I probably shouldn't post after drinking so much

I've been coining new words at TNR.

Gaybie. n.
/gay-be'/

A gaybie is a fetus (or "unborn baby" if you're the kind of person who pickets chez Ruth Bader Ginsburg) that has been genetically determined to be gay. Should you abort it? Seek to change its sexual orientation via genetic engineering? Or love it at a person, and maybe play a little Barbara Streisand during the delivery? The answer depends on which ideology you choose to blindly follow.

oPod. n.
/oh'-pod/

An oPod is a techie who's fallen victim to the irresistible lure of Barack Obama. Apparently there are a lot of them. I like Obama, but the fuss people make over him is a little silly. I mean, just because the guy was crucified and then rose again after three days to redeem the Democratic party, people think he's like Jesus or something.

I'd appreciate it if everyone reading this blog started using these words whenever possible.

Sacha Zimmerman (one of the hottest "off-air media females" in DC) actually threw 'gaybie' into one of her blog posts after I referenced it. My heart went pitter-patter.

I know I'm inconsistent

Let's see, my last post was in September of 2006 -- I guess I'm not much of a blogger. But since I didn't make any New Years resolutions this year, I think I'll make one for St. Patrick's Day: post more here. I honestly think writing is the best way to organize your thoughts and sharpen your mind; my mind could use a great deal of sharpening these days.

In a little over two weeks I go on vacation in Rome. More on that later. Also to be discussed: the impending death of my Moroccan adventure, my possible upcoming purchase of a condo, and girls I think are cute.

Ramadanoblog, D+1

As many of you know, yesterday marked the start of the Holy month of Ramadan, when Muslims honor Allah by not eating and also by getting very, very irritable. As an American agnostic living in an Islamic country, I’ve decided to try partaking of the fast myself. Maybe it will help foster cross-cultural awareness and understanding. Also, I could probably stand to lose a few pounds around the whole stomach region. Win win! So, this is the inaugural post of my new feature: Ramadanoblog!

During Ramadan, Muslims are forbidden to eat, drink, or smoke during the hours between sunup and sunset. From what I can tell, most Moroccans don’t eat a lot during the day anyway, but they sure as Hell smoke and drink tea all the time. So sometimes Ramadan isn’t pretty: have you ever seen a committed smoker jonesing for a cigarette but unable to have one? Well, if you haven’t, just keep watching this blog.

Now, a little confession: I’m not keeping strict Ramadan hours. Specifically, I’m not getting up before fuckin’ dawn for Mohammad, Jesus, the Buddha, L Ron Hubbard, or anyone else (except the US Army, hooah). So, here’s my Tom Wilson specific rule: the fast begins after I wake up in the morning (usually 0715), smoke a cigarette, and have a glass of water. Maybe I’ll eat some Wheaties or something too, if I’m really hungry. After that, no food or drink until sundown.

So what’s the point of Ramadanoblog? I guess to chronicle the effects of no food, no water, and no nicotine on a perpetually hungry and thirsty half-a-pack-a-day smoker. In the interest of science, of course. I’d like to put myself in the same place as the Moroccans around me and see if I can see things a little from their point of view. Any significant conclusions – and many insignificant ones – will be detailed here.

Incidentally, I was a little sick yesterday so today is my first true day of fasting. I've got about one and a half more hours left! My initial conclusion: man, Ramadan blows the big one. Good God am I hungry and nicotine-deprived. At this rate, I'll be surprised if I make it through D+5 without cracking.

World affairs, Barney-style

My mission in life is to simplify current events so that even children can understand them. Therefore, I have conveniently summarized the current uproar over the Pope's remarks about Islam.

The Pope: Muslims should stop being so violent! They should coexist peacefully with the rest of the world, much like the Catholic Church has done for, oh, going on several years now.
Moderate Muslims: How can you so such things?! We are very angry about this. In fact, we are much more angry about this than we are about Muslims being violent.
Extremist Muslims: He called us violent! Let's retaliate by burning down a few churches and maybe murdering a nun!
The Pope: Okay! I apologize for upsetting you. I'm so very sorry that you got so angry about my remarks. I will never say anything like this again because we're kinda running short on nuns lately.

That's about as far as we've gotten so far, but I expect that the next move will be for Muslims to stick their tongues out and maybe give the Pope a wet willy.

There was a time in my life when I would have blamed all this silliness on religion and its ability to make grown men act like petulant children. As I've grown older and arguably wiser, it has become clear to me that grown men will act like petulant children for any number of reasons, and if you take away their religions they will surely find another excuse to yell at each other and set fire to buildings.

Obligatory 9/11 post

Five years since September 11th, 2005, and I can still remember vividly where I was when I heard about the attacks. It was Army basic training and our drill sergeant had called us together as a platoon to break the news: planes had crashed into the twin towers and the Pentagon. He even singled me out.

Private Wilson, you’re a damn intelligence analyst. [Of course, I was no such thing at the time; I was a basic trainee, with as much intelligence experience as the next guy] What do you make of this?

Ummm, terrorism, Drill Sergeant?

I hadn’t learned yet to always respond with confidence.

We went to the gym after that and they let us turn on the radio, which was usually forbidden. I was doing pull-ups when the word came that the second tower had collapsed. Everyone felt sick. There was so much confusion everywhere and we were twice as confused as most, because we had half the information. Rumors swirled through the barracks that night: people said Camp David had been hit, the President was missing, DC was in rubble. One guy was weeping in his bunk. We had all enlisted in peacetime and now we were facing the prospect of war. But when and where, and against whom? Nobody knew.

Well, we know now: Afghanistan and Iraq. And those are just the hot spots; the war on terrorism industry has spread its tentacles across every continent and facet of life. I don’t mean to be cynical, as much of it is well intentioned and some even useful. But it’s hard to escape the feeling that we are all cogs in the machine of our own protection. We fight the terrorists so that they won’t kill the people who fight the terrorists.

I never did fight anyone, never fired a shot in anger. Instead of Iraq or Afghanistan, I went to Monterey, California to learn Korean, and then to Korea, and then (inexplicably) to Texas. How many of my basic training class ended up driving HMMWVs down twisting Baghdad roads? How many died there? Were their deaths worth it? At the end, did they feel they were making a difference or were they counting down the days before they could go home to their wives and husbands and sons and daughters?

There aren’t any easy answers, except for politicians and ideologues. There are people who would pronounce every last one a hero and others who will brand them all war criminals. The truth is that they were just people – just boys and girls, really – from Montana and Georgia and New York, jobless or hoping to get an education, wanting to better themselves, trying to keep out of jail, bored and restless, maybe consumed with hatred. Five years ago today they just wanted to get out of Basic Training and drink a beer or smoke a cigarette.

Question!

How big is Donald Rumsfeld's penis?

Answer:

Thanks, New York Times, for giving me the easiest penis joke of the day. I'm surprised Wonkette hasn't blown (haha) this one open yet.

Got those lost passport blues

For those of you not already "in the know," I lost my passport over the weekend. Did it fall out of my pocket? Did some thieving scoundrel pick my pocket? Did I sell it in the medina for a kilo of hashish? The world may never know.

Attention Security Clearance People: that last option was just a joke.

Anyway, I seem to have the situation under control. After two days of running around like a chicken with its head cut off who had also just lost an important official document, my replacement is being printed up in the States as we speak and should be in my hands in ten to fifteen days. I'm supposed to be leaving country on the 19th; it's cutting it close, but I should be okay. Moral of the story: never, ever loss your passport overseas.

Also, I think I'm losing any desire to join the foreign service. The consular affairs officer who helped me out was very professional and understanding, but man that job's gotta suck. It may have a certain Graham Greene-esque bureaucrat-in-a-foreign-land romance to it, but that probably doesn't make up for the fact that you spend your days stamping paperwork in a barely air conditioned office full of hot, angry people.

Other news from my life: I'm going back to school! Not real school, of course...internet school! The University of Maryland University College, to be specific. Considering that I have, let's see, roughly 126 credit hours to my name (86 from Reed College as a philosophy major, ~40 from DLI in Korean), I should be able to get my degree in a year or so. Well, maybe a bit more, because I don't have time to take a full course load. But still.

The downside is that I'll have a BA in "Humanities." Humanities! That's what people study when they can't cut it in philosophy but still don't want to get a job when they graduate.

Also: happy 63rd birthday, Dad!