Day OneWhile I was meditating on the whiteness of the White House, four American soldiers wearing desert fatigues came and joined the gawkers, and the only thing I could think of was how much I missed home. I mean, how sad is that: I see soldiers in combat fatigues and go all gooey, like ET wanting to go home. No prizes for identifying what's wrong with this picture.
Since walking around the White house was out of the question, I thought maybe I'd go inside to find a black stone to kiss, the next step in this, my pilgrimage to the capital that wants to bring freedom and democracy to the malnourished, undereducated third world.
I locate a guard and ask about White House tours. She tells me these have to be arranged through my senator. Oh, shucks. Now, how am I going to get in touch with John D Negroponte all the way back in the US ambassador's dugout in Baghdad?
Throwing stones at the pillar of evil also had to be abandoned because I don't think anyone here will find an Iraqi throwing seven pebbles at the Washington Monument amusing. Only one ritual remains; running between the Safa and Marwa mounds. The Mall seems the place to do that, and I finally get a sign: the ground is spattered with Run Against Bush stickers. So what else to do but run?
Both funny and sad at the same time.