There’s no place like home.
I ate Iraqi food for dinner tonight and I feel ill. It was a hodge-podge of hajj scrambled eggs, potatoes, copious amounts of oil, and a meat. It seemed like beef. That being said, I haven’t seen a cow anywhere near here, and, contrary to popular belief, there isn’t exactly a preponderance of WalMart Supercenters where these people can shop either. So there’s that.
I snapped this shot while I was at Ft. Benning in Columbus, GA for Airborne training. The Columbus which surrounds Ft. Benning is… how should I put this… a $#!thole. It’s like Oz, but instead of Kansas, Dorothy was blown away from Detroit accompanied by her abusive boyfriend and a dependence on plastic bottled vodka. You know, the kind with a molded plastic handle and a label featuring some kind of bird-of-prey with obvious Russian overtones. And her boyfriend has another kid with a stripper which he “swears he doesn’t talk to anymore,” referring to both the stripper as well as the kid. And also Dorothy gets drunk off her Russian-style vodka and gets in shouting matches with her trailer park neighbor; they shout at one another over a car tire fence and use the word “ain’t” a lot. But I digress. Columbus is crappy. I guess I could have just said that. Either way, I thought this sign was cool. The Candlelight Motel was, at the time at least, off-limits to Army personnel because of reported prostitution activity there. And the only candles there are the ones heating up spoons full of heroin.
