Spiraling Chunky Stupidity

So I’m working on the SEVEN documents I have to send to Columbia to complete my registration in their “pre-law” (?) advising program (which I already did back in Fall 2002!), and the power keeps going out. No problem, the internet is down, and it’s dark, but my laptop still works and I can finish working on the documents, which I’ve now finished.

Here is where the escalating and shocking levels of absentmindedness begin:

I am feeling bored and think: “Whatever, I’ll wait-out the blackout and just watch some tv” *VC pushes repeatedly and with evident frustration the television switch, wondering why it’s not working*

Ready to complain to the guesthouse staff that NOT ONLY is the power out but my tv isn’t working, either, I realized how dumb I was to not forsee that the tv (duh) needed power.

Laughing at my own stupidity, I then think: "I have to blog about how funny I was to think my tv was broken because it had no power," and when I go to post the blog, I (again being oblivious to the implications of POWER OUTAGE) was puzzled by the internet not working.

You’d think I’d be capable of staying focused enough for 3 minutes to not try again and again to use things that require power, being fully aware that we have none right now, but apparently I am not.

Ok, power back on. Ready to post.

VC

Iraq's Constitution & Androgynous US Senators

Two quick things:

1. Keep a lookout for the language used to describe the roll of Islam in the new Iraqi Constitution (duh). It definitely sounds, at this point, like there will be a non-repugnancy clause comparable to Article 3 of the Afghan Constitution: "In Afghanistan, no law can be contrary to the beliefs and provisions of the sacred religion of Islam." The real question is whether or not it will be complemented (to the detriment of the powers of any Parliament that could be formed) with an equivalent to Article 121, which basically says that the courts can appoint themselves as the authoritative judges of whether or not a law is in compliance with the Constitution (ie: repugnant to the principles of Islam): "The Supreme Court upon request of the Government or the Courts can review compliance with the Constitution of laws, legislative decrees, international treaties, and international conventions, and interpret them, in accordance with the law."

2. Is Senator Lindsey Graham a man or a woman? I'm sorry but I really can't tell. I just saw Sen. Graham on television wearing a ton of makeup (foundation and eyeliner) and more lip gloss than VC has in his entire tube of Elizabeth Arden miracle lip protectant (I'd link to the site, but it's hell to navigate). I mean come on: "Lindsey"?



VC

Dreams of Warmth (and more)

I have to blog about my odd dream last night (because if you love hearing other people's dreams as much as I do, then you'll think this is fun). The dream is in regular text, and the real-life events that likely inspired elements in the dream are in italics.

So I had a dream last night that I was on a flight with some people from my guesthouse (some who do or did live here in real life, and some who I have only seen in Kabul but who don't live here) and we were alerted that the plane would have to make an emergency landing at an American military base.

• You might recall, when I first moved here, writing about these rather godly Arab Belgian guys (I blogged about one, who is known as Hassan Van Damme). Well sadly, even though we became platonically chummy, they moved out of my guesthouse while I was in Herat, and I didn't know what happened until I saw HVD's partner in the crime of scandalous hotness, yesterday, and he told me that their company moved them out to Jalalabad Road (which I have formerly blogged about), and they are here just to use the internet. Combine that with all the plane crashes on tv, my upcoming flight plans to Pakistan, and there you have people in my guesthouse on a crashing plane with me in a dream. Incidentally, the person on the plane whoin the dream was from my guesthouse, but who in real life I have only seen from afar is a model-turned-UN employee (Kosovar Albanian) who was spotted at the UNICA pool yesterday afternoon (where VC was *completely* covered, NOT swimming, and wearing LOADS of Clarin's finest sunscreen and wrinkle control cream). He makes a more significant appearance in the dream, later.

So we discover that we have to make a landing at an American military base, which none of us are thrilled about, except that we hear that they *might* have wireless internet, which gets everyone excited (dreams are so strange: "well the crash landing kind of is a downer, but at least we'll be wireless!").

• At UNICA, yesterday, everyone was commenting that it should have wireless internet so people could do their work by the pool (which is already overcrowded -- a bad idea, in my opinion).

We were assigned rooms, and I went to visit the Belgians. Apparently, they were sharing a room with Balkans Beauty in the dream (who in the dream was, for some reason, Uzbek). I walked into their room with HVD and thought I saw Uzbek on a gay website (!) -- not sure if HVD saw, and never having spoken to him (even in real life) about any of that stuff, I didn't mention anything about his roomate's online wanderings.

The group of people we flew with went to go get food somewhere and HVD and I stayed back and sat at some sheltered picnic tables, where we would socialize outside our rooms. All the people, before getting food, had been wandering around with their laptops -- holding them up and crouching down, turning around, as if water witching for an internet hotspot. HVD and I decided that we were sure we could find one, so as soon as the others left, and we found one, we started checking email and talking. We were sitting right next to each other (me on his left) and his left arm was SO warm (like it was physically emanating heat) that I leaned on it (!).

• Yesterday when I saw his partner (supposedly not THAT kind of partner, but I have my doubts), I was sad to not see him. Then I came back later, saw him in the computer lab, and was too chicken to say we should exchange emails in case I come to Belgium (which would not have even been sketchy at all, but I was nervous -- and this is AFTER I already beat myself up over the missed opportunity of seeing his partner an hour earlier and not exchanging emails!). When I saw him (his back was turned), I crept up and pretended to strangle him (VC has noticed that fake physical attacks on people is his way of showing chummy affection!), and he turned, smiled, and winked (as he does, and as his partner rather successfully copies). His neck was SO WARM that I almost melted (and almost forgot to release my grip and stop strangling him!). Some people are hot (in terms of attractiveness), but other people are physically, temperature-wise, hot (like they are human furnaces). I have SUCH a weakness for that, and I almost didn't want to stop strangling him lol. Plus he's one of those people who is so fleshy that, like, if you had to commit cannibalism, then you could live off him for like a year...that's macabre...anyway, that's were the warmth thing in the dream comes from.

I got a bit shy, but I noticed that he sort of pressed back (like leaned into my lean) and I sort of grinned, thinking that I was just REALLY happy to be warm, and worried (but not enough to not snuggle-up) that people would see us (outside at these picnic tables). Eventually (and this is the most X rated part so don't get your hopes up), he kissed me (AMAZING lol), and I protested that people would see, etc. and his response was that he already caught the Uzbek guy (as I suspected when we saw him in the room, earlier), so there was no need to be hiding things. He then told me that what he looks for in a person is that they have really healthy ______s and he used the medical term for the name of the little red chunk right on the inside of your eye in the corner closer to your nose (which of course I don't remember the name of, now) and I started to explain that my left one was a little inflamed but was quickly getting better.

• In real life, starting in Herat (how I don't know, since I can't think of anything except the pillow on the plane that could have given it to me) I got a little pink eye in my left eye. It sort of went away and came back, so yesterday I got antibiotic drops, but am rather self-conscious of it. It's hilarious that in real life, when I was researching the details of acute conjunctivitis online, yesterday, I no doubt saw some diagram of an eye which I don't remember now, but which I used vocabulary from in my dream when HVD demonstrated amazing knowledge of (and strange concern for) optical health. Human minds are so amazing -- this is why I love the scene in Romy and Michele's High School Reunion (which was SUCH a pick me up back in boarding school when Hawk Barbie and I saw it with a friend when we'd all been, as we always were in boarding school, super stressed and a little down), and the character played by Lisa Kudrow recites, in a dream, the scientific process for making glue.

We then just sat there talking and reading emails, just sitting close and being warm (nothing else you people with dirty minds!), the others came and greeted us in a friendly and casual manner, and I woke up.

• I have seen bits of American movies here and there the past few days that inevitably have a romantic scene were there is a couple, sitting on a couch or something after dinner, talking, looking into each other's eyes, maybe a little tipsy from wine with dinner, and you can see that they are just caught up in each other warmth, the moment, that romantic moment...I realized that I have not had that in an extremely EXTREMELY long time. Don't get me wrong, I have met people capable of that, while in Egypt (although they are rare), but it hasn't actually materialized (in parts, yes, but in a complete way, no). I don't remember the last time I sat so close to someone that I could actually smell the skin on his neck, and I *certainly* don't remember the last time that that moment occurred at the end of a long date, in a free and fulfilling social space, complemented by mutual respect, good conversation, and a sense of security and contentment with life. *sigh*

Note to certain Egyptian friends: Don't take offense at this comment...Cairo is not the kind of place where this can happen (in my opinion). There will never be (at this time in Cairo) a bottle of wine and hand-holding across a dinner table at a restaurant, or a slow midnight stroll to a bench by a fountain in the middle of a plush city park...it's nothing personal...it's just the situation.

{non-sequitur #1}

Continuing on my previous post about funny comments on Indian sports channels, a music video announcer yesterday referred to one of the videos that sky rocketed up the chart unexpectedly from last week as having: "emerged from nowhere like a gorilla in the mist." (!) I'd bet that a lot of Americans my age/her age wouldn't even get that reference, let alone in India...so unpredictable, the things that make up global pop culture currency. (if you don't know the reference, then google "Gorillas in the Mist" -- I couldn't decide if I should hyperlink the movie or the book or Dian Fossey's Fund's website, so I just left it be)

{non-sequitur #2a}

ESPN, here, is NOT covering the mouth-watering all-Belgian (a theme in my life?) final of the women's tennis Roger's Cup in Montreal, today (go Henin!), but they DID just have coverage of the finals of the "small agility" category of a dog obstacle course competition (prize: $10,000). At least they didn't replace it with something I would never want to watch, like American football, and the dogs are SUPER happy when they finish the course (which is indicated by their retrieval of a green Micky Mouse fly swatter from a pile of other trinkets!), but I still find the programming choice, odd.

EDIT: Damn, Henin lost. I'm glad I didn't see it :*( Check out the link, though, and you can also read about the totally UNBELIEVABLE Martina Navratilova's 175th title win -- she'll be 49 in October).

{non-sequitur #2b}

After the dog competition (I guess this is a sequitur!), they had some kind of breaking news that the women's log rolling champion, who'd been on some incredible roll (no pun! but maybe that's the origin of the expression!?!?) and had won the last several competitions, had just been upset unexpectedly. She was really jolly about it (as you expect forest people to be) and was fake-drowning the girl who beat her as they smiled for the cameras (maybe she shows affection with the same play-assaults that VC does?), but the most important part is that they had totally awesome bodies! I have been watching a lot of track and field, and decided that the perfect male body (meaning a combination of both what I want to look like, be with, and could be with ridiculous diet and exercise) is embodied by the male long-jumper, and the perfect female body (meaning a combination of what I find physically attractive and think Genetica could look like with physical training) is embodied by the pole vaulter. ANYWAY, these log-rollers totally give the pole vaulting chicks a run for their money! They were totally hot!

EDIT: You can check out this website for the log-rolling info. It's a bad photo of the girl who one (a chunk angle), but you can see that she beat the woman who'd won the world championships for the PAST FIVE YEARS.

Note on T&F bodies: yes male sprinters are as built as male gymnasts, and yes most women high jumpers could double as Milanese runway models -- and yes they are both attractive in their own sort of disfigured way -- but as far as natural but amazing-looking bodies go (by my own personal and perhaps ill-defined criteria) male long-jumpers and female high-jumpers are still the way to go.

VC

Boycott Citibank

This is a totally serious request that my friends and loved ones boycott Citibank.
I will not detail, here, all of the problems that I have had with them in NYC, Egypt, and Afghanistan, but I will say that they have been totally irresponsible, unprofessional, and have more than once -- because of their incomprehensible policies and poor customer service -- SERIOUSLY put me in jeopardy. As I said, I will not get into OTHER history here...which includes sending one of my bank cards to England, sending me cards with wrong numbers or to addresses not my own with no name attached, and putting mysterious freezes on my account because of international debits when I have MORE THAN once told them that I live in Egypt...the latest disaster involves a wire transfer.

Now, I will first say that the ROOT cause of this problem is not Citibank, but is the *equally* incompetent (yes it's possible) Standard Chartered Bank in Kabul, which failed to recognize the narrative "Account with American Passport {Veiled Chunk's PP#}" as an indicator that *gasp* someone named Veiled Chunk would be using an American passport of the same number to get a wire. "What ID will he use?" they asked me when I called them. Um -- the one given on the form...the same form I used 6 weeks ago when I did the transfer that worked.

Back to Citibank -->

I did the transfer from Herat on the 14th, so it would be ready when I got back to Kabul. On the 19th (!) Citibank sent me an email telling me I had an online message (what an awful system that board members must have just drooled over), which I opened and which told me that there was a problem with the wire, and I should "write back" or call them. I did both. I wrote them and told them to PLEASE call me (they have somehow managed to call my Kabul mobile when I made too large a transfer for their liking from one of my accounts to another) or write back. They did neither (48 hours later). Incidentally, after saving their message (it was annoying me that it kept telling me I had new online messages when it was always the same one, so I "saved" it to get it out of the received messages box) it disappeared, and I have no record of my reply. So Fine. I'll call them. Buy $20 (yes, I know) calling card, stay on hold for 18 minutes, and then be told by a woman in the Central Time Zone (which I *definitely* have no concept of right now) that no one is in the office who does wire transfers and I'll have to call back...she can't help me...they can't call me. Phone card runs out. $20 gone thanks to Citibank *and* I am supposed to leave in 4 days for Pakistan (meaning paying my nearly $4000 bill to my guesthouse before I go, meaning: I NEED THE WIRE TRANSFER!). Sorry, but why give me an international 24-hour customer service line (which they thoughtfully made "collect call" accessible, but failed to remember that most countries don't support US collect calls...at least Egypt and Afghanistan don't...Monaco does, but it's a secret how I know that ;p)?

In sum: I hate Citibank. I also hated Gristedes, and look what happened when my psychic wrath finally brought the market to its knees (the market, as many of you know, being literally downstairs from my old apartment in NYC).

The benifit to Citibank is that it is "everywhere," right? But then you go to Egypt (or Germany) and they will tell you that it's more or less a franchise, with the Citibank brand but no account connectivity. The Citibank in Egypt is literally not even ALLOWED to make an international call or fax to Citigroup headquarters or a US office. Ok, so scratch the pro of its ubiquitousness. Then, there are people of financial (and emotional!) importance to my life who have accounts there, and we can do online transfers. That is a nice feature...also available at EVERY OTHER BANK on the planet. In other words: no compelling reasons to stay with Citibank.

Here is my call *Veiled Chunk pounds his chest and makes call-like noises*:

Close your Citibank accounts, and transfer your business. I am going to HSBC (note 2nd hottest guy working for Raya on Egypt part of website). I have seen their banks all over Egypt, have seen with my own eyes their amazing customer service for a friend in NYC who came from Finland and was rather stranded (needing access to his HSBC account overseas), and really like the global friendships it endorses -- I mean the Hong Kong-Shanghai Banking Corporation centered in London? How global is THAT? Very impressive.

Poor little Chunk's bank account doesn't qualify him for "high roller" status, but some of you do have rather...um...*VC searches for a diplomatic way of saying: "loaded"*...not insignificant private and corporate account balances. He encourages YOU (as customers valued by Citigroup at a level orders of magnitude above his) to transfer your accounts. It's not that bad! He'll even help you (for no fee*) -->

Anyone who is interested can email me and I will send you a formal complaint letter to Citibank that you can slap them with when you close your account, as well as information on your nearest HSBC (or bank of your choice!) and how to open an account. I'm totally serious about this. I am done feeding Citibank my money (even if their Checking PLUS overdraft protection is pretty sweet and has allowed for some fierce shopping trips...in the olden days).

*VC would never dream of charging a fee for his financial services, however donations (preferably in Swiss Francs...because VC likes the abbreviation CHF) in support of his Social Justice Campaign are appreciated and rarely refused.**

**Social Justice Campaign donations will, of course, be refused if given with expectations of sexual favours attached, unless you are Olivier Martinez, in which case your donation will be refunded (provided that VC is allowed to post photos of our date on his blog).

The Simpsons

No, not the cartoon. I'm talking about Ashley and Jessica. Actually, just the first one.

Now, I know that it's really unfair (and not all that interesting) for me to make a 25% effort at hate-blogging just ONE of the many pop stars I consider to be totally worthless in terms of their vocal, stylistic, cultural or other philosophical contributions (and I will accept contributions in ANY of these categories), BUT --> I hate Ashley Simpson. Ok, I have certain friends who object to the word "hate" to I'll just say that I "hate minus one" AS.

I pretty much agree with this website's analysis of the seriality and decreasing validity of pop stars like Ashley, as well as the bottom line it points to about Jessica's more or less "A-list" qualities (and Britney's bomb body). I have not been able to STAND Ashley since her reality show first came out (which was SO clearly negotiated with MTV as part of her sister's contract), but what I hate most about her is not that she can't really sing, isn't that attractive, has no song writting ability, and very little charm. What I hate about her is much more difficult to articulate and goes back to what I dislike SO MUCH about Orange County pop culture -->

Look at Ashley's videos and she is delberately constructing/calling upon a middle class white grunge California culture that is SO played out, doesn't really exist, and if it does, shouldn't. People criticize rappers and other pop stars for having videos full of Cristal and mansions with pools galore, but I am MORE disgusted by this yellow-tinted-lense, two car garage, skateboarders reacting against the sytem but still having stay at home moms who serve them Sunny-D, angry middle class wannabe alternapunk THING that Ashely et al. tap into with their videos. At least rappers CAN/DO live the way they pretend to in their videos...I guarantee you between her trips to Rodeo Dr. and 5th Ave. Ashley is not hanging out in some ugly house in CA (of course decorated in lots of earth tones, wood, etc.).

Before my miraculous escape from Orange County into the equally warped but MUCH more interesting world of boarding school, I simply could not STAND my (South) Orange County classmates with their PERFECTLY fine-tuned (and highly expensive) attempts to LOOK like exactly what they were not -- paying $20 for a Burger King t-shirt to, what, look like they work at a fast food place and are on a lower middle-class track that their $2 million dollar homes don't match very well with? I understand that I'm making myself susceptible to an "authenticity" debate (is it less POSER for boarding school kids to dress like models than for rich OC kids to dress like fast food employees?), but this is my blog, SO THERE :) NOTE: This is also what distressed me so much when I moved to Cairo and saw my Egyptian undergrad classmates -- they are *the* typification of ridiculous SoCal "bum" style (PERFECTLY fitting and clean grung t-shirts, perfectly trashed and low-slung jeans, often with flip-flops, baseball caps...it's like: ok, so you look like a California construction worker...now what?).

It's hilarious to contrast Ashley Simpson's reality tv series -- which revealed her to be living in a compound of chic LA condos with a bunch of similarly-privelged and parentally-funded youth (usually on tenative talent development contracts with various record co's), and then see in her videos these fictitious suburban California homes she and her angry-but-pop friends inhabit. It's the "look how destructive I am...I'm going to knock things over and jump up and down" but then the maid cleans up the mess THING.

UGH. I really can't stand her. I also don't feel like places like that really exist. A LOT of artists call upon this fictitious CA middle class space (as do a lot of films, actually), but I tend to see California in a much more stratified way. First of all, I've never seen (or almost never seen) a white OC teenager working in a fast food place...I've seen lots of struggling Hispanic people working there, but a fellow San Clement classmate? No. Second, I've never seen neighbourhoods like these. You have gated communities, apartments, and low-income communities...you don't have this perfectly-not-rich-but-not-poor middle class space that these videos pretend you have. At least I haven't seen it.

So -- anyway, check out this link and the one above for further Ashley bashing. I can't believe she actually tried to lip-synch on SNL (I know I'm WAY behind the news on that one, but I was just sitting here thinking: "I hate Ashley Simpson" and decided to blog about her). I encourage you to post comments about other people YOU hate (that I can opine on ) in the comments section.

VC

Best Dating Service EVER

I'm off to have some Bollywood and greasy rice fun with Pakistani Apostate and his Better Half, but wanted to first get the message out to the thousands reading this (aka: my mom and a few other people who love me almost as much):

Check out this website, which details financial contributions to political campaigns by NAME and ADDRESS.

It's definitely the best dating service EVER for the politically-savvy chunk, because it allows you to find someone near you, in your income bracket, with the same charitable tendancies and political leanings. What more could one want?

Incidentally, check out ZIP 10014 to see how much cash Dutchess Diane von Furstenberg shelled out to the Democratic Party. Rumour has it that she runs in the same circles as some rather conservative (and rather evil) French ex-aquaintances of VC, but no matter -- the girl puts her money where it matters!

Incidentally, Pookie Pod, I think in the next election we can forego a FEW dinners at Picholine and maybe a couple pair of box seat tickets at Carnegie to help the cause. And Wong -- how about throwing a financial throw pillow the DNC's way, next time, huh? Every bit helps :)

[VC notes with shame that he is ALSO not to be found on the list of contributors, although he seems to deliberately recall giving to the campaign after encouragement from Land Plot...or did Land Plot just take him to a fundraiser in the mutual ZIP of Pookie Pood and the Dutchess in order to sereptitiously contribute more to Kerry? The memory fails...]

VC

VIOXX Verdict and the ICC

I seem to like to discuss unrelated things in pairs...

VIOXX

Well as many of you know, my former law firm is not only the place of social magic where I met Juicy MD and my Pookie Pod, but is also the (one of the-) current defender of Merck in the VIOXX litigation. The verdict in the first case to come to trial (of many, MANY more to come) has been handed-down, and, since it would be inappropriate for me to discuss the substance of the case or give my opinion on it, I'll just say that even though I don't work for the firm anymore, and did not even work on the VIOXX case my entire time, there, this still feels like "we" lost. I know from first-hand experience that the people working on Merck's legal defense are extremely competent and extremely hard-working, and I guess it's unfortunate that "effort" is not what courts use to analyze the merits of a case. Lanier's baptist preacher qualities seem to have really won-over the jury, who awarded punitive damages SIX TIMES in excess of what the family asked for (since the jury is of course more competent to asses damages than the litigants claiming damage), and, more importantly, more than TWENTY THOUSAND TIMES what families in Iraq (and Afghanistan) are paid for each innocent family member killed by US forces. I made this argument to Land Plot in response to the compensation that was handed-out to families of victims of the 9/11 attacks in NYC, and I will make it again: it is impossible to place a dollar value on a life, granted, but do we REALLY believe that Ernst's death is "worth" (in dollars) more than 20,000 Iraqi corpses? Ridiculous.

International Criminal Court

Thanks to Madame Wong for pointing out to me this NYTimes article on the ICC and US policy of punishing countries that refuse to make bilateral agreements with the US to except US soldiers from prosecution under the international court (I won't make any NYTimes conspiracy theory statements about how this article was not on the main page for more than a few hours when some articles remain up for days...). I don't feel up to blogging about it now, but I think most US claims about PROTECTING US soldiers from wrongful prosecution in sensitive situations are total bunk, and anyone familiar with the motivations behind the drafting of the Rome Statute and the formation of the ICC should clearly see the intent and scope of the Court -- which is not to politically target US troops (God that claim is so ridiculous that I have almost nothing to say about it). I would also discourage people from being convinced by this image of the court as an opaque, foreign court looking to challenge the sovereignty of US courts; not only is the ICC explicitly intended to fill gaps in national justice systems with respect to prosecution of war crimes (and the US justice system is, of course, one of the most developed in the world), but one should be skeptical of language that attempts to equate prosecution at the ICC with the kinds of drug trials and other foreign prosecutions we see in Southeast Asia and Latin America. I am horrified by the thought of US citizens (or even Indonesia's own citizens) being subject to the version of "due process" to which Schapelle Corby has found herself recently subjected. That said, an international court, accountable to the UN and founded with the support of more than 100 nations (including many of the US's Security Council permanent partners) that operates using some of the best legal minds found on the globe, is HARDLY comparable to the scary "foreign prosecutions" the US government would have you mentally equate it to.

Incidentally, check out the (clearly out of context) quote in the article from my former professor, Bruce Broomhall -- he was my first professor of International Human Rights Law and is a really intelligent, understated legal scholar and advocate.

VC

More Israel, More India, and some VIP Birthdays

I just wanted to quickly say, to close the case on this Israel pull-out, that despite certain comments (or seemingly insensitive jokes) I may have made about the forced evacuation (and, for the record, I am an equal opportunity off-colour joke maker, so don't think this is an Israel thing!), I feel an immense amount of sympathy, and I'd even say pity, for the settlers who have been evicted from their homes. This is OF COURSE qualified by the fact that I stand vigilantly by the protocols of international law that condemn the ORIGINAL occupation of Palestinian land. I just can't imagine, though, how difficult it must be for someone who has lived in the same home for decades, who has cultivated the land (regardless of the history of the soil), and who has worked literally with their HANDS to build a life for themselves, to have that life (albeit in a democratic process in accordance with the terms of their national constitution) in many ways ripped from him/her. For that reason, although (I repeat myself) I disagree with the settlements in the first place, I understand the needs of some settlers to fight to the last possible moment for their homes, refusing to walk off the land of their own accord. That said, I think that it is a TOTALLY different case when it comes to protesters who left their New York apartments (as many interviewed on the news had) or flew to Israel from other places to sit-in on the move-out in protest of the blow to Israel's survival potential that they saw this as being. They and their children were not asked to leave their homes, and they and their children are not the ones who worked to build the greenhouses, stores, farms etc. that would just be GIVEN to other people (many of whom they consider to be threats to their survival) or quickly bulldozed. I actually think that pulling out of Gaza is probably doing more to strengthen Israel's national security profile than to harm it (and I'm sure MANY Israeli strategists advising Sharon came to the same conclusion before the proposal was ever made), and so the only angst that I really support in this process -- since I don't buy the argument that this is bad for Israel's security (the reason for the fly-in protesters) -- is that of the people who are losing their homes and are uncertain about their future happiness and livelihood (regardless of what some would consider to be generous re-settlement options).

Ok that's it for Israel, and for seriousness. Now for some funny India stuff -->

Well I TRIED to watch cricket today while studying Arabic. I still don't understand all the rules, although I think I understand the rules regarding the positioning of the bowler, as well as the points assigned to the runners. I also think that I understand that each side gets 10 wickets (in a one-day match), and I more or less understand how "outs" are called. There are TONS of intricacies (it seems) of cricket protocol (alterterable boundaries, match lengths, run scoring...) that I don't understand, and have never (despite trying several times in the past to read about the sport online) been able to quite grasp. Anyway, actually watching a match, today, did a ton for my comprehension of the game -- much more than internet descriptions have; it also gave me a few *choice* quotes from the absolutely hysterical ESPN India commentator. The match ended up being a real nail-biter between India and New Zealand that India pulled-out in the end).

Here are the two best quotes:

* "That shot left the bat like greased lightening...he wanted to give the fielders a real spanking and he did: 'Spank, spank. Take that!' "

* "I view the world like a fruitcake and in every fruitcake there has to be a few nuts. In this case, India is absolutely nuts."

I am STILL intending to blog about Herat and the books I've read, but I've been sleeping a lot and studying Arabic, so we'll see what I get around to, this evening.

Happy belated birthdays to:

• my awesome niece (who I wish I could show around Egypt! I might actually like it if she were there with me!)
• my equally awesome sister (for whom I am fielding wedding proposals, but only if you are extremely intelligent, ethical, cultured, not going to cramp my niece's style...and have a cool last name)
• my ex, Land Plot (he gave HIMSELF that nickname!).

Also, happy Independence Day to Afghanistan (and belatedly, to India).

Ok, I'm going to pump-out some more Arabic vocab. Ever since Slim Masry showed me how to type in Arabic on my computer, I'm a total Arabic machine.

VC [in Arabic...actually in Persian, since we don't have "V" in Arabic: ويسي ]

Israel & WWF Smackdowns

Back from Herat (which I will blog about, as well as two novels I've just finished), but first: two uninsightful and unrelated comments about Israel and wrestlers.

* Watching footage of the Israeli pullout of Gaza, an Israeli army spokesperson being interviewed by the BBC about the Neve Dekalim "enforced evacuation;" she commented (in perfect American-accented English with a level of articulateness that rivals most NYC lawyers) that the army is prepared to enter the synagogue at a ratio of 4 or 5 to 1 (army:settlers) to physically lift each protester out of the synagogue (with no weapons). That says A LOT about the strength and training of the Israeli army, as well as its size -- 5:1! Wow.

Is it cynical and desrespectful for me to joke that these "protestors" are really just the procrastinators who didn't take the months they had to prepare themselves to actually pack? I know if it were VC and Madame Wong, we'd be shoving silverware in tennis shoes and coming up with all KINDS of fast-move solutions at the last minute while the movers (or army, as the case may be) implored us to get gone.

By the way, can't we think of a better descriptor than "hard-line settlement"? I mean, what is that? A settlement where people are like REALLY settled? Like with beanbags and custom-made SubZero refrigerators?

On a more serious (but not necessarily more insightful) note, I am perpetually impressed by the intelligence with which Israel discusses its policies (whether I agree with them or not), and I am truly impressed (as BBC wants me to be) by the conduct of BOTH the troops and settlers. That said, I am surprised by people who can speak with no sense of irony about how it is unfair for army officers to remove settlers from their homes. Settler representative Ruthie Lieberman (currently on BBC) has said that the people are telling the soldiers: "My brother, sit down with us, come join us -- you won't be able to live with yourself after taking me and my baby from our home, knowing that the soldiers under the next government will take you from yours." Ok, but (ignoring VC's GENERAL problem with private property claims to EARTH that normally depend on arbitrary historical and financial concepts of “ownership”) don't even the most critical opponents of the Palestinian "side" acknowledge, to some degree, that whether or not the Palestinians deserve the land (in a historico-religious sense), there WERE people in their homes, with babies, who were (in a much more violent manner, in many cases) similarly expelled? If anything (VC is getting dangerously political, here) the reciprocity argument employed by Lieberman, now, seems to ring particularly true if the dialogue is recast to occur between a pre-intifadeh Palestinian and an Israeli settler. [Note: VC is not expressing support for claims/opinions in that website -- he simply likes the definition of intifadeh and the Arabic script provided on the homepage]


* Switching-up my Neve Dekalim/BBC viewing with some WWF (now WWE -- see website)wrestling on the Indian sports channel, Star Sports (pickings are SLIM on the satellite, today), I've noticed that the wrestlers give their "bring it on" intimidation speeches (always to some absent wrestler who, no doubt, threatened them in a similar forum last week) using the SAME speech-style (rhythm, breathing, etc.) as evangelical Christian ministers in the US! I wonder if they train together. I think it would really increase church attendance if ministers wore big WWF title belts rather than robes...but then again I'm not really convinced by the theatrics of wrestlers or priests, no matter what they're wearing.

Off to study Arabic vocab and gear-up to tear my buddy, Pakistani Apostate, to shreds on the squash court in an hour (followed by my first excursion EVER to expat hot-spot, Elbow Room -- take it upon yourself to ignore the rubbishy parts of the article).

VC

Edit: Check out this link about Steve "Sting" Borden -- who made the leap from pro-wrestling superstar to evangelical Christian preacher! I guess VC wasn't the first one to think of combining the two careers, after all. I particularly enjoyed the part where his wife asks him (addicted to pain killers, muscle relaxers, and alcohol): "Sting, are you on drugs or something?" LOL No, honey, your husband is a 300 pound sobbing immovable lump because of all the Ovaltine he's been drinking (she sounds like a brilliant woman, no?).

Panjshir Review

Deciding that it would be unmanageable for the reader, and confusing for me, to blog about any and everything for the past two weeks in one post, I've decided to separate Panjshir and Herat for the purposes of today's updates. Now you get to read my retrospective comments on Panjshir, which, since I really have to use the WC and am about to leave for breakfast, might be short. [Edit: almost 12 hours later, and with the internet down, I had LOTS of time to fill-out this blog after breakfast and before tourism...so short it is NOT]

Panjshiris are, for the most part, ethnically Tajik, and are very proud of their role as mujahideen fighters who were, many have argued, what saved Afghanistan more than once. Check out this good blurb about the Panjshir Valley for some light background. Panjshir has only one entrance from the south (coming north from Kabul), which was blocked off by large boulders when the mujahideen effectively sealed-off the valley from the Taliban by exploding part of the mountain and covering the only entrance. Many people from Kabul of Panjshiri descendent fled to Panjshir, and many people literally did not move from the safe haven of the Valley for three years or more until the fighting was done. People would trickle out, making arrangements to be smuggled to nearby countries…some would join the mujahideen…but many stayed, and waited, for years for their old lives to start again.

Sidenote: I’ve always found it fascinating how readily (and intelligently) people will put EVERYTHING on hold to save their lives. You hear stories of people in times of war – the Holocaust, Rwanda, Afghanistan – where people, without much complaint or drama, will simply pick up and go and not look back for as long as it takes to be safe. I am particularly fascinated by how, in times of war, places of everyday use become very different social spaces. Churches or mosques where people might go for weekly services or confession, become, during times of war, places where they might live for weeks or months. How odd, it seems, and yet how common (during war) to hear someone say something like: “…and so I went home from work, picked up my wife and children, our money and whatever jewelry we had of value, and went to the church in a nearby village, where we lived in the basement kitchen for the next 3 months…”. These stories are, of course, horrific, but I love the way they totally destroy our perception of what is necessary to live (“I *have* to go to work to survive…”) and how spaces work (special utility and boundaries of social appropriateness). You are a highschool student in Kabul and one day have to move to Panjshir for 3 years, and maybe, if you are lucky, can smuggle yourself to Iran, or Tajikistan, or Pakistan (where you might be lucky enough to go farther – Germany or Sweden – or be officially resettled by UNHCR). Your foundation is rocked, you change course, and suddenly you’re in a place where all of your obsessive planning for the future (in which so many of us find perpetual comfort and anxiety) is moot. Is it weird for me to say there is something poignant in that?

Well anyway, That's my unqualified and un-nuanced history of Panjshir. The resistance/mujahideen fighters are basically all Panjshiri or come from a spot north of Kabul (which you pass through on your way to Panjshir) which I have blogged about before, called Shemali (the Shemali Plains). They have a rather distinctive (in my opinion) dress, and you normally see them wearing traditional Afghan pajamas with a military vest over it, and with a black and white (normally) checkered scarf (that works as veil from the sun, sweat rag, multipurpose cloth, and general indicator of Panshiri coolness). About coolness, I should add (or WILL add) that Panjshiris are not just cool, but hot (sorry to objectify). I am an EXPERT at identifying Panjshiris (to the surprise of Afghan friends) and have to say that out of the already excellent gene pool contained in Afghanistan, Panjshiris are absolutely the HOTTEST. :)

Ok, back to my trip. Well we (me, Cate Moss of Kabul, et al.) had been wanting to go to Panjshir nearly all summer, as Cate and much of his family (at least on his maternal side, as well as the paternal line of some of his cousins) are from the Valley, but logistically it just wasn't working. It takes a lot of planing to go to Panjshir, mostly because you need a car that can handle the road, you need to leave early enough to make it before dark (for safety and security -- the roads are VERY narrow in some spots and unsafe to drive on at night, and they might not let you in after dark), and you need a Panjshiri. That's right: if you are not a card-carrying Panjshiri (literally: your national ID has your father's birthplace written on it and this is considered your place of origin, whether or not you have ever lived there or even set foot in it) -- or do not having a convincing enough Panjshiri accent when you speak Dari or have the look of a Panjshiri about you -- then you won't be allowed into the Valley.

There is currently, in Afghanistan, a lot of mixed feelings about Panjshir. On the one hand, you have photos of the Lion of Panjshir, Ahmed Shah Massoud (“Massoud”) -- leader of the resistance against the Taliban -- everywhere, all over Kabul. MOST people would agree that he indeed was instrumental in defeating the Taliban. Since the collapse of the Taliban, however, there has been a lot of political conflict, where other ethnic groups (Hazaras and Pashtun, alike) want redress for crimes committed against them during the civl war that was sandwiched between the war with the Soviets and the war with the Taliban. After the Soviets pulled out, Kabul was left highly factionalized, as the Northern Alliance was anything but unified (or "Northern," if you followed the Massoud Hero link, above), and competing ethnic groups occupied sectors of the city and proceeded to basically destroy Kabul, and each other, in an attempt to fill the Soviet power vacuum --> enter the Taliban (from Qandahar). As one might expect, given the complex and violent history of Afghanistan, there are a lot of mixed feelings about some of the hero figues involved in Afghanistan's liberation. The Panjshiris feel like they deserve more recognition (read: power, and places in high government) for what they did to free Afghanistan, and others feel that Panjshiris (or, I should say: mujahideen/jihaadis...since we don't want to leave out the Shemali guys...) have already been given too much political power with no knowledge of politics or law (they were great fighters, but that doesn't make them great governors).

I have no opinion on the issue :)

In any case, since basically all of my friends are from Shemali or Panjshir, I got the chance to go to a place of immense importance and ABSOLUTELY STUNNING beauty into which many Afghans are, to this day, forbidden entry. The plan was to go with Cate and one of his Cousins of Legenday Hotness *Veiled Chunk fans himself* whose family has a home in Panjshir. Unfortunately, CoLH #1 had to work until midnight that night (as did his father: a driver for an anonymous UN organization, who was forced to babysit the expats at my favourite restaurant, L'Atmosphère, until after midnight, despite their 11PM curfew!), so his older brother, CoLH #2, came instead. Cate's other cousin, and my good friend, Mr. Bollywood, drove, and it was an uneventful drive, including a stop along the way where CoLH #2 bought be a very nice Panjshiri scarf.

We really looked the part, especially Mr. Bollywood, who is SO meticulous in his personal grooming (like he won't go to dinner at night without shaving a second time that day, and his clothes are always impeccably clean and pressed -- hence Mr. Bollywood), looked too Panjshiri to even be Panjshiri. I tried to explain to him that having the perfect pajamas, with a perfect (and clearly brand new!) military vest, and a perfectly white scarf, made him look more like an actor playing a Panjshiri than like an actual Panjshiri, himself, but he always fails to acknowledge the cute absurdity behind his glisten.

The drive to Panjshir was extremely beautiful, but I was not being tricked -- the drive to ANYWHERE in Afghanistan is amazing, and I was not taking another 20 photos of more breathtaking rivers and valleys. My camera was not coming out until we reached Massoud's tomb. As if guided by the Gods, I resisted the urge to take scenery photos along the way, and when we got to the Lion's Tomb, I took out my camera, snapped a shot of the Tomb, and *immediately* my camera battery died (I'd not charged it almost all summer!) and that was it for Panjshir photos (until Cate shares his). I was glad that I had been guided by Divine Providence, though, to use my only photo on the Tomb, and while it was not glorious in terms of pomp, the Tomb is atop a windy hill that looks over the Valley in both directions, and is quiet in a way that I imagine Tibetan hill stations being -- windy, quiet, beautiful, sparse, and intense.

We made it to CoLH #2's house, sat for a bit by the river, met some family and friends passing by through the village, and took some early sleep after a nice *vegetarian* meal. It was my first time drinking non-bottled water in Afghanistan (other than boiled in tea), as the Panjshiri water is known as being the best in Afghanistan. It really was amazing, and (as Cate's photos prove) I drank directly from the river several times (with no ill effects).

The night was really interesting, because I kept waking up to flashes of light illuminating the entire sky, visible over the mountain range bordering one side of the valley. I kept thinking that maybe it was some kind of REALLY bright airplane/jet guidance system on the other side of the mountains, and didn't think it could be shelling because, well, there isn't any shelling here (or anywhere else in Afghanistan except Kunar), but I had no idea what it could be, and it went on for hours (everyone else was asleep and did not notice). Around 3AM, though, the secret of the lights was revealed, when an intense thunderstorm began in the Valley, and what I then understood to be lightening was matched with its sibling, thunder. The rain didn't last long, though, and by the early morning everything was even MORE beautiful and green, and the rocks and valley even more fresh-smelling than the day before.

I woke up early, around 5AM, and read the eternal Mahfouz novel that I will thankfully finish today after breakfast. Around 6, after the mountain had been calling to me for an hour and everyone else was still fast asleep, I changed clothes, and set off for the mountain. The mountain was in a different "village" (village, here, is used to indicate a TINY geographical area consisting of only a few houses, so you might have 4 or 5 villages in what many of us might think of as one, still small, village) across the river.

{Going to go get breakfast...OK I'm back...and chunkier...}

Edit: it's 10PM and the internet has been down ALL day...so I really have to be committed to get this thing published!

I had seen a bridge down the river the night before, and went in search of it. Thinking that 6AM on a Friday would offer VC some anonymity was a TOTAL mistake. 30 minutes after leaving, I was at the foothill of the mountain, having found the bridge (with the help of some village elders along the way), and was in negotiations with about 10 men who were all fascinated by my presence, perplexed by my desire to climb a mountain at 6AM in sandals, and baffled by my ethnic origins and mother tongue -- you see, that Dari word for "why?" that is often used is the same as the Russian "po-che-moo?" so when an elder asked me "why?" I was climbing the mountain, I responded in Russian (having originally been trying to get by in Arabic) and confused everyone.

In the end, I had attracted SUCH a crowd (with, of course, invitations for tea, breakfast, chats with young boys studying English in school...) that I could not make it up the mountain, and was intercepted by Mr. Bollywood and the house attendant of CoLH #2, in a panic that I'd disappeared at 6AM; they were directed by villagers along the way who told him the khariji (foreigner) was climbing the mountain. You know it's serious when Bollywood shows up disheveled and unshaven. He and the villagers all had a HUGE laugh (especially at my sandals), and one of them invited Bollywood and me to the river to chat. I should have known where this was going. This man (who is the brother of one of the elders who showed me the direction to the bridge) is apparently the most notorious bacchabaz ("boy player") in that part of Panjshir, and told Bollywood that I was a very beautiful baccha and that Bollywood should have brought me to a party he’dhad the night before in a tent by the river. Bollywood got a big kick out of this, and when we got back to the house, just telling Cate and CoLH #2 this guy's name, they immediately knew what he must have said. On the way back home, I got to meet the father of someone I knew in Kabul, who was really kind and charming (and also thinking I was insane for wanting to climb this thing in sandals). FOR THE RECORD: I could have totally done it. Totally.

After breakfast, Bollywood and Cate and I set-out for Bollywood's home village and the end of the mountain pass closing Panjshir to the north (I think). I really REALLY wish I could post some photos of this place, because if you have an image of Shangrahla in your head, then this is it. It's endless mountain, grass, river, mudbrick houses...just browns and greens that are endlessly gorgeous.

Along the way, an army guy recognized Bollywood (I've seen this several times in Afghanistan: someone recognizing someone else that they haven't seen in like 15 years or more and just saying hello with total casualness and proceeding to pick up where they left off), and picked us up to ride the rest of the way to the end of the valley. I felt myself kind of sitting on something hard and cold, and I assumed it was a water bottle, until Cate whispered to me to look down at our seat, and I saw that he and I were sitting on (more like sitting back onto...not squarely ON) a Kalishnikov riffle. Because of the way it was laying, we weren't in any danger of being actually shot, so it was only 20% disconcerting and 80% funny -- I hope to post the photo of the AK pointing to my chunky behind (I also hope that this is the last gun ever pointed at my ass).

The ride with the army guy was fascinating. For someone who did not appear to be particularly well-educated, he was asking some very penetrating political questions. There were the typical Panjshiri "Why are the Americans only interested in disarming the mujahideen when they should be disarming the Taliban?" questions, but there was also one that really gave me pause: "Why does the Coalition insist on reconstruction with conditions? Why should there be conditions placed on building a road or giving electricity?" It was a good question, and I didn't want to be overly-political in my response. I told him that, while I can't speak for the Coalition and have no knowledge of their strategy or plan, I think that it is not targeting exclusively Panjshiris for disarmament, and tends to support a disarmament policy for all groups, and that as far as reconstruction is concerned, the Coalition is concerned with permanent solutions to persistent problems that have been caused by chaos and war, and that the conditions that it places on reconstruction projects are those conditions which it deems necessary to ensure that reconstruction is sustainable, and will not be immediately destroyed by warring tribes or ethnic groups, or usurped and abused by warlords and powerful figures operating outside the rule of law.

He dropped us off at the foot of a towering cliff (aka: the end of our journey in the valley) and on one side there were hundreds (thousands? VC sucks at estimating things...especially his budget) of crates being guarded by a makeshift checkpoint. I asked what they were, and was told that they were weapons. Now, I am still not clear as to whether or not these are weapons that are secret stocks used by mujahideen/local militia, or if they are weapons that are sold to Coalition forces (or both). I asked if I could tour the weapons store -- which the army guy and the weapons guard thought was cute -- but was told that no one, especially not a foreigner, had access; I was told that even the PRT (“Provincial Reconstruction Team” – read: Coalition army; read: Americans) was not allowed. We got some cool photos and walked to a different part of the valley off by a connecting river that runs right in front of Massoud's family compound.

If you check out this link, then you can see a photo of Massoud's Tomb, as well as the area I'm about tro descirbe in the next paragraph. Both photos don't look much like when I was there, as Massoud's tomb is surrounded by much more lush landscape than this photo shows, and the ground is torn up for expansion/construction. In the photo of the Valley, Massoud's compound is up the hill to the left, and it is on the right by the water undermeath the trees that my next paragraph occurs -- in the photo, the water is almost evaporated, but when we were there it was deep enough to go swimming (despite still being low, according to my friends).

Bollywood wanted to go swimming, and used his and Cate's scarves to fashion a bathingsuit -- these things really ARE the do-it-all cloth, and would make, I was thinking in a conversation in my head yesterday with Cadaver Queen, pretty hot skirts (in that Gweneth Paltrow thinks SoHo is the East Village kind of way). There were some guys showing-off in the water (racing each other, making jokes with me and Cate sitting on the riverside, etc.) and one of them said to his friend that he should have taken me to the party last night because he would have been really popular for it (wonder if it was the same party that we heard about that morning?). We were all invited to have hashish with them (OF COURSE I SAID NO!).

When we arrived home, CoLH #2's best friend from Kabul had arrived, and shortly after, CoLH #1 (with ADORABLE and VERY well-behaved kindergarten-age son) and their father also surprised us with a visit. We were already running late to head home for Kabul so I could play squash with Pakistani Apostate, but ended up having an absolutely delightful lunch with Father CoLH and the rest of the clan. CoLH #2 and I traded books (I sounded out commentary on hadith in Dari, and he navigated Mahfouz's mythic alley in much better English), and we went home, regretfully declining invitations by CoLH #1 to spend the night and climb the mountain for real (I don't mean that in a dirty way! CoLH #1 is a hiker and told me if I stayed he'd take me climbing!).

In the end, I had an excellent time. It was just another instance of how remarkably full my experience in Afghanistan has been, and if Desi had never introduced me to Cate then none of this would have been possible. I really feel sorry for the other expats, who live under such security restrictions, many of which I do not think are necessary, and who never get to SEE Afghanistan (bouncing between your guesthouse, your office, and the 3 restaurants in Kabul you are approved to go to, with no walking allowed and travel only permitted in a secured vechichle *with* an armed car following you, is not, by my standards, "living" in Afghanistan). The mountains preceding Gardez, the mountain passes on the Jalalabad road and Serbie, plains and rivers of Shemali, and especially the defiantly beautiful Panjshir...these are some of the most beautiful places that I think exist in the world. Add to that weddings, parties, berry-eating trips to the river and lake...I don't think these were "risks;" I think they were experiences that made the $5000+ that I spent this summer and my disaster of an internship worth it.

NOW I have to write you about Herat? Sheesh. Ok. Well the internet is down from 8AM-3:30PM, so all this will be cut and pasted and hyperlinked later, anyway...
Edit: Shortly after 10PM and ready to publish...if this gets lost again then I am going to freak out and forget writing about this trip.

More soon,

VC

Herat Hooray!

Gosh what a cheesy post title.

Well to all of you who have been LIVING the past 4 days waiting for another rambling post, I am going to disappoint you. This one will be short, and will not cover anything historical about Herat (where I am, now), or Panjshir (where I was this past weekend). It will also not cover the interesting confluence of gays and Lebanese in my guesthouse (that is not to say that they are gay AND Lebanese, although there are a few), and it will not cover my resignation, yesterday, from my internship (except when I wax philosophical about internal mental trials). This post is just to get you to where I am, what I did (more or less) today, and alert you that tonight there will be some SERIOUS Herat and Panjshir blogging!

Mental Trials

When you are in the midst of stressful situations (usually those situations in which you are having some kind of conflict, be it professional or other), do you constantly replay in your head all the things that make you believe whatever point of view you have is the right one to support? I do this all the time: "Why it was wrong for me to leave NYC," "Why Bald Eagle never deserved me in the first place, even if I was immature about things," "Why my paper didn't suck" ... anyway, my method of coping with stress is to totally beat it to death by overthinking the situation to the point that the probability trees are slashed and burned to hell.

The reason I mention this is that for the past 24 hours, I have been coping (as some of my friends and family know) with a rather shocking and disappointing turn of events at work that it is not important to discuss here (or in any public setting, whatsoever). I just received an email that, in my view, affirms the validity of my decision to resign, and at the same time totally quiets (with the suddenness of an intravenous injection...actually I don't know what that feels like, but still...) all my anxiety about the situation. The trial in my head, where I am repeatedly and obsessively asserting the validity of my claim, has ended. It is wonderful in a situation like this (comparable only to the wonderfulness of a romance ending similarly) when I can walk away with everything I thought or said about the situation totally confirmed, case closed.

Just wanted to say that, because (not that I don't need to spend mental energy double-checking my position on this issue with work) I never articulated to myself, until today, this process I engage in of repeated mental trials, and I likewise never realized, until just now, that the real indicator of being "over" something is when these trials end.

Herat

I am in Herat.

The end.

Yeah right :)

I am too lazy, right now, to give you all the links and details you need, but I am in Herat safely, staying in a great UN guesthouse (thanks to an Italian friend whose efficiency is so violent that it rivals that of Dr. Wind Breaker [aka: Curie]), and have ALREADY:

* visited a famous mosque
* seduced a mullah (kidding, but I did meet one!)
* met some awesome and friendly people
* walked around more by myself in one day in Herat than I did in all my days in Kabul combined (in case I don't get around to blogging tonight and my mother FREAKS OUT reading that I was walking around alone: you can do that in Herat...even UN people can...it's *knocking on wood covered with ugly sharp glass that will be blogged about later* SAFE)

That doesn't sound like a lot, but it has been a full day...as you'll see when I blog later.

Ok everyone, cheers for now.

VC

Veiled Chunk Heartbroken

I am sitting here completely stunned and have barely composed myself enough to write this.

As you can see from the UPDATE to the Kitten Quandary, below, I decided that I cannot take Sher with me back to Cairo. My colleague gave me the information for the clinic where I can get her fixed-up, though, and I intended to take here there (if I saw her around the office, again) and then try to find a nice home for her, here in Kabul.

Well tragedy just struck. Actually, Sher just struck tragedy.

I was sitting on the couch reading, waiting for the office to be cleaned and for my officemate to arrive, and I could HEAR my baby crying. I thought I was crazy. I followed the noise outside until I saw not one cat, but two: Sher, sitting on a roof crying to her friend (sibling?), another kitten stuck very high on a very small branch in a tree (tail puffed-out, really scared). I went to get my officemate, who'd just arrived, to show him the predicament, and when we went back outside, Sher had attempted a *brave rescue mission* to retrieve her cohort. This meant, though, that she was in the tree, too. Exactly what I was concerned would happen, did, which is that Sher saw me and tried to get to me (meaning: defy gravity by walking DOWN a tree).

Sher fell face-first (but you know cats more or less rotate) more than 5 meters and CRASHED in a pile on the ground. There was a "CRACK" when she landed that no kitty should ever make. Her skull? The left front leg that she landed on? Her teeth? She landed only a few feet in front of me and it was like I was instantly about to cry and throw up and run to her at the same time.

I didn't know what happened to her, exactly, but she hoveled off (is that a verb?) underneath the side of the building, eyes-closed, silent, breathing stalted. I was terrified. I ran into the office, stole my officemate's phone (mine has no credit after a 10 minute and 10 DOLLAR call to Desi in Bombay, last night), and immediately called the vet: "We need medical attention for Sher and a rescuer for the other cat who had to watch the horrible fall and is STILL stuck in the tree (about 10 meters up, at least!)."

I'll skip the drama about the vet, transportation officers at my office, and the ridiculousness that ensued, but GET THIS: my officemate wanted to check that Sher could walk, and so he nudged her a bit, and she hobbled (THERE's the verb!) off and went to hide underneath one of our SUVs. I was talking to her, consoling her, and told the guy whose job it is to water the dirt in the driveway (so it stays as mud and does not turn into dust) NOT to spray the cat (WHO HE SAW ME TALKING TO UNDERNEATH THE CAR). I went into the office for no more than 1 minute to get the phone, and when I came out, the cat was gone and ground underneath her auto-haven was wet. AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We engaged in a multi-person search, I tracked mud all over the office, and Sher is gone (probably scared, wet, and in serious need of medical attention).

The vet will be here in an hour (after a struggle with the bureaucracy of my office in which I was neither allowed a car nor allowed to leave the premises WITHOUT a car -- ie: take a taxi, I offered the vet to pay for his taxi to come here, after which my office gave me a car and security...go figure!), and we don't know where the cat is.

The only good thing is that the other cat, who was stranded in an even more precarious position, appears to have wisely resisted the temptation to climb back down the center of the tree, and instead elected to jump OUT onto the roof below (this option was not apparent to the cat for the first 20 minutes or so, but I guess Sher's fall forced it to reevaluate its egress routes).

Anyway, I feel much better after typing this. I was *again* the ridiculous-values foreigner, in tears over this cat that I basically made fall from a tree. God I can't keep thinking about that cracking sound.

I hope Sher is ok. She was so brave to try to save her friend!

I can NEVER have a child. I would strap it in a bullet-proof flack-jacket to my chest and make it wear a helmet and have like 10 bodyguards!

EVERYONE PRAY FOR SHER! (and keep up the good work for Justice Stevens!)

{note to self: given that I am a member of no church or official religious group, and I know for a fact that several of my readers believe in no higher power, why has my blog at times sounded like an internet prayer chain?}

VC

Astronomy, Trigonometry, and the Fajr Call to Prayer

Well VC was just (I say "just" even though I began writing this post more than 90 minutes ago) awakened by one of the only calls to prayer he's heard since coming to Kabul -- there is none of the ruckus and overlap that characterizes the Cairo prayer calls, and that has caused to much controversy in Egypt (see this BBC article for more info).

Anyway, it was surprising to hear Allahu Akbar not once, but THREE times, and not at the usual 4:30AM-ish time (depending on the time of year) but at 3:20, 3:30, and 3:50!

Which of the muzzeins was correct? What is the proper call to prayer time for this time of year in this part of the world?

Place your bets, as we insomniac chunks go through a rigorous calculation of the REAL call to prayer time!

Because this website warns of the use of online programs to automatically give you the call to prayer time that might ignore certain geospatial positioning issues, we are going to calculate the morning call to prayer time for today, 10 August 2005, for Kabul ourselves! This call to prayer is known as “Fajr” and will be calculated according to the following equations borrowed from this website:

Fajr = Z - V

Z = 12 + (R-L)/15 + T/60

V = arcos[(-sinG – sinDsinB)/cosDcosB]/15

Where:

B= latitude of place
L= longitude of place
R= reference longitude (i.e. TIME BAND x 15)
D= declination angle of sun from celestial equator (-ve in southern hemisphere)
T= equation of time
G= twilight angle

For Kabul (see this website for coordinates):

B = 34.28 (degrees N)
L = 69.11 (degrees E)
R = 15 X 3.5 = 52.5

Now we need D and T. These can be approximated using visual charts, but why should we settle for approximations when we can DO the trig ourselves?

According to this website, the declination for a particular day can be represented by the formula:

23.45 * sin[( j_day_value+284) * 360/365]

Where:

j_day_value = Julian day value of the day

and

the Julian Days can be calculated thus:
month_index = month number -1
date_index = date - 1
function calcJDay(month_index,date_index) {
var j_day=0
var date_val=date_index+1
if (month_index==0)
j_day=0+date_val
else if (month_index==1)
j_day=31+date_val
else if (month_index==2)
j_day=59+date_val
else if (month_index==3)
j_day=90+date_val
else if (month_index==4)
j_day=120+date_val
else if (month_index==5)
j_day=151+date_val
else if (month_index==6)
j_day=181+date_val
else if (month_index==7)
j_day=212+date_val
else if (month_index==8)
j_day=243+date_val
else if (month_index==9)
j_day=273+date_val
else if (month_index==10)
j_day=304+date_val
else if (month_index==11)
j_day=334+date_val
return j_day
}

So calculating the Julian day value for Kabul for today, 10 August 2005 (we can TOTALLY read computer script!):

month index = 8 - 1 = 7
date index = 10 - 1 = 9
which means that the j_day = 212 + date_val = 212 + 10 = 222 (incidentally, this is just a complicated way of saying that August 10th is the 222nd day of the year!, which I did not figure out until I manually counted the days on the calendar to get a N value for the Equation of Time calculation, below...grrrrrrr).

Using a Julian day value of 222 in the declination formula:

23.45 * sin(( j_day_value+284) * 360/365)
= 23.45 * sin((222+284)*260/265))
= 23.45 * sin (496.45)
= 23.45 * 0.69
= 16.18

D = 16.18, which is a feasible value looking at the approximate charts.

As for T, the Equation of Time, this website tells us the following:

The equation of time is the sum of two offset sine curves, with periods of one year and six months respectively. It can be approximated by:

E = 9.87sin(2B) – 7.53cos(B) – 1.5sin(B)

Where:

B = 360(N - 81)/364 if sin and cos operate on degrees.

For today’s date, N = 222, so B = 360(222-81)/364 = 139.45.

Therefore:

E = 9.87 sin(2*139.45) – 7.53cos(139.45) – 1.5sin(139.45)
= 9.87(-0.99) – 7.53(-0.76) – 1.5(0.65)
= -9.77 + 5.72 – 0.98
= -5.03 = T

T = -5.03, which also looks feasible according to the visual charts (thank God!).

We now how our values for B, L, R, D, and T, and all we say that G = 18 in Afghanistan, according to regional custom.

Let’s crunch our numbers (I sound like a trigonometric aerobics instructor!) à

Z = 12 + (R-L)/15 + T/60
= 12 + (52.5 – 69.11)/15 – 5.03/60
= 12 – 1.11 – 0.08
= 10.81

V = arcos{[-sin(18) – sin(16.18)sin(34.28)]/cos(16.18)cos(34.28)}/15
= arcos{[-0.31 – (0.28)(0.56)]/(0.96)(0.83)}/15
= arcos(-0.59)/15
= 2.20rad/15
Unfortunately, our online inverse trig calculator works in radians, and we are using degrees. Converted (recall pi rad = 180 degrees and use your unit circle!):
V = 126.16/15 = 8.41

Now, for our Call to Prayer Calculation!

*drum roll*

Fajr = Z – V = 10.81-8.41 = 2.4

Hmmmm – 2.4 seems like an odd number. If it means “2:24AM” then VC either had NOTHING to complain about when the Muzzein let him sleep in for an hour and waited until almost 3:30 for the morning call – OR, what VC woke up to was not the Fajr Call, but something else. In any case, I’ve been working on this for more than an hour (it’s now 5AM), and I still have to edit this text and create links to make this calculation sheet bloggable. Meaning: I’ll find my error later. I will note, though, that sunrise in Kabul, according to this website, is supposed to be at 5:10AM, today, so even the latest call to prayer I heard (3:50AM approx.) was way early for Fajr.

Mystère et boulle de gomme!

If you are in desperate need to do trig and inverse trig online (like I was), then you can use these websites for your calculations. This website is also interesting because of the “services” it offers with regard to sun positioning calculations (“forensic analysis”!?!?).

Hopefully at some point today I can figure out this mystery!! Having spent 2 hours and consumed nearly 20 (ok, exactly 20) of these AMAZING Iranian Werther's Original-like (with peanut butter in the middle!) candies, I am determined to not have my efforts (and calories!) go to waste. By the way, here is the website for Aidin, the Iranian candy company sent to us from above (it's bilingual and has GREAT music!!).

VC

Kitten Quandary

Veiled Chunk needs advice!

So I get a call on my mobile from Genetica (aka: Curie) in NYC, no doubt expressing concern that she woke up and read my blog and found out I was now a woman, and the reception in my office is so awful that I had to go outside. Outside, the connection was lost, and as I waited for Genetica's return call, the worst thing happened: I fell in love -- with a baby, honey-eyed, sweet little tiger-print grey and black kitten. I can't explain how delicate and sweet she was (she was in such need of affection!) and we cuddled for about 10 minutes with her on my lap, eyes closed, licking away at my arm (watch -- tomorrow's post will be: Veiled Chunk, hospitalized for ringworm). Anyway, I don't know what to do. I wasn't ready for love. Now is not the time or the place. Do I get her spayed, immunized, and declawed IN KABUL? Then what? Take her with me for a week in Pakistan and a week in Dubai and THEN back to Cairo? She can't even stay in my guesthouse as it is. It must be my new maternal instincts (even powerful international businesswomen chunks have biological clocks!), but this cat really took to me, and I took to her. I decided to name her Sher, after my officemate (a really kindhearted Pakistani guy named Sher Ali), which also resembles Genetica's real-life name (since her phone call brought us together), *and* can be short for the timelessly-gorgeous "Scheherazade" from Arabian Nights.

WHAT SHOULD I DO?

VC (X2) = Very Confused Veiled Chunk

PS: About 4 hours have passed since I tried to publish this post, originally, before leaving the office, and I think I am going to go take my favourite guard to go by anti-fungal body cream (it would be totally wrong to ask for assistance in application, right?) -- I don't yet have any symptoms of ringworm, but why wait?

UPDATE: Bad news. Even if I cancel my plans to go to Pakistan and UAE in order to facilitate things with Sher (and I have gotten approval from my guesthouse AND found a pet clinic to fix her up), Emirates won't allow me to take her in the cabin. From the Emirates FAQ:

12. Can my pet travel in the cabin with me?

Pets are not permitted in the cabin. They may be accepted as checked baggage (and carried in the aircraft hold) for which normal excess baggage rates will apply or, as cargo at applicable cargo rates. The rules for travelling with your pet may vary according to size, type of pet, destination and connecting carrier. For more information please contact yourlocal Emirates Office.

I have said (and a LOT of pet lovers say) that I won't fly with an animal I can't sit with -- especially not my scared little baby (who will have just been declawed, immunized, AND sterilized!). The throught of her sliding around in the belly of the plane with no temperature controls and no me to cuddle with is awful. Besides, what if we had to make a water landing (over IRAN? lol). Case closed: Kitty Stays in Kabul.

Veiled Chunk: Transgendered?

BREAKING NEWS!

Veiled Chunk had, until today, understood himself to be, by most conventional chromosomal interpretations, sex male. According to Kabul's Chief of Passport Control, however, VC has been hugely mistaken.

Having just received my passport back from the Foreign Ministry, I was shocked to discover that the 23yo male graduate intern I believed myself to be when I arrived in Kabul has been transformed into a *high-powered businesswoman*! That's right, I am now on a multiple-entry business visa as "Ms. Veiled Chunk, Gender: Female."

There are some obvious perks to being female (and I'm not talking about the burqa [creepy link, check it out]). I paid only $30, intending to get a one month single-entry visa, and was instead given a three month multiple-entry *business* visa at no extra cost. You know the chunk gives my rack international businesswoman. On the one hand, I can now wear that Prada power suit that would have never been appropriate as MR. Veiled Chunk; on the other hand, I would have to relinquish my entry rights to the Grand Hyatt Club Olympus men's locker room, which would sort of blow my chances (no pun!) with fellow sometimes-chunk Egyptian pop star Khaled Selim.

I should probably maintain my former sex so as to not confuse LSAC...plus I don't think Pookie Pod is into chicks. Dommage.

VC

Bush v. Gore

Sorry for going for so long without blogging about hot judges, the Taliban, or my non-existent romantic life, but I have been completing a report on some of my findings this summer at work that I just submitted yesterday. I will be posting photos soon enough, and will also post a Veiled Chunk Dance Card Update, but just a quick post about something that was on my mind a few days ago that I wanted to quickly blog about before going for a short (a VERY short) run.

Because VC is regularly combing the archives of other law blogs in order to supplement his embarrassingly-incomplete knowledge of US law and politics, he often stumbles upon issues and debates that are no longer current, but nonetheless interesting. A few days ago, I [yeah that third person thing REALLY does not work for me] was, as usual, literally laughing out loud at A3G's blog, and came across her analysis of the October 2004 Vanity Fair article "The Path to Florida," which delves into the days and hours leading up to the historic Supreme Court decision that gave George Bush the 2000 election (ok, I actually don't like it when people say that, because that was the EFFECT of the decision, but that was not the decision itself -- the decision was to overturn the Florida Supreme Court's ruling that a recount should proceeded, on the grounds that the recount violated equal protection rights under the Constitution...stopping the recount had the effect of giving Bush the election, but it's not like the Supreme Court said: "We find in a ruling of 7-2 that Bush is Bomb."). [how's THAT for complex punctuation?]

Anyway, I'm not going to comment on the case or on the article, except to do my duty as a *balanced* liberal by saying that while the article is excellent (including the analysis of systematic disenfranchisement of Black voters), I can see certain choices that make the article well-crafted, but crafty. In any case, the exceedingly critical readers of VC's blog (conservative and liberal, alike) are more than capable of reading between the lines, and I think between those lines, the facts (and legal arguments) speak for themselves. I think, reading this article, you will also gain further insight into why Justice Stevens is, as you know from my previous post, my SCOTUS superhero.

Here is the text of the Vanity Fair article.

Here is the text of the Supreme Court decision -- including the Stevens dissent.

I promise to not make this blog so law dense, but I guess it reflects what's been on my mind, lately.

Let's all send our collective good vibes to Desi in his Bombay apartment search, and to Hawk Barbie in her continued efforts to conquer the world of IR and security studies.

VC

PS: Did I say "short run"? I meant: "lay in my bed and read Mahfouz". Long live the Chunk!

Bella, SCOTUS, and a Prayer for Justice Stevens

Well it's 5AM and I have been chunking-around for the past 2.5 hours unable to sleep. Which means? That's right: perfect time to continue gathering information that will help me strategically plan my ascension to Supreme Court clerkdom via an uncompromisingly liberal path.

For the record, I wouldn't turn down the chance to work on challenging and important legal issues with ANY judicial genius, and I have read, before, that in considering federal and SCOTUS clerkships, one should not select judges based on their political reputation (duh). That said, it would rock my world to clerk with 9th Circuit (the biggest and most liberal circuit) Judge Marsha Berzon (who is unfortunately totally NOT a feeder judge), and then go work for Justice Stevens. To give you some background (and I promise we will have a cute dog photo in a minute!), I must steal, from A3G's hilarious "Bench-Slapping" blog, the following description of She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (I love it that A3G, as a conservative, can still speak with such awe and flattery about someone from OUR side):

Darth Vader's position is already taken: by the brilliant, cold-as-ice Judge Marsha
Berzon. A member of the Elect, Judge Berzon uses the light-saber of her chilly intellect to cut down all who stand in her way. President Clinton spent a tremendous amount of political capital pushing Judge Berzon's nomination to the
Ninth Circuit through the Senate, despite strong opposition from the Republicans, because he knew that only she was qualified to take up the mantle of Judge Reinhardt. After Judge Reinhardt's inevitable passing, only Judge Berzon can provide comparably courageous and cunning leadership for the left wing of the Ninth Circuit. Article III Groupie is both obsessed with and deathly afraid of Judge Berzon, who will no doubt cast her dark shadow over the pages of UTR in the not-too-distant future. (For those of you Harry Potter fans out there, Judge Berzon will sometimes be referred to in the pages of UTR as "She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" or "You-Know-Who.")

You guys KNOW how Veiled Chunk loves brilliant and cold-as-ice femmes fatales. Anyway, the point is that while my ideal path would include clerkships with Berzon and Stevens, Stevens just turned 85 and probably will not, I am sad to say, be around for the OT (October Term) 2010 when VC would begin his clerkship at One First Street. [Incidentally, and I may have to take this off if anyone other than my close friends/family start reading this, but take a look at this photo of Stevens, and then take a look at this photo of his new HLS grad clerk -- found out, by A3G to be a "heartbreaker." Now I don't want to start rumours, but amazingly-well-aged octogenarian bow-tie-totting SCOTUS hottie hires dashing Harvard law heartbreaker? You figure it out...] I think my readers of various faiths and persuasions should all take a moment to pray, in his or her own way, for the continued longevity and judicial wisdom of Justice Stevens.

Ok now that we've built-up some good Supreme Court Karma, we should turn our attention to a different justice for whom VC might one day find himself a chambermaid, and that is Justice Scouter. I don't have much to say about Scouter at this point, except that he seems fond of hiring HLS grads and hot girls (insert VC rant about how unfair it is to be first in your class in law school AND SKINNY!) -- you can see A3G's profile of his new clerks for evidence -- but I just wanted to show you, which was the original point of this post before I got so sidetracked, the ADORABLE bulldog belonging to one of his new clerks (who is, of course, an attractive HLS girl). Her name (the dog, not the clerk) is Bella, and her adorableness not only prompts VC to blog about her at 5 (now almost 6)AM, but totally makes VC crave with even more intensity than normal the days when he can move back to NYC and have an English Bulldog named Jocasta with his Pookie Pod [better than ANY clerkship!].



Waiting for the dining room in my guesthouse to open so that I can further chunkify (and re-hydrate).

VC

Torture, Information, and Pre-Emptive Human Rights Violations

Not to again reveal myself as a back-issue blog obsessive (tracking the lives and career paths of certain people as far back as 2002), as well as a total HLS troll, but this (excerpted) June 2005 post by Waddling Thunder really did give me pause, concerning the differences between torture and accepted realities of armed conflict:

I make no claim that torture is ever good - I was as disgusted by Abu Ghraib as
the next person. But if indeed we feel it necessary in some cases to drop
nuclear weapons on people...and if indeed carpet bombing in the worsts of wars is justified...then why is torturing one person for potentially vital information so especially inhuman?

Because I am eager to finish some unrelated reading and also get you the photos I've promised, I am not going to enter into a technical discussion of torture or international humanitarian law (IHL) right now -- I promise to at some point in the future. What I will say is that the use of force, under IHL, must conform to standards of necessity and proportionality in response to a specific threat to peace and security. It is worth noting that there are already international conventions banning the use of chemical and biological weapons, as it was determined that there is no threat to peace and security so great that such weapons could be considered necessary or proportional response options. Responding specifically to the use of nuclear weapons, the ICJ went almost as far as these conventions, when, in its 1996 Opinion on the Legality of the *Threat* or Use of Nuclear Weapons, it finds that ONLY in a hypothetical and near-unimaginable case where the very survival of a nation is at risk could it envision the use of nuclear weapons to be considered a proportional and legal response.

The point, though, is not to argue that the international community has moved to condemn the extreme military options that we are comparing to torture in this case, but is to instead investigate what it is that distinguishes the rarely-justifiable use of such weapons under IHL from the never-justifiable use of torture under international human rights law (IHRL). It really is a fascinating comparison. My initial response was that international law is privileging body counts over information -- that it can understand how corpses, even civilian corpses, can indicate movement back towards peace and security, but that it does not recognize information (ie: that obtained through torture) as being similarly corrective. I realized, though, that what this more fundamentally points towards is the unsurprising reality that international law generally does not support doctrines of pre-emptive action. Torture is, in a sense, comparable to a pre-emptive military strike -- in the same way that pre-emptive military action is aimed at averting a suspected hostile attack, torture (as an interrogation technique) is used to obtain information that, it is argued, can prevent destruction by revealing the sinister plans of the baddies. In the same way that IHL does not generally condone the use of pre-emptive force, IHRL is opposed to torture as a valid means to avoiding further human rights violations -- it does not find torture to be necessary (although proportionality would probably much easier to demonstrate, if IHRL used such tests), and does not consider the pre-emptive violation of a fundamental right to personal integrity a legitimate information-gathering means to prevent further (and perhaps much more grotesque) rights violations.

That's it for now. Would love to know what you think about torture (or cricket -- I still don't understand the scoring!).

VC