s Memorial Day today. At this point, the siren cut out. It had lasted at least a minute. It must have been some sort of ceremonial thing for Memorial Day. But that’s never happened before. And if it had been announced beforehand, neither of us had heard anything about it. I wonder how many people were taken aback by the unexpected sound of an air raid siren on a sunny Saturday morning.

As my wife had flipped through the channels on the TV, I had been patiently waiting for a confirmation that either we were under attack or we weren’t. I say patiently because neither of us, though quite surprised, were panicking. We were both quite calm and quite clear headed (grogginess from sleep aside), though we both assumed there was a real possibility that a strike from the North was imminent. As soon as we realized that no attack would be forthcoming, we brushed it off. My wife went back to sleep, and I stumbled off to brush my teeth, both without a word of what had just transpired. It reminded me of an incident from my Army days.

In the fall of 1991, there was a stink about North Korea’s Yongbyon nuclear facility. I don’t recall the details and I’m unable to find anything through Google. What I do remember is that the Japanese had seen something in satellite photos that set off alarm bells in the west. At the time, I was an Army medic stationed at Camp Casey, Dongducheon, Korea, just a few kilometers south of the DMZ. At some point, my battalion, 2/72 Armor (affectionately referred to as Second Tank) was called to the nearby base theater for a briefing from the Brigade Commander. We were told that, in light of recent events, there was a possibility of the US launching an air strike on the Yongbyon nuclear facility. If that were to happen, Second Infantry Division (which included us) would go on alert 24 hours prior to the strike.

It was a strange way to go about announcing it, really. We weren’t locked down at the time. We were free to head off base to the local bars, free to get drunk and run our mouths. I don’t recall anything in the papers at the time alluding to possible air strikes, and I don’t remember it being public knowledge (again, I’m finding no mention of it in any North Korea “timelines” through Google). Under such circumstances, would a Colonel really tell every battalion in his command, in separate group “briefings”, that the US was considering an air strike on a sovereign nation? It seems irresponsible. Regardless, at the time, we believed it.

At the time, the Second Infantry Division held monthly exercises that the soldiers called practice alerts. Several alert sirens were set up near the major 2ID bases. In fact, we were prohibited, when off duty, from leaving a certain radius around the nearest siren without a pass. When the sirens went off for the practice alerts, we would go through the motions of a real alert.

First stop was the armory to pick up our weapons. Then it was off to the motor pool. In the motor pool, each vehicle was visited by a member of the commo platoon with a device to upload the encryption/decryption keys to the communication equipment. The vehicles had to be started and the comms configured. No vehicle was considered ready to roll until both had been accomplished. Usually, we would be given the order to stand down within an hour. In the case of a real alert, we would be expected to line up in convoy formation, then roll out to an ammo dump for supply, then head off to a rally point. We never practiced that part.

Yes, even medics maintain vehicles. We had two command tracked vehicles, the kind often used for mobile command posts, that we used for mobile aid stations. Then we had 4 armored personnel carriers, one for each tank company in our battalion, that had been converted to use as ambulances. Each tracked vehicle was manned by two medics, one driver and one TC (tank commander). We also had a hummer, a 2.5 ton truck and a 5 ton truck. In November of ‘91, I had recently been moved from one of the aid station tracks to an ambulance, as a driver (later, I would take over the hummer from my roommate).

Two things can be said about the six practice alerts I had experienced by that point. First, we always knew when they were coming. They were always in the first or second week of the month and almost exclusively on Tuesdays. Without fail, the siren would always sound early in the morning (though I can’t remember what time, it was almost always the same). Plus, my platoon had the good fortune to share a barracks hallway with the communications platoon. The commo guys had to know about the practice alerts in advance, since they needed to prepare the devices used to prime the commo equipment. They always knew about an alert the evening before and always let the medics in on it.

Second, something always went wrong. People misplaced their weapons, vehicles failed to start, commo equipment failed to operate, someone slept off base the night before and straggled in drunk… This was a constant. And these weren’t isolated cases. In Second Tank anyway, problems were usually widespread, in nearly every platoon. I remember after every alert, I’d shake my head and wonder how in the hell we’d be able to do what we were supposed to do if the real thing ever came along.

So it’s late November, just before Thanksgiving. We’d already had our alert for the month. It was a Thursday evening, as I recall, some time after 1800 hours (6:00 pm). I’d just returned from dinner at the Mess Hall and was sitting on my bunk. I had taken off my shirt and was in my t-shirt and pants, unlacing my boots. I was tired, but I was looking forward to a night on the town as usual. In the middle of taking off my left boot, the alert siren sounded. I froze.

My first reaction was one of disbelief. Something must be wrong. The siren’s malfunctioning or something. Aside from the siren, all was quiet. The noise that had been coming from the hallway and outside my window had ceased. Then, one of my roommates, Sam Morris, came running down the hall from the direction of the latrines, shouting, “Alert! Alert!” That seemed to spur everyone into action.

I put my boots back on. Then my shirt. The thing that stands out most about those few moments was that I was calm. I realized that this could be the alert that we had been warned about. The US could be preparing to launch an airstrike on North Korea. Within the next day or two, I could very well find myself in a combat zone. I had always imagined that when that situation came, I’d be terrified of the unknown. But I wasn’t. I just focused on the task at hand. First, getting dressed. Then, getting to the armory. Finally, to the motor pool and my vehicle.

As the evening continued, I was both amazed and impressed by what I saw. Where before I had seen my fellow soldiers as a motley crew of incompetent fools, I now saw a well-oiled machine. There were no misplaced weapons. Any equipment failures were overcome with expediency and without confusion. There were no missing personnel and no one complained. Most of all, no one I came in contact with seemed agitated or frightened. Each soldier was focused on his job. In short order, the whole battalion was in their vehicles, engines running and comms up. Then, the order came to line up in convoy formation and be ready to roll.

We had never before practiced lining up the vehicles. But it, too, went off without a hitch. Then, we waited. At this point, the adrenaline kicked in. There was an edge of excitement as everyone anticipated what would happen next. When would we roll out? Would we pick up ammo? Where would we rally? Then, the fear set in, as evidenced by the bravado that broke through the order for radio silence. Those commie bastards won’t get by us. Bah, get real! We’re just a speed bump until the reinforcements come. They’ll roll right over us. But not without a fight! Kick ass, Second Tank!

We spent all night in the motor pool. Any excitement or fear wore off well before the night was done. When the sun started to rise, we got the order to stand down. Vehicles were parked and weapons were returned to the armory. We were given half-a-day off, with orders to report for duty at 13:00 (1:00 pm). We never heard a word about the situation again.

Over the next year-and-a-half, we continued to have the same old predictable practice alerts with the same old problems. Before a year had passed, everyone in my platoon who had participated in that one, successful alert, when we all had thought it was the real thing, was gone. I was the only one left. None of the new guys believed me when I told them that it had all gone off without a hitch.

I’ve always wondered if it really was the real deal. Were we on the verge of launching an airstrike against North Korea? Did we get the order to stand down because someone, presumably the president, decided not to go through with it? Or was the whole thing a set up by our brigade commander? Did he conduct the breifings as a set up for a practice alert that no one expected? I suppose I’ll never know for sure, though I do have my opinion. I’m not telling, though