Akbaba.

Today in my Ottoman Turkish class (which, yes, I am still enrolled in despite what I feel is profound suckage on my part), we had a little quiz.

Dr. Silay handed me a wipe-board marker (blue, if you really want to know) and etreated me to step to the board. He told me that he was going to tell me a word and I would then transliterate it, etymologize it and then write it in Ottoman Turkish (ie, Arabic on crack). Işık, my one classmate, got "ekmek", which is "bread" in Turkish; also, it means "to sow (seeds)" in the infinitive. I was filled with dread; I was sure he would give me "gürültülü" (noise) or "akciğerbalık"--lungfish--as a fun joke. And by "fun" I mean "making a 24-year-old man weep like a napalm victim." Instead, he gave me "akbaba." I looked at it and thought carefully. "Ak" is "white" and "baba" is "father." White daddy. But when it is together it means, get this, "vulture."

Vulture. My Ottoman professor gave me vulture. A bird of prey that feasts on putrid carrion and whose only defense mechanism is to vomit pureed carcass on attackers. I don't know what to think about that. The question is, should I be thinking about it? Probably not. When prompted to think of random words in Turkish, I usually pull strange ones out--"böcek" and "intihar etmek" and my own last name, which is "gökoğlu"--bug, to commit suicide and son of the heavens, in that order. So maybe vulture was just that: a random regurgitation, and not a statement. Hahahahaha, I think. Anyway, I completely aced it. I wrote my first word in Ottoman. *sound of champagne bottle popping*

I got my voter registration card in the mail today. I am now in full franchise of this election. I am not going to tell you who I am voting for, but I will give you a hint: in a conversation with Brooke the other day, we fantasized about how fun it would be if the Dems released proof that Bush had raped and murdered a thirteen-year-old boy. OK, so that was a little transparent. What the hell. It's my 'blog and if you don't like it, you can, uh, stop reading it. Yeah. That'll teach me.

Yet again today I found myself thinking with some regret that I am not possessed of some creepy mutant power other than my ability to grow vast amounts of nose hair and produce absolute scads of earwax. When I was a kid--aw, hell, that's a lie--SINCE I was a kid I have been really really into comics. While most boys preferred Wolverine and other male badass mutants, me, I was really into Storm. She was so complex and so very powerful. Sure; Wolverine can cut'choo real bad, and Cyclops can blow holes in things with his optic blasts and Colossus can become a man of steel, but Storm, now she can level Los Angeles with a hurricane just because she wants to. Wind, cold, heat, tempests, lightning--it's all hers. Man, she was worshipped as a goddess. That's nifty.

There I go again. When I talk about these characters like they are real people, I need you all to pat me on the head and ask me if I have taken my medicine. No sudden movements.

It's Friday night and I have two Woodchuck Draft Ciders in me, with another couple on the way.
I hope you all have a great night and a fantastic weekend. I know I, for one, deserve it.

Good night, Indiana.

Domonic (Demir)