My perfectionism-induced procrastination (or P.IN.P., which is, I believe, the official DSM IV-approved abbreviation for it) has kept me from writing this first announcement for a couple weeks now. Truth be told, trying to decide what I should say and what I should leave unsaid was the main cause of the delay. But regardless, it's time to give the official announcement and fill you in on what the next step is for me (in case you don't already know).

The short of it is this: I'm not going back to Iraq this fall. (Please, hold your applause...yes, I'm especially talking to you, Julie.)

( If you don't wish to read a rambling explanation about all of this, don't click here. )

We had our version of Spring Break last week.

March 21st is the Kurdish New Year. It's called "Newroz," a compound word made up of the words "roz," the Kurdish word for "day," and "new," the English word for, well, "new." It's no mistake that their new year starts on the first day of Spring.

So how do the Kurds ring in the new year? Fireworks? Nope. A ball that drops at the stroke of midnight in some Times Square-like locale in Kurdistan? Hardly. The rituals were uniquely Kurdish, and with holidays being such a big deal to the folks here in Northern Iraq (as you well know from reading this LJ), we certainly did our fair share of celebrating this last week.

First, about the traditions: the majority of people here celebrate Newroz by going out of the city and having a picnic with friends and family. In that sense, it was very reminiscent of the way many Americans celebrate the 4th of July.

But the comparison breaks down here: many folks wear traditional Kurdish clothing ("jhily kurdi") and most groups will--at some point during the picnicking (if not throughout)--dance traditional Kurdish dances. More on that in a bit.

As for what we did: ( click here for a lengthy recap, complete with pics )

I've posted many more pictures on the Scrapbook site: won't you check 'em out?

Yesterday's 5th grade music class was one of those life-imitating-art moments. It could easily have passed as a scene from "School of Rock", though I promise it wasn't entirely intentional.

It was my first music class with the 5th graders. They only get music once a week, and last week the period was spent climbing up the hill.

We've taken the class out on another hike or two, which the kids have really enjoyed (despite the fact that one of last week's hikes ended with a terribly unfortunate incident in which one of the girls wound up breaking her arm). So when I came to teach music yesterday--instead of taking them up the hill yet again--they seemed ready to mutiny.

I had to quickly rethink my poorly-devised game plan. I was just planning to start by teaching basic note theory (whole, half, quarter notes, Do-Re-Mi, EGBDF/FACE...you know the drill), but with the mounting opposition, I realized I needed to come up with a better solution to introduce music and music theory to the kids. I needed to come up with a good way to really engage them and pique their interest.

Awkward and fumbling as I was at first, I managed to get the raucous class to begin listing their favorite artists. The list read like a veritable Who's Who of Disposable American Pop/Hip Hop Music, save for the class brainiac's contribution of Beethoven. This led way to a pretty--for a lack of better terms, elementary--discussion on why we like listening to music. My hope was that the kids would understand that music is a combination of different tones, sounds, and rhythms working together...and that the beauty of music comes from that "working together." (Of course, I'm articulating this much better now than I was at the time.)

Running out of ideas about how I would tie all of this together (I swear, I was flying by the seat of my pants after throwing out the original plan), I decided to talk about my experience of playing in a rock band. And wouldn't you know...the kids were awestruck. At one point, after I'd weaved a few tales about my rock n' roll exploits with Mr. Thom, Mr. Anthony, and Mr. Brian, my brainiac ran to the front of the class, and, acting the part of MC, announced: "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. David aaaaaaaaaand... PROFATE!" Oh, how I wish Thom could've been there for that moment! The entire class began to chant "PRO-FATE" for a good 30 seconds.

I'd found my hook.

I spent a good 5 minutes playing air-guitar and talking about the virtues of, as Rev. Lovejoy would say, "rock and/or roll." And then, since the class was now more or less fully-engaged, I let 'em have it: "So...this semester, I'm going to teach you guys to play instruments, and we're going to play in a BAND!"

Another 30 seconds of cheering ensued.

I had to clarify, tell 'em we'd have to start simple and learn to play recorders together. But I liked the idea of getting the kids--some of whom can play other instruments--to put together a little makeshift band as well. I even floated the idea of having an end-of-the-year concert for their parents. The kids were now throwing out ideas of their own...a small vocal ensemble here, maybe a piano-guitar duet there.

I'd won 'em over. They were sold.

Of course, now the real work begins (such as tracking down enough recorders/instruments for the entire class). But no matter: these kids are ready to rock.

I spent a good portion of this week sick in bed.

I came down with a cold/fever combo. I'm blaming it on the exhaustion that set in over last weekend, as I had no time to rest and recharge.

You see, we had the first of our scheduled make-up school days on Saturday, the result of the numerous unexpected holidays that keep poking holes in our 180-day school year. So our weekend was reduced from 2 days (normally Friday and Saturday) to 1. Combine that with the fact that I was asked to lead worship at a prayer conference held here last weekend. It was good to lead worship again--very reminiscent of our sunnyside@seven service that I miss doing--but I ended up leading two extremely long sessions, thereby rendering my Friday spent.

So: a whole week of school, science fair planning obsessing, and birthday celebrating + one entire Friday taken up with leading others in worship + school the very next day = Dave's body giving out on him come Sunday night. I had to take two days off school to recup, and even now I'm not back up to 100%.

And on top of that, this Saturday is the second make-up Saturday. AND, we have home office folks from Nashville in town. So you can be assured that tomorrow (well, today) will be spent doing as little as humanly possible.

But first, a few stories to share.

OK, one more story before I go to bed (I can't believe I'm still up).

So I was going to give a music lesson to the 5th grade today, but our field director thought we should take the kids out on a hike instead. It turned out to be quite the experience.

You see, our school is right at the edge of town, and if you cross the highway that runs alongside the school, you come to a meandering slope that eventually turns into a set of very lovely hills with a remarkable view of the city. So a hike up into the hills can be a fun activity that can last even one 45-minute class period.

Of course, it also can be quite an ordeal when you're trying to manage 30+ rambunctious 5th graders. The endeavor required our school's armed guards to escort us up the mountain (they must've figured the kids would eat us alive, so they came along as reinforcements). Our director lead the charge up the hill, and I covered the rear flank, making sure no one fell too far behind. For a minute or so, it actually did seem like a moment out of "Kindergarten Cop," as Pat (a former Air Force captain) led the troops in a rousing "I don't know, but I've been told..." chant. The kids had to hear it a few times to know how to respond to the "Sound off!"

We got to the point where the gentle slope turns into a high-grade ascent up the hill, and stopped there. Some of the kids--having stuck to the trail pretty well on the way up--started to wander about in a patch of light green grass just off the beaten path. Suddenly, pandemonium seized the group as a few kids began to shout: "A bomb a bomb a bomb!!!" Kids began to run in all different directions, getting as far away from the patch of grass as they possible could.

Oh, right, I remembered; this was the range where Saddam planted something like 6 million landmines to keep the Kurds from leaving the city years ago. Since 2003, the South Korean army has cleared up a good portion of the explosives, but--as Pete Wrigley once said, you can never be too careful when it comes to landmines. From where I stood, I couldn't tell if the object in question was indeed an explosive. I would've assumed that this particular hill--bare, and a stone's throw from the edge of town--would be completely cleared out by this point. And besides that, why would our director have even considered taking the kids up the hill if it wasn't safe? My guess was that it was a false alarm, but in this country, you get used to that, it seems. Either way, it was back to the trodden road for everyone. We had about 15 minutes left before the end of school, anyway, so after a few minutes' rest, we began our descent.

Now I was leading the pack, and the kids were clamoring to sing another song. Since I didn't know any good marching songs (of course, I do know some rather inappropriate marching band songs), I asked the kids to think of something. A group of students, followed soon after by the entire class, spontaneously began to sing:

Oh come, all ye faithful!
Joyful and triumphant
Oh come ye, oh come ye
To Bethlehem...

Yup, they sang the entire first verse and chorus to--of all things--a Christmas song. I tell you, if that wasn't one of the most surprising, entertaining, and downright impressive moments during my time here, I don't know what would be.

We made it down the hill, across the busy highway, and back to the school. We all made it back alive! High fives and "Xwa hafiz"es ensued as the kids got their backpacks and left for home. Several left me with a "Thanks, Mr. David!"

You know exactly how I replied. "No. Thank you."

Thus ended the most memorable 45-minute hike ever. My dress shoes are now covered in mud from the experience, but to be honest with you, I almost don't want to clean 'em. Almost.

First, a big big thank you (or "zor supas") to all the folks who sent a birthday wish my way over the past 48 hours or so. It was quite humbling to hear from so many friends. You do realize your love is pretty overwhelming, don't you?

So, how did I spend the day, you ask? It was a long day at school (I spent five class periods going over science fair procedures), and spent the afternoon laying out on the couch in our cardinal-and-gold living room (I'm not even joking...I'll have to post a shot of it). A few days earlier, I'd inadvertently found out that some of my friends here were conspiring to throw a little party for me, and though I knew I'd appreciate that, I didn't want anyone to trouble themselves for my sake. Still, since I knew something was going down, I basically killed time throughout the afternoon and early evening, waiting for whatever was coming.

It turned out to be a nice lil' shindig. My roommate had arranged for the rest of our (American) staff to come over, as well as our co-conspiring friends who work with another ministry here and are all in their 20's and 30's. So we had a good deal of Americans, but I was also honored to have a few Iraqis--one of my fellow teachers, and a pair of sisters involved with the church here--on hand to celebrate as well.

It wasn't anything spectacular. It was a simple cake-and-presents deal (one chocolate cake and one strawberry pie...both insanely good), but it was absolutely beautiful and memorable. After another 25 years down the road from now, I may have forgotten the names of everyone who shared it with me, but I certainly won't have forgotten the experience: celebrating a milestone birthday with some dear friends in a foreign land during a fascinating time in my life. The only thing that would've made it better was if my loved ones from back home could've shared the moment with me.

I think someone snapped a few shots, including several in which I demonstrate the dance moves in my repertoire, including the Lawn Mower, the Shopping Cart, and yes, the Charlie Brown (this after one of my friends--a break dancer back in the 80's--showed us some ridiculously cool moves...I was pretty lame by comparison). Hopefully I'll be able to upload one of those photos for you to see (and laugh at).

During the school day, several students brought gifts, and several more--upon finding out that their friends had given me gifts--came up to me and asked what I wanted for my birthday. "Nothing," I'd say over and over, but they'd insist, so I would suggest candy to them. True to their word, a few more students gave me gifts today, and a few more students promised to bring something tomorrow. Have I mentioned that I absolutely adore these kids?

Some of their gifts are quite odd, though; one girl gave me a porcelain statuette of a Dickens-era man and woman, and one boy gave me perfume. In both cases, I'm sure they're trying to suggest something, but I can't quite figure out what that would be.

I also got a note from one of my students. It's the kind of thing that just warms the heart, it really is. And since I promised to be maudlin this time 'round, well, here it is: ( click here to see the note )

Today, I made an amazing discovery, one that gives me hope for the future of Iraq as we know it:



That's right; Iraqi Dew. Old school Dew, to be sure, but regardless: it's one step closer to finding Code Red here!! (And, I should add, one step closer to an unavoidable trip to the dentist here.)

Also, because I'm the biggest nerd ever, I've decided to translate "Do the Dew" into Kurdish for you (you lucky readers, you!): "Diweke bike."

Moments after the Dew discovery, I traipsed over to a nearby bakery on the main drag. Boy, did I luck out! I showed up moments after the bread had been taken out of the oven; the stuff was unbelievably good. I bought it at 4:20, so now I have a legitimate reason--albeit different than most others'--for remembering that time.

...

Other things I'm thankful for this evening:

Due to the snow two weeks back, we've been getting 12-14 hours of electricity a day now (they run hydroelectric plants here, so more snow = more water = more power). Can I tell you just how happy that makes me? No, no I can't.

Also, tonight we finally got the router in our house completely set up, so internet speeds have been sooooo much faster today. (Why, it almost passes for "high speed access." Almost.) We used Skype tonight for our weekly teleconference with the home office in Nashville, and that worked like a charm (if you want my Skype name, just ask).

Tomorrow I take on yet another duty at the school, but one that I'm extremely excited about: teaching music classes. Extremely excited. I've got a box of recorders sitting next to me, and I'm pretty sure we can have some fun with those. Let's see if I can come up with a decent Kurdish version of the "Every Good Boy Does Fine" mnemonic, huh?

Oh, and yeah, tomorrow I hit that big quarter-century mark. I suppose I'll have something maudlin to say about it tomorrow...but truth be told, right now I feel like I'd just as soon let this particular 2/28 go quietly into the night. Maybe that's just the exhaustion talking. We'll see.

It's absolutely gwogeous today (yes, I'm using the New York pronunciation). Sunny, with temps in the low-70's, I reckon.

Oh, and I'm going to find a little web gadget/counter to display on this page, but until then:



I'm working furiously to get our science fair on track...so if you've e-mailed me and have yet to get a response, know that it's coming soon.

More later.

You can't make stuff like this up:

7th Grader: Mr. David, why do Christians sing songs in church?

Mr. David: That's a very good question, [7th grader]. We use music as a form of worship. We believe God created music--that He designed specific frequencies of sound so that they'd fit into a harmonic order and would be pleasing to the ear. And we believe that He delights in hearing our music as we sing and play it for Him.

7th Grader: Oh. So...like 50 Cent's "Candyshop?"

another holiday.

Well, not a holiday, technically, but a day off from school, nonetheless. The government announced a governmental/school recess after today's bombing of the Askariya mosque down in Samarra (which, truth be told, I knew nothing about until after checking Yahoo!; if it weren't for the good ol' U.S. news media, I honestly wouldn't believe that bad news still comes out of this country in which I currently reside...but that's another post altogether).

So, for those of you keeping score at home, that's four school weeks in a row--out of the five I've been here for so far--that have been incomplete for whatever reason.

Crazy. Or, as they say here, "Sheeita." (I know what you're thinking, and yes...it does sound like that.)

A good deal of Thursday's snow still remained on Friday morning, and so, another snowball fight ensued. This time, it was my roommate, the three young boys next-door, some random Kurdish kid, and myself taking on two of the guards on our street.

Let me say this: I'm very glad these guys stand guard over our neighborhood, because they are absolutely ruthless...at least when it comes to snowball-throwing. They were pitching 70 mph fastballs right at our faces.

After a while, I decided the only solution was to get right up to them and make them hit me at point-blank range. My thought--which proved to be right (well, more or less)--was that it's hard to throw a blistering snowball to the face when your target is a few inches in front of you, and stands a good foot taller than you.

If you want to get downright philisophical about it, my theory was based on a simple, Machiavellian Burnsian principle: "I keep my friends close, and my enemies closer." (And--while this is admittedly stretching it quite a bit--you might be able to relate this scenario to the Romans 12:17-21 principle...uh, somehow.)

...

Also, a short addendum about Thursday's snowball fight with the teachers. Those familiar with cultural norms in this part of the world might've been surprised to read that I and another American teacher were actually picking women up and dragging them outside. That's generally not acceptable in this culture, right?

Right. Soon afterward, one of my female friends here pointed out--very graciously--that we shouldn't have done that. Now, it would've be easy for me to say that I was just doing what my friend (who's lived here for nearly 4 years now) was asking me to do, but I knew very well that touching members of the opposite sex isn't kosher here (or, uh, halal). Even something as simple as a handshake is to be avoided. The only passable excuse I have (and it's probably not even passable) is that I--like many American guys--immediately revert to a five-year old child whenever snow falls.

And so, I made the rounds the other day, saying "afoom" ("I'm sorry") to the women-folk whom we might've offended. Thankfully, they were all very forgiving.

...

Ah, the life lessons you learn from snowball fights in Iraq.

If last week we fought the WWI of our struggle against the evil rodents hellbent on invading our house, last night was the Pearl Harbor. It was quite a rude awakening to find just how vulnerable we still were.

(Yes, I realize I also said that last Wednesday was our Normandy...so I'm mixing battles and wars and chronological order, but you get the idea.)

I have more to say about other things...I'll hit on those after I get back from church tonight (assuming the power's on, of course).

When I chatted with my parents the other day, they told me about the record-setting blizzard that NYC had just experienced. To be honest with you, I was rather saddened by this news, as I wasn't there to experience it myself (why is it that all the interesting stuff happens in New York while I'm gone?).

Well, the Lord must've heard my unspoken lament, because--lo and behold--after several weeks of fairly decent weather, today we got hit with a nice snowstorm ourselves!

The snow started falling while we were driving to the school after our visit to the clinic. At first it was wet, sleet-like snow, so we didn't expect it to stick. But less than an hour into the school day, the snowflakes became more sizable, and you could see it was starting to pile up.

The announcement that school would be cancelled for the rest of the day came rather haphazardly around 8:40. I was in 8th grade, trying to start a follow-up discussion on yesterday's pH experiment, when the door opened behind me. A teacher and student stood in the entrance and blurted out a few words in Kurdish. The ENTIRE 8th grade class erupted in rapturous cheering for a good minute.

My lesson for the day was dead where it lay, but I couldn't really be upset. I remember what a euphoric feeling it is to hear that school is cancelled on account of snow. C'mon, who doesn't remember what that feels like? (Oh. Right. Sorry, SoCal readers.)

Students went to call their parents/drivers to come get them, and though classes probably should've continued for the next hour, not a shred of learning took place in the entire building. Instead, kids and teachers alike roamed the halls. A good three or four inches of snow had now dropped, and I for one was ready to instigate a good snowball fight.

That snowball fight eventually happened, in the tiny courtyard in the middle of the school. Ed--another one of the American teachers here--grabbed the arms of a Kurdish teacher in an attempt to take her outside, and, finding that she wasn't going so willingly, asked me to help out. I did, and we dragged her outside, dropping her in the snow. Some kids followed us out, and the snowball fight began. At first, the kids seemed a little timid...as though they wouldn't dare hit a teacher with snow. But once that teacher (i.e. me) started throwing snowballs at them, it was on.

We'd throw snowballs for a while, then Ed and I would run inside and grab another teacher to throw into the snow. More snowballs. Once we got going, I seemed to have all the kids throwing 'em at me. I was ducking and running and otherwise dodging 'em fairly effectively, until THWWWOP! I got nailed beside my left eye. It stung quite a bit, and apparently it looked pretty bad as well. I kept going.

Just then, another THWWWOP! Snowball to the left ear. Two solid hits to the head, and since I couldn't feel my bare hands at this point either (it was so bad, I couldn't pick the snow out of my ear), I decided to take a quick break. The pain from the two hits quickly went away. I returned moments later and fought some more, and later instigated another big fight in the front of the school, just as we were about to leave.

Afterwards--upon changing into some clothes that were better-suited for snow--Jeremiah, Ed, Ed's daughter, her friend, and I drove up to the top of the mountains north of town, where there was plenty of snow for some wintery tom-foolery. We encountered a lot of crazy Kurds along the way. We met one guy at the top of the hill who was sipping whiskey...as he sat in the driver's seat of his truck! (I'd heard about this...whenever there's snow, folks go up the mountain and start drinking. Kinda like in the States, right?) We eventually found ourselves a nice patch of snow to play in. Snow angels, snowman, snow sledding, and yes, another snowball fight all ensued.

Between the snow and the crazy blood test this morning, what a glorious, memorable day this has been!

Alright, alright...you read through this ridiculousness: ( now here's your picture )

We pulled up to the clinic this morning, trudging through the mud to get to the entrance. Inside, a cold, blank room that didn't offer any sense of comfort or serenity. We went up to the desk, and signed in, our driver/translator taking care of the details. We sat on hard wooden chairs for a few minutes, and then were called in for the blood test.

We walked into a room roughly the size of a classroom. Twenty to thirty Kurdish men and women filled it. Some of them were holding cotton balls on their arms, some were getting blood drawn then and there. It didn't have a pleasant smell, to say nothing about its appearance. Now I'm getting a little worried.

They lead us into a smaller, adjacent room. Four or five Kurdish doctors (or, if not doctors, at least men and women wearing lab coats) all stood up to greet us. The room was much more appealing than the last. Well, if I have to get my blood drawn in Iraq, I guess this is as good a room as any, I thought to myself.

The four of us sat down on the long, cushioned, communal chairs that stretched out along the walls. The doctors lab coat-wearers went to work. Ed and Jeremiah were first. Ed was sitting next to me, and so I glanced over as they brought out the needle. On the one hand, I was thankful to see it was brand new; on the other hand, it was a thick freakin' needle; I could clearly see the hollow part in the middle. Sudden flashback to pre-teen years, to a particular moment on The Ren and Stimpy Show: "This. Will. Hurt. You." I watched them get Ed, and though he seemed to handle it well, I was sure he and Jeremiah were just putting up a good front.

It was now my turn. I made some cheesy remark and flashed a big, goofy Dave-like grin just to lighten the mood: "Please be gentle!" The guy facing me with a needle in one hand laughed. He tied the rubbery thing around my ginormous upper arm, swabbed the crook of my elbow with something (it didn't smell like alcohol), and swiftly stuck the needle in.

Wait a second. It didn't hurt. It didn't hurt!!! OK, so maybe it hurt a little, but it honestly hurt less than the needle sticks I've received in the States. I must've sighed the biggest sigh of relief. I watched him pull back on the syringe pump to fill it up (I know, so old school, huh?). He removed the needle, placing the cotton ball in its place, and we were through! I could've done like the Kurds do and kiss the guy on both cheeks. I opted instead for a simple hand-over-heart (another, more general, gesture of friendship amongst the Kurds). As the spoiled Americans left, we verbalized our amazement at how relatively painless (and quick!) that was.

And now, because you were so faithful to read through such a long, boring story about something so mundane...here you go: ( behind the cut )

I started working on these notes last night, but then we lost power, and by the time it came back on I was too tired to do anything. I'm leaving 'em as is, so when I say "today," know that it wasn't today (I have some good stories to tell about today, and I will do so after this). Here goes:

The War to End All Wars
As far as we can tell, the Great Human-Rodent War ended today. It wasn't pretty, let me tell you. This afternoon was our Normandy; it was pretty intense. At one point during the battle, a rat almost landed on me after my roommate knocked him off the side of our house. The good news, of course, is that I'm now much less-afraid of rats than I was one week ago. Chasing them around the house and having one come this close to landing on you will do that.

I won't tell you how we defeated them. Just know that it wasn't pretty. Like they say, war is hell.

"Search your heart, search your soul..."
I was asked by one of the teachers today to write out the words to Bryan Adams' "Everything I Do (I Do it For You)." Don't worry, I'm pretty sure it was an innocent request; the song played on the radio in the teachers' lounge yesterday, and it turns out she's a big fan of the song. I figured I'd be able to remember all the words by heart, considering this was my favorite song in 5th grade (I remember asking the girl I was madly in love with to dance to this song with me at our class' first dance, held that year...she said no, as she'd danced with me for the previous two songs. There was only so much of 5th Grade DT one could take!). Let me tell you, it's been a long time since I was in 5th grade--I couldn't remember the first verse to save my life. Thankfully, this teacher has the song recorded on her cell phone, so she played it for me, and the words came back pretty quickly.

If you'd told me I'd be writing down the words to Bryan Adams songs while in Iraq, I'd tell you you was crazy.

The Guilt-Ridden Pack of Gum
One of the 7th graders gave me a gift after class today: a pack of gum. Seeing her with a piece of gum after school yesterday, I made some goofy remark about the fact that she hadn't brought any for me. I told her I was only kidding, but, being the sweet girl she is, she brought me gum today.

It was very kind of her, and I told her as much, but I also feel kinda bad about it. See, you have to be careful about what you say when you're around the Kurds. If you tell them that you admire something of theirs, they're likely to give it to you. They're so incredibly generous, and I'd hate for them to feel obligated to give me stuff (if anything, I should be doing more giving myself). Yet, there's also a whole other aspect to this. In some cases, if you compliment Kurds about their possesions in a particular way, they might think you're secretly cursing their possessions. It's a strange superstition, but it's quite prevalent here: many people even have these weird ornaments that--according to them--ward off the spirits that come from the "evil eye," as they call it.

I'm sure this is a case of the former, not the latter. Then again, she might've been trying to butter me up with a gift. Kids are always doing that to their teachers, aren't they?

Still Haven't Found 'Weaksauce' in It, Though
One of the teachers at the school owns an American Slang/Colloquialism Dictionary. It's incredibly comprehensive; among other things, it includes pretty much every variation of the f-word you can think of. Needless to say, it's quite an entertaining read. I'm even learning about the phrases that I never understood myself (be it because I never used them, or because I was too naive to figure out what they meant).

"Mr. David, can we drink the Coke?"
We did a very clumsy version of the acids/bases/pH experiment today in 8th grade. I brought in some tap water, distilled water, ketchup, Coke, milk, baking soda, and soap, and someone brought vinegar and lemon juice. It was pandemonium for about 10 minutes, but I think the students enjoyed it, and they might--just might--have learned a thing or two about acids and bases. Don't ask me why they actually need to know this stuff...I have yet to figure out a practical application for the acid/base knowledge I've acquired. All I know is that it's fun to dip litmus paper into different liquids and see what colors you can come up with.

If I Contract Some Disease, It'll Be the Irony of Ironies
Tomorrow the Americans on our staff are going to get our blood tested at an Iraqi clinic. This is the final hurdle in securing our residency/visa paperwork to keep working here, as they need to check for HIV/AIDS (and probably some other diseases) before they allow us to stay. From the stories I've heard, I can't imagine this being the most sanitary place in the world. I'm just hoping the needles will be clean. Another case where I'm not sure exactly how safe I am here. I'll give you all the gory details of it tomorrow.

Hey, if Woodrow Wilson was wrong, I guess I can be too.
Maybe I spoke too soon. I just heard some scratching and chewing noises underneath/behind our fridge. I guess I was being too idealistic and foolish to think that, given the fallen world that we live in, we can be without war. Or just rats in my house.