"An Historical" Moment

I could not help drawing a parallel between the gracious words of John McCain's concession speech, in which he called the much younger Obama “my president”, and the words of Sir Ector who bowed down at the feet of his adopted teenage son Arthur, and called him “my king” with equal humility and nobility. I'm so excited to see what is to come in the next four years! 

They asked in the news, “where were you when history was made today, when the first black man was elected president of America?” I was as far away from history in the making as one could get (and in fact, I was celebrating the British political holiday, Guy Fawkes Night, standing around a huge bonfire with the other teachers, watching a burning effigy of Guy Fawkes and eating jacket potatoes), but the excitement was contagious even all the way over here in Iraq, thanks to CNN and BBC. 

One major difference I noted while watching their various broadcasts was the global reach of his election's effects compared to previous president-elects. Not only citizens of America, GB, and other world powers celebrated ecstatically, but also Kenyans and Indonesians and even the Japanese of the town of Obama! I'm currently reading his first book, “Dreams from my father”, and I am amazed by all the different cultures he was exposed to as a boy.

Also, I just discovered a serious reason to hate Sarah Palin: she says an historical, pronouncing the 'h'! That is just wrong! If you're going to say “an”, you should treat the next word as starting with a vowel sound, as 'istorical; or else, just drop the act and say “a historical” like a normal human being! And that's human, not 'uman'!

Running Into Colors & Canines

Politics aside, today I ran for the first time outside of school grounds, and it was the most magical run ever! I ran through the workers' compound and made a right-turn into the setting sun. It's orange glow was visible just over the tall slopes of the smooth, dimpled mountains that define Khanzad's geography, but it disappeared from view as I ran closer to the mountains. Then, as the path curved again to the right, it moved the mountains aside and suddenly, the view opened up into a wide sea of the most beautiful, ethereal-looking colors that faded into one another like a series of dreams. From a certain spot, the cables looping from pole to pole looked exactly like the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco. 

I turned right again and ran through an opening in the fence and into the mountains, heading for a peak which would afford me an even better view of this evening's roj awa.

By the time I headed back, however, night was falling, and suddenly I got scared shitless by the wild dogs that started barking at me from either side of the road. Dogs here are not adorable, nor fluffy or pettable. They are short-haired, long-legged, mean-looking and wild, barking and roaming the mountains and plains and city alleys with abandon. &%#@! I think I will borrow a Kalashnikov from one of the guards for my next run. Prepare to die, ye deranged canines!