- Swedish soccer player Zlatan Ibrahimovic (his last name starts with Ibrahim)
- Brazilian soccer player Kaka (he does not genuflect after scoring)
- Michael Jackson
- Madonna (uhm...she's Jewish)
- Barack Obama (forgivable considering how many people in the US think the same)
Monday, December 21, 2009
Other Stuff
End of the Sheep?
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Things to Read
Monday, December 7, 2009
Weekend in Kesh
Friday, December 4, 2009
The Aftermath
Monday, November 30, 2009
L3id LKbir, bitches
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Words
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Photo
So the other day I had to go get my picture taken so as to apply for my “Carte de Sejour” (Moroccan ID) which I must have to legally live here after three months. First off, living somewhere for three months without issue is a truly shocking experience for those of us that used to carry a Colombian passport. Such a document usually bore with it plenty of unnecessary hassle and customs harassment. But alas, no more, bitches.
Anyway, after managing to explain to the photo guy what precisely it was that I wanted (which confused me because I figured ID pictures would be a simple enough concept to explain. I guess he was bewildered as to what need white dude like myself would have for local identification) he led me through a previously hidden passageway into another room curiously larger than the elevator-sized shop in which we had been previously standing. What was produced from the ensuing photo shoot can only be described as the mug shot of a disheveled hipster terrorist who couldn’t be bothered to fix his glasses for a mere portrait. Needless to say, had my mom been present, a retake would have been promptly demanded. She wasn’t, however, and so my uncombed, unshaven visage with halfway tinted glasses was soon rendered into twenty (yes they need that many) tiny pictures.
Not satisfied with his work, the photo dude then went on to create a complimentary souvenir for me, so I could always remember the experience he said. He then proceeded to photoshop the same image (which displays my glasses and mustache angling in different directions) into a pair of backgrounds so brutal only an awkward mid-90s family portrait done at Sears would fit adequately. Nevertheless, I am now the owner of two miserable adjacent self-portraits, one with my gross rendition wreathed by a golden cord and then thrust in outer space, and the other surrounded by a bounty of brightly colored flowers to fully counter the artificially induced paleness my dear photo guy so generously bestowed upon me. Apparently I can always stand to be whiter.
I realize that the only thing this post says is "I got a picture taken, it came out oddly."
Sunday, November 15, 2009
So I'm Like, in Bzou Now
Friday, November 6, 2009
I Really Hope They Did Not Play The Liza Minelli Version
With their recent victory over the Philadelphia Phuckoffs, these 2009 Yankees have in many ways matched the on-the-field excellence of the aforementioned Torre-led squad. For me, however, the victory is not as sweet. Unable to watch a single playoff game, I felt my favorite team grow distant, leaving me behind on their way to a 27th World Series title. (Speaking of which, the name “World Series” doesn’t feel patronizing until you’re flipping through 230 channels of Egyptian soap operas and Woody the Woodpecker re-runs trying to catch Game 6.) Those of you thinking that I am not now and never was a member of the Yankees and thus could not have been left behind by them can go ahead and choke on a d. I may not have been on the payroll, but I certainly felt some (albeit deluded) connection to the boys in pinstripes. Not being able to watch their continuous tearing of ass felt like Bean or Smilo must feel every time a friend of theirs is doing work. Yea this is good and all, but why not me too?
But back to the original question of which team is better. While I could go into a detailed “analysis” of which team had a better starting 5, deeper bullpen or more consistent defense, that would seem overly reasonable and might lead me to a conclusion I might not want to have. For this reason, I will rely entirely on a general collection of hunches and time-tested intuition.
For one, the 98 team never forced me to defend it from an onslaught of dbags harping on about payrolls, steroids and total lack of class (basically all A-rod). That the nineties team played in the more innocent era of Big Mac and Sammy Sosa where the country was blissfully oblivious of the pervasive presence of steroids is a fact which I will completely ignore. Like I said, this isn’t analysis; it’s more of a gut feeling. Sure I might have been an oblivious twelve year-old during one season and a disenfranchised curmudgeon during the other but the 98 team had a certain aura missing from the updated juggernaut. Torre’s early Yankees seemed to dominate without even trying or taking themselves seriously. They were simply playing a game, very well. While this year’s team also did its fair share of keek vooking and last-minute heroic mystiquing, the matter of dollar signs was never too far. These Yankees had to win in order to justify their payroll, those of old won almost without even realizing it. I also really liked Scott Brosius.
I realize that most of these thoughts would have probably been avoided had I simply seen the damn series but I have never been one to apologize for my blatant bias.
That being said, the 2009 New York Yankees are World Series Champions and that is absolutely fucking awesome. Maybe I can finally stop having to defend A-rod. (He gets paid to hit home runs people, not to be a model father and husband. What he does on his own time, while likely deplorable, is none of our business as long as he keeps smacking the crap out of the ball.) Maybe now when I see a Masshole wearing a shirt that says “Got rings, lately?” I’ll be able to walk up to him and simply say, “yes.” The fact is that, regardless of the relative distance between me and this team, the Yankees are my squad and there is not much that can be done about it. I learned baseball from the 96-2000 teams (and will feel old the minute Derek Jeter retires) but there is still much to love about this next generation of champions. After all, everyone loves a winner
Real Quick
So Tuesday was my first ever election day as a U.S. citizen and I spent the day living in a foreign country, not voting and bitching about the Electoral College. U-S-A, U-S-A!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Thoughts on My Moustache
Fez
This apartment was not like our house in the mountain town, and my 17 sister was fully aware and mercilessly unforgiving of the glaring differences. While in Fez, my sister reminded me, one was no longer in Morocco. I was no longer referred to as Brahim and speaking darija was suddenly below us. French, with all its elegance, was the language of Fez. That night we walked around the city long after dark (rarely ever the case without a distinct purpose in our hometown) and it became evident that in this setting, my mom was no longer the boss. Instead my 15 year old cousin guided us through the many streets dictating the pace and destinations. In such an urban site, my mom was about as lost as I.
The cab ride back was solemn and silent as we all looked out the window at the metropolis we were leaving behind. As we were pulling into town my sister sighed and let out the conciliatory remark, “this place isn’t so bad, at least it’s home.”
Halloween
Despite this, Halloween in Morocco kicked a good deal of ass. Our jack-o-lantern sported a pair of rams horns, a pair of 6 foot 4 dudes dressed as Satan and a Grandmother broke it down to Aqua’s hit single “Barbie Girl” (looped twice in succession), and a spontaneous dance party erupted as the same song played for two hours. The last part was made even funnier by the fact that, being a Muslim society, Morocco tends to frown on PDA and general male-female contact. The result was thus two clusters of hardcore dancing, one of all dudes, the other of all chicks. It was the only time I have ever seen a sausage-fest and a taco-platter occurring simultaneously without any awkwardness.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Basic Info: Final Site
Go Yanks.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
I Don't Get Intertubes Often
Up to now I have forgotten to mention that upon arrival a few weeks ago, immediately after hearing my actual name, my host mom rechristened (well, I guess not technically since they’re Muslim) me Brahim. They don’t get the Tyler Hansbrahim references.
The other day as I was commenting on how my family always watches some soap opera which I thought was titled “Pub” a fellow PCT chimed in “Pub means commercial break.”
I realize that my blog is not the most informative of resources as to what I actually do on a daily basis but instead of actually typing out numbing ennui I will soon simply reference you to the (better) blogs.
Hey G-men, what ever happened to defense?
I Don't Get Intertubes Often
Up to now I have forgotten to mention that upon arrival a few weeks ago, immediately after hearing my actual name, my host mom rechristened (well, I guess not technically since they’re Muslim) me Brahim. They don’t get the Tyler Hansbrahim references.
The other day as I was commenting on how my family always watches some soap opera which I thought was titled “Pub” a fellow PCT chimed in “Pub means commercial break.”
I realize that my blog is not the most informative of resources as to what I actually do on a daily basis but instead of actually typing out numbing ennui I will soon simply reference you to the (better) blogs.
Hey G-men, what ever happened to defense?
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Quick Darija Lesson
I Don't Smell So Good
My Family is Badass
So some lady shows up at our door with three boys at her side furious at our entire family. Apparently, my ten year old sister had cheated off her son during a quiz, an offense which he punished by punching her. This family does not put up with that sort of garbage so she hit him back and caused an in class ruckus. Later, when she told my older brother about the incident he physically reminded him that not nobody fucks with our family. He should have also told this because she was grossly misinformed as to what response to expect from my mom. What proceeded can only be described as a seven person (mom, 4 kids and 2 cousins) verbal beat down of this poor lady and the three rookies who supposedly accompanied her for support.
After about fifteen minutes of whooping ass, my mom realized that perhaps this was the most appropriate sight for her young kids and had my seventeen year old sister promptly corral Mehdi (6) Fati (10) and me (21.5) into the living room to protect us from the raw brutality occurring in the middle of the street. We were also given a small ball with which to entertain ourselves.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Something Random
Last night my entire family watched 45 minutes of WWE. Oddly enough the people who were most into it were my mom and sister who continually cheered on Chris Jericho. The entire time I was wondering whether Mehdi recognized some of the moves from the dozens of times they've been perfomed on him. When I first got here I was in a big Last Ride and Powerbomb mood, but lately I've been all about the Snowplow. No Walls have occured as of yet.
Hakeem Nicks Finally caught a TD pass.
Answering Basic Questions
so, about my family. I have two brothers at 6 and 19 and two sisters at 10 and 17. So as to avoid excessive comments on the subject i will simply say that yes, she is quite pretty. There are also two cousins who tend to live with us. i say tend to live with us because their dissapearance is common and not really spoken of. I do not have a host dad but my mom is pretty chill. Since I sleep in the room witht the only tv, every morning at 7:30 Mehdi, the six year old, wakes me up so he can watch some dubbed japanese show about dueling yo yo gangs that wear matching jumpsuits.
the key boards here are french so typng is a pain in the ass. this will hence be my excuse for any spelling mistakes.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Sports 'n Shi
Soccer and running, however, are completely different animals. My host brother is a 19 yr old beast who runs a 2:30ish marathon for the Moroccan national youth team and some of the dudes we play sports with are on the town’s soccer team. These mofos are tanks. Luckily, the sport we’ve played the most is baseball and their swings are just as bad as mine. Yes, apparently my swing is so pitiful that a group of people who have only seen the game in bits of movies are instantly of equal caliber. Interestingly enough, their first experience with baseball was a lot like my first experience with baseball. By that of course I mean that someone was hit in the face with a bat. By me. Instead of Chris Mercaldi, my backswing’s target this time was the former pop superstar, Usher.
Intro
I've never really done a blog before (at least one that isn't purposely vile) so who knows how this shit will pan out.