VC Saved From Lightening Strike, Sees Jerusalem

So -- last time I left you, I was using a cyber cafe in a guesthouse in Jerusalem and was off to bed. I actually didn't make it ALL the way to bed right away, as I saw that the city was alive quite late and I took a stroll through a park by Jaffa Gate that I had admired earlier during the day. Very enjoyable :)

Ok so to get you up to speed, yesterday centered around me returning to Riff Raff Sandwich Bar and eating the same thing I'd had before and loving it just as much. Ok, not really...I mean I did do that, but it would be unfair to say that it was the HIGHLIGHT of my day. It was kind of a day crammed with holy things, as I set off early for the Abbey of Dormition (where Mary fell into her eternal sleep), the Coenaculum (Site of the Last Supper) and King David's Tomb, and Mt. Zion. I have only a few observations, because I found all of them summarily disappointing:

Latin American Catholics will touch ANYTHING they think is some kind of holy relic, and as if the Abbey of Dormition wasn't bad enough because it's SPARKLING in its Disney-like renovations, their trouncing around photographing and kissing everything kind of ruined whatever enjoyable moments were left there. I will say that I found the whole Dormotion complex (especially the crypt) really aesthetically appealing, but more in the way the SoHo Prada was before it burned down (see my former blog about that) than in the way I expect a really old and holy place to be. I was thinking they should offer dormition cots and blankets for sleepy pilgrims to imitate the holy mother in her sleep -- why not?

King David's tomb was also extremely anticlimactic (even though I'm really into tombs...like even of random German monarchs and stuff), in part because I was distracted by the fake yammukah I had to wear on my head (they provide them at the entrance), which is LITERALLY a cardboard frenchfry holder (like the kind you'd get at the beach or at a movie theatre, but NOT the kind you'd get in a fast food place, which is more vertically-oriented), as well as the fact that the tomb is cut in half by a "wall" that separates the men and women, or in my case, separated me from a man and woman SCREAMING at each other on the other side (how that's not forbidden I don't know) and them constantly scooting the wooden wall-on-wheels closer into my chamber. The whole thing is covered in velvet cloth, and I felt really unable to connect with the decaying corpse underneath :(

As for Mt. Zion...well...it's more like a little hill where all these commercialized complexes are than a real mountain, and my experience of it was basically hiking back through the King David toilets to a piss-stenched field where Palestinian youth had gathered (you see the PHYSICAL concept of marginalization very clearly, here) and me looking out over some garbage and homes and saying: "Ok, so this is Mt. Zion."

Don't get discouraged that my whole day was a waste, though, because I did have a really nice experience after that when I went to the Western (aka: Wailing) Wall. Because it was SUCH a holy day (passover) we weren't allowed to take photos or leave notes in the wall, but I had a note (more like a list of prayers) that I'd written in the morning that I sort of read over and reflected-upon while touching the wall (for the record: we also had to wear yamukkahs at the Wall, but they were MUCH nicer!). After seeing the tunnels under the wall (which I think I wasn't supposed to see since I'm not Jewish), I ascended to the Temple Mount (aka: one of the huge controversies in the world).

Basically the Temple Mount is where Abraham was WILLING to sacrifice Isaac but didn't (so they say -- most religions have a slightly different version...some say it wasn't Isaac..some say he was actually killed...pick the one that tastes best for you), and is under Palestinian control even though it's in Jerusalem. There are a lot of interesting parts to the Temple Mount complex (although even it felt a little flat, honestly), but two of the most important ones, the Al-Aqsa mosque and the Dome of the Rock (the golden-domed complex that is where THE alter was, supposedly) were both ruined by the experience I had with the guards.

Now, there are SOME sites that I consider to be so holy for a particular faith that I don't think I should be barging in -- like the Kabbah at Mecca, or the Baghaii shrine in Haifa, because I think the only people who go there are pilgrims, and pilgrims are saying: "I have committed to living my life according to the practices of this religion and, for that reason, must visit this site." I think that for REGULAR places of worship, places that are not the explicit focus of a pilgrimage, we should have more free reign than that. I don't think I'll every be persuaded to follow a particular faith or read a particular book, but I do believe in God and pray (at least sometimes! lol) and I think that visiting a place like the Dome of the Rock should not be out of my spiritual explorations.

To make a long story short, I went to the Al-Aqsa mosque, which I didn't really care about anyway (mostly because I can't figure out what's so special about it...otherwise I'd tell you!), and was turned away as I approached and was told "Muslims only." I then told the guy, in Arabic: "You don't know if I'm Muslim or not, do you? You saw me and say I wasn't allowed, but you didn't even ask if I was Muslim or not." I then walked away. At the Dome, however, I was a bit more persistent. I was too slow to get out the Islamic hello and slip my shoes off, so I think he thought I didn't know to do both of those things and therefore wasn't Muslim, and so he asked me: "Are you Muslim?" I knew this would happen. I told him I didn't know. I told him (this is all in Arabic) that I wanted to go inside and look and pray, and that I wasn't 100% sure if I could say I was Muslim or not...did he mean in my heart or in my practice? I told him that I didn't go to the mosque every day -- did he? At this point a crowd of like 12 people (oh what a symbolic number! ;p j/k) has gathered and some people are shouting to him: "He speaks Arabic, let him in," to which he relied: "He won't say he's Muslim!" He asked me if I knew how to pray, and I said yes, and then he asked again: "So are you Muslim?" and I said to him: "What do you want me to tell you? 'There is no God but God, and Mohammed is his prophet?' " and he said "yes" and I said, "Well I can say that, but I still don't know if I'm Muslim. I have studied the Koran and the law, but I came to Jerusalem to see and understand." He said that I couldn't enter, I told him "shame on you" (except in Arabic you use the word "haram" which is more religious than "shame" -- it's like "sin on you") and he gave me the Islamic goodbye.

I was a bit angered by his controlling of my religious identity when, as we know, that is a category of identity that is SO flexible. All the men who entered that day who cheat on their wives, or sleep with men, or drink alcohol, or all the women who don't cover their hair, or don't do any number of the things they are required to, all THOSE people are allowed the agency over their faith to say: "I do notdo XYZ things, but I can still identify as Muslim to a degree that makes my entry into this place permissible." What about people who question their faith? Is there no room for them? Do you have to pompously assert your religiosity in speech and not in practice? I found the whole thing ridiculous. Ironically, the next thing I visited on the temple mount ("visited" meaning: "Walked up to it, thought a bit, and took a photo") was the Dome of the Chain, which, to plagiarize from Lonely Planet, is the smaller version of the Dome of the Rock, where Solomon hung a chain from the dome and those who swore falsely while holding it were struck by lightening. I thought about the fact that there would be a LOT of lightening-struck bodies on that temple mount of the chain were still there, but I wouldn't be amongst them lol.

There are lots of little columns and domes and things on the mount (although it's still a bit sparse, which I think is supposed to contribute to the centrality of the Dome of the Rock...so that it's not competing for attention), but the other thing I saw that I really liked (just the thought -- the actual thing is not that cool) are the stairs of the Scales of Souls leading up to the Mount on all sides, which (according to LP) are believed by Muslims to be the spot on Judgment Day where scales will be hung and souls will be weighed.

After the Mount, I went to the Gethsemane Church, that has the olive fields where Jesus first expressed his angst over sweating blood (that would freak me out, too!), and which was one of the most tasteful (although still brand new) churches I've seen. There was a (I've seen many) Philipino congregation having a service there, and they were singing their hearts out (that is a country of singers! Just look at Lea Salonga and Monique Wilson!) and it was really nice. I also visited Mary's Tomb, which was also anticlimactic and weird (as I felt the priest was a bit over-interested in my experience there), and then walked home through what WAS the City of David and is now an impoverished Palestinian-Israeli village.

I will have to blog about the rest later, as my time in this Bethlehem cyber cafe is about to run out, no ATMS are open for me to get money to buy more time, and I have to pee so bad I could die.

XO

VC

EDIT: My cyber cafe had a restroom that I used, and the boy behind the counter pointed me to an ATM that works, so now I have a full wallet, an empty bladder, and will finish updating my blog! (and then blow my new cash on junk food...helping the local economy, you know!)

VC Survives Attack, Sees Haifa

My second day in Israel was a bit of a disaster (which was thankfully rescued by a really nice evening). I got a late start and was assaulted by a taxi driver. I thought about not blogging about this, because I don't like to carve bad memories into e-stone, but it was kind of an important occurrence. I got in the taxi to go to the bus station, and I realized JUST as we pulled away (less than one block...) that my money was in my other bag. I asked him to stop the car so I could get it, and he said he had to do this huge circuit (like we'd literally gone 25 meters) around like half of our area of town on these one-way streets, and I knew it was a scam (Tel Aviv is very developed and international, but the taxi drivers are notorious). Not thinking much of it, I just said to him: "Wait here, and I'll be RIGHT back," knowing that my guesthouse was literally almost right behind us...like less than a 3 minute walk and in sight of the car...well before I knew it, when I was opening the door, totally unaware of any tension at all, I feel him tugging on my backpack and screaming "Give me money!" and before I knew it he was physically hitting me. I'm not kidding that I was SO stunned I remember thinking: "Oh my god, I'm actually in a fight and someone is striking the side of my head" before I even reacted! It was causing a scene because I was half out of the car and we're both screaming and I'm clearly being attacked and he even knocked my glasses (which were like $150 at my favourite new department store, Beyman's, in the newish Four Seasons in Cairo) off my face and underneath his seat. A woman intervened, trying to call the police, and I just kept saying "Of course I'll pay you!" but he was totally hysterical. The solution we worked out (to make a long and upsetting story slightly less long and upsetting) was to have him make a U-turn back to the guesthouse, which as I said required 3 car lengths of driving, and wait with my glasses held hostage for me to return with the money. I was SO shaken as the woman negotiated the solution and he was still screaming at me that I started to involuntarily choke up, and she was like "Just try to calm down..welcome to Tel Aviv taxi drivers" at which point I managed a "I'm live in Cairo, I know!" as he drove away and I help back tears. It was one of those bad, embarrassing, and just overall crappy experiences where you HAVE to cry to get over it, because it's so upsetting that you can't stop thinking about it, so finally when I paid and got in the next taxi, and had my glasses back on to hide my upsetness, those tears ROLLED. The taxi driver must have thought I was insane, because we were making pleasant conversation (so I could distract myself) about some Israeli guy who has been in prison for the past 20 years (I couldn't understand why), interspersed with me totally crying. Oh well!

I made it to Haifa late, experienced the TOTAL carelessness with which the Lonely Planet chapter on Haifa was written, and as a result ended up at a bus station way out of town and nowhere near ANYTHING. I made it on a bus to the Stella Maris Carmelite Church (google it yourself, I didn't get the big deal and even the supposedly-good ceiling was a total disappointment) and was then TRICKED, by Lonely Planet and religious zealots, to THINKING I'd seen Elijah's Cave when I actually hadn't. Basically, in Stella Maris church, they have an area they CLAIM is the place where Elijah hid from King Ahab and Queen Jezebel after slaying the 450 priests of Ba'ai; (see Kings I: 17-19) [that's TOTALLY stolen from Lonely Planet...that Haifa chapter had to be good for something if not its maps or schedules!], but it's not. Lonely Planet had the cave on a hill in a location that I totally couldn't find, so I kept climbing up and down this huge hill looking for it (even taking a photo of another totally random unrelated monument), and even asked someone at Stella Maris where it was, who told me that the one in the church IS the cave, and only Greek Orthodox people think it's the one on the hill I couldn't find, which he also couldn't point me to. I left Haifa a disappointed, but for the fact that the taxi driver who took me to the train station was the polar opposite of the one I'd met in the morning in Tel Aviv, as he took me to the train station even though he wasn't on shift (I flagged him driving home) and accepted the 20 shekles I had, despite the fact that the fare is like 30-35.

I took the train home, which was MUCH nicer than the bus (and the same price), except for the fact that you can't enjoy the gorgeous Israeli countryside because the windows are have this weird tinted/dirty thing going on. Really unfortunate, since it's a beautiful train ride. It was a bit weird, because, and I am not exaggerating, I was one of THE only civilians on a train full of young soldiers, and I even got a couple photos of the train station where there is literally no one in sight NOT wearing a uniform (many carring huge rifles) -- I tried to joke with a coffee girl at the train station, saying: "Am I the only person NOT in the army, here? Where are all the other people?" but she explained (not connecting with my humour) that they were all on their way home for the holiday. [Remind me that I want to talk more about the oddness of the military culture, here]

I went to dinner at my new Top 5 favourite restaurant, called Big Mama's, which served homemade pasta etc. and where I had my first real focaccia since Rome more than a year ago, and *the best* pasta (4 cheese, of course) of my life. The cheeses were not my favourite, although they were really fresh, but what was so amazing was how fresh the pasta was. I want to blog about this more when I have time, but the food in Israel is UNBELIEVABLE fresh.

I then visited the oldest part of Tel Aviv (which is very SoHo-ish...kind of re-done, manicured style on top of historical landmark buildings) where the "founders" (4 of them) and the "intellectuals" (only a few more) literally carved up Tel Aviv according to a map they made in the sand on the beach and said "ok, how will we make this city?" I loved it in this part of the city,and would totally buy a home there if I could. Really architecturally interesting, and a great atmosphere.

I woke up super early this morning and, determined to do Haifa properly, checked out of the hotel adn took all my stuff BACK to Haifa, where I learned that although a beautiful hillside-terraced city (idyllic in many was in the way a lot of South Orange County is...felt very similar in an odd way), it's SUCH a pain to navigate when your guide sucks and you don't have a car. I was hell-bent on seeing the Baha'i gardens, which really were magnificent, and was even offered entry to the Shrine of the Bab because the people working there thought I was Baha'i. When I refused to go in (even though I really wanted to!) they were confused, and were also distraught that they'd already secretly clicked their headcounter thingy when I walked past, and were sad to find out I wasn't Baha'i and was just another tourist. You need to google it or see my photos, but these gardens were breathtaking. I mean...such harmony, and SO well-maintained. It REALLY was an experience just to walk through that environment...I mean a kind of transcendental experience, if it's not too cheesy to say that. I then located Elijah's Cave for the NEXT time I come back (who knows when that will be), but didn't push myself to see it, since I was rushing to make the last trains before Passover started (and I'd be stuck, unable to get to my home for tonight in Jerusalem), and, as I did for most of the past two days in Haifa, spend a lot of time walking around to no end to do simple things like enter the train station.

I took the train back to Tel Aviv and then to Jerusalem, where I am now, and where I made it to my more-than-decent hostel with minimal hassle (the taxi driver was an Arab Israeli, still Muslim in fact, and we had fun speaking some Arabic...GORGEOUS eyes!). I then walked to the Old CIty just to get a peek for tomorrow's tourism, and wandered all throughout the ENTIRE thing -- from the New Gate and the Christian section, through the Armenian section, the Jewish section and finally the Muslim section. I really want to write more, but am eager to publish this so I'll cut it short, but I'll just say that I need to talk, tomorrow, about my total befuddlement with the holy site visitation process, here, and want to also blog about the embarrassing time I had at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with two more bits of irony:

1. The bus driver in Haifa defiantly BLASTING Christian rock music (in English) as Jewish passover began.
2. A guy, today, in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre CUTTING IN LINE (a big line) in front of everyone else to touch Jesus's tomb. I actually started laughing out loud, which is when I knew I had to get out of there.

Remind me that I also want to talk about my anticlimactic exit from Damascus Gate into East Jerusalem, and the AGAIN amazing dinner I had (just now, at Riff Riff Sandwich Bar -- smoked turkey and Swiss panini!).

Well I know some of you have ALSO read the letter I got from Yale telling me that I'm going to be either accepted or, more likely, waitlisted, which I think was really considerate of them to let me know.

It's nearly midnight, so I'd better run, but expect a post from me tomorrow night telling you about my night tonight and my day tomorrow in Jerusalem. I will also hopefully get to talk, at some point, about the food, the army, and the men ;p [army men as food ... just kidding]

VC

VC Sees Tel Aviv

Well I struggled to get out of bed after only a few hours sleep, but I hit the pavement early and went straight to the Tel Aviv Museum of Art, via the rather anticlimactic CIty Hall and Rabin Square. I couldn't tell if the City Hall was just under REALLY tight security or if the whole barbed wire facade was a kind of dramatic theme -- having now seen the City Hall in Jerusalem, where I am, now, and the fact that it's only minimally protected, despite being just down the street from the oft-bombedZion Square, I think it was just a decision they made (there is a lot of that "building as dramatic historical reference" thing going on in Germany...one really cool building in Dresden reminds me a lot of this City Hall, because they kept the old Communist architecture to remind them of what it was like when Germany was divided).

It would be impossible for me to rave about the Tel Aviv museum enough. If you are into traditional impressionism (which I am) then they have a great collection, but for me, having been spoiled by NYC, I wasn't here to see more Renoir. What I thought was fantastic was the collection of Jewish painters from France, a children's exhibition of Kadishman called "Draw Me a Sheep" (and the kids were so cute I wasn't even annoyed!), and an installation exhibit by Ilana Goor.

[I wish I could write more, but I'm stretching the generosity of a guesthouse manager in Jerusalem at a house that's NOT the one I'm staying in, who is letting me use his internet for free because the place I was looking for is closed]

I then walked down through the main shoping area down King George V street (the names in every city here -- Tel Aviv, Haifa, Jerusalem -- they are all the same!), and through the Yemenite Quarter, where I saw the couple I blogged about before. I was a bit disappointed by the Yemenite Quarter, because usually when you have a kind of named community area like that (like when Curie andI visisted Albaycin in Grenada -- the local gypsy community) it's a REALLY unique experience apart from the rest of the city...the Yemenite "quarter" was really more like a bazar though (and not a very good one), and there wasn't even Arabic on the signs lol.

I then walked down the boardwalk along the edge of the Mediterranean (one of the only places other than Jerusalem where I've actually seen Muslims that were clearly, you know, Muslim) to Jaffa (the joint city to Tel Aviv where it all began), which was GORGEOUS. It felt a bit like Byblos, in Lebanon, except Byblos is one of my favourite places on earth, so it's not fair to compare anything to it, really. I was hoping to eat at the Taj Mahal Indian restaurant, there, but it was closed, so I wandered around, went to the HapiSgah Gardens, and then went to ANOTHER gem of a museum, which is Ilana Goor's house (the Ilana Goor Museum) [I also went to a gallery that featured only seascapes, which I usually hate, but it was pretty good, too]. Jaffa is very commercial/touristy (in that old-town world heritage site restored kind of way), but I really loved it. The Ilana Goor museum is incredibly well-done, and I've decided that I want the interior of my home done by her, and the outside to be done by the Bahaii people (see my next entry about Haifa).

I walked back to Tel Aviv and got my haircut before dinner, where the gorgeous -- like almost all men here -- hairdresser of Tunisian descent proceeded to tell me all about how Arabs can't be trusted. Racial bias aside, he gave me a great cut (dry -- like Sasoon). I then had dinner at a place called Taste of Life, which is run by the black Jewish community that ONLY eats, like, wheat...I mean I had wheat falafel and wheat chocolate and a wheat vanilla shake, so go figure.

VC

Egypt to Israel: VC Gets Body Searched -- Twice

To get you all up to speed: I'm visiting Israel and Palestine for a week, then going back to Egypt for a few days, then taking of for a few weeks in India (it's hard being a Chunk ;p). The madness began last night, on my El-Al red-eye from Cairo to Tel Aviv.

Because I'm in a Tel Aviv cyber cafe and am anxious to get to dinner and get this blog published as fast as possible, I'm going to cut things short and not describe every fascinating detail of my El-Al flight experience last night from Cairo to Tel Aviv.

A few observations, tips, thoughts:

For anyone who thought VC would be good in the CIA, you are totally wrong. There were a number of reasons that I was flagged for El-Al's extensive security check – purchasing my ticket at the last minute, not having confirmed hotel information with me, traveling with no money (I knew I couldn't change Egyptian points and the Tel Aviv airport TOTALLY has ATMs!), etc. – but I think far and away my worst statement to the initial examiner was, when asked why I chose El-Al (they ask you similar questions over and over, and "I don't like riding buses," and "I didn't want to take the bus with 40 American class mates" rephrased in a variety of ways didn't satisfy them, so I ended up saying (nothing thinking AT ALL about how bad it would sound): "I'm actually really curious about the El-Al security system...I wanted to experience it first hand."

Oops.

So just for those of you (which is, I think, everyone reading) who aren't familiar with El-Al, it's the safest airline in the world because it needs to be, and because they are VERY rigorous in their screening processes. You can't even get in line to check in until you have BEEN INTERVIEWED (everyone must do this) by security officials (read: hot young Israelis lol) in front of what looked distractingly similar to a music stand. They basically ask you probing questions about the nature of your trip ("well if you are going with friends then why would you go alone, by yourself, with no money or hotel reservations, only to meet them a day and a half before you leave?" – "well if you had to fly early in order to make your India flight then why can't you produce a ticket to India?" – "Isn't it possible that Arab friends who knew your Israel itinerary might try to...") and if you, like me, compound AUTOMATIC red flags by incriminating answers to their questions, well then it's a MUCH longer process (read: 1.5 hours). I was interviewed by several people, didn't even do my own passport control, had everything taken from me, dumped out, variously ex-rayed. I teased my original interviewer that after I told them I wanted to see the security apparatus first hand she was just trying to impress me, but anyway, I was red flaged awii (Egyptian for "a lot" or "super duper").

Interestingly, behind me the line pre-interview were who I *thought* was an American diplomat (black passport, but it ended up just being a leather case) and his boyfriend, along with about 9 Luis Vuitton valises, and we had a kind of rapport the entire time. Well actually this happens to me a lot on trips (I'm sure Wong recalls the guy we met flying from New York, who I thought was gorgeous and she thought looked like "a boxer with his face punched in" who we saw ALL OVER Egypt, from top to bottom, AND was on our return flight, despite not being on our tour or anything) – but anyway, Mr. Black introduced himself once I finally made it through security and I now know that his name is Randy and he's from LA (I also know that he's overly-tan and has a boyfriend with bad taste in luggage, but they are both REALLY nice). Anyway, today when I was in the Yemenite Quarter going down a crowded market street I ran into them again! I realized that I totally blew my chances to spend a fun afternoon with cool people reaching out to me, because in the market he said things that should have been cues to sort of engage them, but I was nervous and didn't catch on. He said things like: "Yeah I'm also flagged because my name is so common...I was detained for 3 hours on my original entry to Egypt" but then I failed to follow up with the "what IS your name?" There was a similar opportunity to introduce myself to his bf and their female friend (who I'm guessing lives here), but I did an awkward and rushed wave goodbye and headed off to Jaffa (see next blog entry).

Ok so I covered my security fiasco and the duo I met (RANDOM: I just realized that the Kundera book I'm reading is about these two people who ALMOST met but didn't...I mean they met like I met Randy but they never were TOGETHER...and then they went into exile and meet in the airport on their way back home more than 20 years later...) – what else was there? Ok well El-Al is a bit ghetto (although super safe), however the crap seats and tv situation were TOTALLY compensated-for by the fantastic cheese sandwich (wow fresh bread and cheese...Israel is known for this, actually), and they give you these ridiculous frog pens that CANNOT write and have such fine points they tear the immigration cards and so my immigration card is filled out in bright orange pen (my colour of choice for the aforementioned Kundera).

The only other thing, which was TOTALLY hilarious, was that the huge El-Al screen in the private El-Al lounge in Cairo, as we were waiting to board, was playing music videos, and to everyone's shock what video were they playing? Ramadan super-star (from last year) Sami Yusuf's "Muallam," which for those of you not in the region or not aware of this guy, is a song that catapulted him to fame because it's ALL about how the Prophet Mohammed taught us all the right path, etc. – I mean it's the most Islamic pop video one could ever create...pretty funny given...you know, the fact that we were sitting there in the Israeli lounge waiting to fly to Tel Aviv.

I'm afraid that I'm not going to have time to blog about what I did today (I'll do that in the AM before I start tomorrow), but I'll just say that my guest house is decent enough and I've had an AMAZING day (fingers crossed for the part of it which remains, which will now include dinner...which I'll blog about tomorrow).

Safe, sound, and surrounded by hot Israeli's (forced military service does a body good!),

VC

Technical Difficulties & The Hybernation of VC

Dear beloved reader (aka: my mom and a few others),

I'm really sorry to have not written for a month, now. More sorry for myself, actually, because of the set of circumstances that have kept me from blogging and because this is such a useful and fun project for me.

To make a long story short, my computer is broken and is in NYC for repairs. It would be difficult (and boring) to describe everything Curie has done to get my warranty recognized and my computer repaired, so let's keep our fingers crossed that I'll have it before I get back from India.

Speaking of --> I'M GOING TO INDIA!

As we all know, Desi has been living in Bombay* and I will be going in late April to spend a few weeks, there. The itinerary is not hammered-out, yet, but I do know that I'll be flying from Cairo to Delhi on 20 April on Gulf Air and returning on 6 May to Cairo from Bombay. I'd wanted to pay a visit to Dubai, and then fly from Dubai to Kabul and travel through the Khyber Pass to Pakistan and then down to the closing of the border ceremony, going from Lahore (Pakistan) to Amritsar (India), but in the end my itinerary is already crazy and has Desi quite stressed. Instead, I'm ONLY seeing India, with an airport stop in Bahrain (I'll tell Michael Jackson everyone from the VC blog says hi).

Speaking of travels --> I'M SPENDING EASTER IN JERUSALEM!

Shakira is the assistant to a rather well-known AUC professor and activist (perhaps most sadly known for the lasting effects to his health of the torture he experienced in an Egyptian prison), and he wanted to go to the Occupied Territories to meet with government people. He opened the trip up to students, and I'm going! It will NOT be an easy trip -- a lot of checkpoints and bureaucratic hassle, but I think that the opportunity to meet the kinds of people we'll be meeting with is a once in a lifetime (for a 24yo, that is, not for like Kofi Annan...) opportunity.

I don't know the exact dates for the trip, yet, because they will be leaving at the end of the second week of April and will be coming back overnight on the 19th/20th. I think that I will come back with the group, but I would like to maybe go to Israel early just to have some time alone and in vacation mode before the more hectic travel sets in...perhaps just a few days in Tel Aviv and Haifa.

The good news is that we have the support of the governments involved, and I'm not too worried about safety. The bad news is that we have to take a bus, and it's something like 18 hours from Cairo. I think that I'll fly to the Egypt/Israel border (Taba) and cross, there, but it will depend on the price of the flight (the INSANELY-priced flights from Cairo to Tel Aviv are more than $1,000!).

It will, of course, be quite hectic to be traveling around Palestine, take an overnight bus, and then just hours later fly to India, but I'm hearty lol.

You know, I'd wanted to make some comments about the experience of not having a computer, how my attitude about Egypt has been changing, etc. but I think this is a good start for now.

I want to quickly, and colourfully wish Curie a happy 25th birthday, today (28 March). I also want to apologize to the people (eg: Pookie) whose birthdays I wasn't 100% certain of.

Well I should go, but I'm happy to be back, and I hope I didn't lose too many readers (especially since each reader I lose represents like 25% of my total readership!).

Miss you! ;)

VC

A Palace and Men Galore

Ok I had the craziest dream last night.

I remember it beginning in the theatre. I’m not sure if I was watching a movie or if it was some kind of awards presentation or concert or what, but it was in a theatre and I was wearing a nice black sweater. There was a kind of handsome early 40s man sitting next to me (kind of light hair and not SO much my type, but very warm and nice chiseled face) who started talking to me and, to my surprise, kind of grabbed my arm while we were talking – like to see if I’d pull away.

The dream is really scattered so you have to try to follow.

So I’m not sure what kind of community this is that I was living in … like maybe some kind of academy or something (I remember feeling like we were all professional students, or at least a lot of us were) and I lived in this huge old building that was, rightly called, the “palace.” You know when you are in a dream and you realize that an element has been recurring? Well that’s the palace for me. I went “home” and discovered that my room had been moved and saw the guy from the theatre down the hall…like if I was standing in my room with the door open then I could look down a long hallway and see his room, and I remember that we kept stealing looks. I was really disoriented that everything had moved, probably to make room for him, and I remember thinking how silly it was that I felt lost in my own house just because my bed had moved one room over (and as it turns out it hadn’t, but that’s not an important detail). When I was walking on the grounds one of the administrators/attendants (like someone who worked there and who treated me with respect but was himself middle-aged and also obviously a character of some weight in the community) asked me if “Robert _____” (don’t remember the last name) had moved into the palace where I was living, and I remember thinking that I knew the answer was “yes,” because I’d seen him in his room, but calling where I was living “the palace” really threw me off. When he walked away, the history of the building came back to me (it used to be a palace) and that’s when I realized that building had occurred in other dreams.

The dream (unfortunately) moves away from what could have been a pretty hot romance lol, because we were all assembled in the palace and it was announced that there would be a competition akin to one of those dinner party mystery games. Robert was looking VERY handsome in his tuxedo, and we had this kind of silent flirtation like “this would happen but right now we are competitors” going on, and of course everyone had growing suspicions about the role everyone else was to play in the game. The dream lost a bit of coherence in this part because I just remember going up in a very modern elevator, after our roles were announced, with the game master (who himself was playing), and he was given a clue about me to the effect of “don’t trust him because he has knowledge things that other people don’t and has done all of this before” or something like that, but, true to his warning, I knew that he had received that clue about me and could kind of read the situation. We had this sort of odd conversation in this long elevator ride that would be fitting for some kind of experimentalist French play or something where I was trying to figure out my own clue, and where I should get off the elevator, and he was trying to feel me out to see exactly what his clue meant – like saying to me that I must already know the solution to the mystery, and me saying that I didn’t know what the solution was, yet, but I knew what it wasn’t. It was very weird. The elevator stopped, and I thought for a minute it was broken, but then it was clear that I had to climb out of the elevator through a false passage into one of the chambers of the palace where there was this smokey room full of black dancers dressed as 1920s flappers. I had some kind of test with them that I don’t remember, but I do remember sort of grinning, at that point, because it was clearly going to be a very interesting game, and it was fun to see them a bit dazzled by my sudden appearance from a secret passage.

The dream totally changed gears, I’m not sure how, when I made some kind of emergency visit to my mother, who I was shocked to find out had remarried. Not only had she remarried, but she became the third wife of an Iranian man living in Dubai (like I said, the beginning part of the dream with Robert was the best lol). I entered into this setting of domestic chaos, as one of the children of the second wife was getting married and there was a huge celebration that my mother wasn’t invited to (being sort of the black sheep who was resented and looked down upon by the first two wives who were better in rank and because they were Muslim). I was totally puzzled as to why she would enter into that situation, because I thought she was fine single, and being married hadn’t even changed her life substantively. She kept her place in California and he occasionally visited her. She was only in Dubai for this celebration that she wasn’t allowed to officially be part of. When the party guests returned to the house, and in my mind I was thinking of how to make her husband answer for making her a pariah and treating her like some secret mistress, and while I was also trying to figure out why my mother had made such an awful decision, they wanted her to perform some kind of ceremonial dance with the daughter who was getting married (which was mysteriously like a pairs figure skating spin, so I’m clearly watching too much Olympics!) and my mother caused a huge scene by refusing. The problem was that she was so emotional and this huge drama was caused, but she wasn’t interrogating her husband in a productive way, and I intervened to really grill him on how things turned out this way. I remember telling her: “You still have your place in California…we can just go home and forget about this.” I also gave her a funny speech about how unjust it was that if they were going to exclude her from the ceremonies, then he could at least send her on an all-day shoe shopping trip to compensate. I’m not sure exactly how the dream ended, but I think I persuaded her to come back to California with me.

OH! I almost forgot – when I was in Duba,i someone from the palace called (Robert?) and I remember saying: “This will sound crazy, but my mother became the third wife of an Iranian man but she doesn’t even live here, here being Dubai….” and I said I’d have to call him back. I also almost forgot about another kind of interesting part – during the whole scandal about my mother refusing to perform the dance, she was SLOWLY claiming her place in the house and insisting upon mingling with the guests (awkward but bold) and we were sitting at this bar when I heard two guys (kind of hot brothers) speaking Dari to each other (and of course since it’s a dream, I could understand it). I immediately knew that they were Tajiks from Afghanistan and was waiting for them to make their way closer to my mother and I so I could introduce them, surprise them with my knowledge of Afghanistan and my Tajik friends, and finally have SOMEONE (my mother) get to see how hot Afghan guys are. I remember they both had really, like, almost blond hair, and were young (like my age) but muscled in that way that you might not notice at first but then when you realize what their bodies are like you’re like “wow, he is BUILT!” The hotter of the two brothers, interestingly, when he saw me (before I even had a chance to approach) said to me in Dari: “You are Tajik!” and I told him no, but that I knew what he was saying and that I’d predicted that he and his brother were from Kabul, which they were. He told us that they had just moved to France two years ago, and I woke up when I was asking him why France, as he spoke such good English (his brother did not).

That’s my dream!

VC

Gross Olympic Update

Ok I know you all want to hear about Istanbul and my 24th birthday, but guess what? I feel like blogging about my favourite German biathlete and then I might even blog about belting divas and the already-long-passed Grammy awards. SO THERE!

(all my photos of Istanbul are on my phone, and I can't load them onto my PC until I get back to Cairo, so you can wait until then for me to give you the WHOLE picture, literally, of my Turkey trip)

Just wanted to say the while it might SEEM as though Gross is not having a very successful Olympics, as the first two races were one by Germans and neither of those Germans was my Ricco, but I'd like to point something out to his doubters (who totally don't read my blog, in fact I've never read negative press about him, so he might not even *have* doubters, but LISTEN UP anyway!!):

In the first race, he finished 11th, while the German who would win the second race finished a pathetic 17th, and missed THREE targets (to Gross's one), and in the pursuit race today missed FOUR targets (the winner only missed two, although I should qualify my bashing of this guy -- Fischer is his name -- that he is skiing with INCREDIBLE pace, as he still won bronze, today, missing four targets and finished less than 16 seconds out of gold, so he skated A LOT faster than the gold medal winner...BUT THIS IS BIATHLON -- if you want to ski fast then go to cross-country...this is about skills...like...for hunting bears and stuff...and Gross can totally hunt bears and Fischer can't -- he can just ski really fast AWAY from the bears!). As for the German who won the first race, he didn't even compete in the second one (or didn't place in the top 30, which are the only results I have).

When I spoke to Ricco on the phone (I came to Istanbul, rather than spending my birthday with him in Italy, because he has to stay with the German team and they don't like me very much because some of the things I've said about Gross's teammate-competitors on my blog...) I told him just to focus on the 7.5km relay, since I think he can win another gold there, and the 15km mass start is just bonus, and if his back hurts just don't even bother with it.

So that's it for my update about Ricco! Take if from me: the man is a consistent performer who knows how to use a rifle :)

VC

Growing Up and Moving On

Edit: Ok I’ve written this entry and it’s SO all over the place that I want to diagram it for you – Account of three people I was jealous of in college and why, broken up by a discussion of how I used to feel about myself and why, the fact that I got over it (with a recent anecdote to prove it), and then a return to the main point of the blog, which is me chuckling at the expense of one of my former objects of jealousy (no offense to him intended!).

I was sitting here, between quite impressive pairs short programs from Torino, thinking about college and a few of the people of whom I was TRULY envious (there were only like three). One of them, an American guy (French father) from Beverly Hills ended up, oddly enough, becoming a friend of mine. He was a cyclist/track frat boy who appeared in GQ (it was a really boring article about Ivy League frat boys) who I was absolutely awful to our first two years of college. He was loud, show-offy, and I found him totally despicable and quite jealously-worthy. I remember my girlfriend sort of trying to coach me through my moments when I'd, like, seize-up if he got in the elevator or otherwise flaunted his "better in every way-ness" (she was EXTREMELY tolerant of all of my mental issues...most of which I am thankfully over!).

Two VERY bad moments related to him:

I was on my way to econ class (when you see how many of my bad memories relate to economics you'll probably understand why I sought solace in art history and ditched so many econ classes!) and I saw him in the distance. To contextualize, between the ages of, say, 16 and 22 I wasted a good portion of every day finding things to hate about the way I looked (from body, to skin, to body and skin, to hair…) and THANK GOD I managed, I think really with the help of a really supportive ex of mine, around December 2003 to just WAKE UP and stop losing my life to wishing I didn’t have one. I think about SIX YEARS of sometimes grave misery and how pointless it was and it’s just really sad…there were times when I had to have a no mirrors policy, because that was the only way to let myself forget about how I looked.

To contrast that with my current relative stability (and I didn’t think I would blog about this, but it’s relevant here as a positive point, rather than a description of something negative), a week ago today Shakira and I had brunch with someone who I don’t think either of us will be seeing again, who showed up to meet us at the Four Seasons totally plastered (to the point that he was spilling wine, falling down stairs grabbing onto people, etc.) and swinging wildly in mood between feeling like it was ok to sexually harass me (I’m talking physically grabbing me in front of people in the restaurant and making EXTREMELY inappropriate comments about the ONE time a LONG time ago that he got so lucky…) and being extremely mean and diminishing. Imagine someone wiping his drunk hand down your face, telling you that you are sexy and beautiful, and then following that up with something like: “I don’t know why I think you’re so sexy when you’re actually sort of ugly.” That is NOT an exaggeration. It was a literal laundry list of my faults, and Shakira sat there in shock while I was basically dismantled. Now, to be clear (since I totally have a backbone and quite a lot of ‘tude), if it had been just the two of us, me and the Ass, I’d have thrown a drink on him and walked off after one nasty comment. The problem, though, being in a group three is that the perfect 10/10 model for social gracefulness and class kind of undergoes a paradigm shift – when you’re one and one, you should be boldly confident and storm off…when you’re there with a guest, you need to keep it under control, be placating but firm, and basically demonstrate that you are impervious to the other person’s nonsense for the duration of the encounter (rise above it) because what does your friend do when you storm out? Storm out, too? He made an ass of himself and, in his drunkness (and his insistence to pay even when I gave the waiter my card) cost him almost $400 at brunch, so too bad for him! Anyway, a little over two years ago my OWN obsessive self-condemnations would have done me in, let alone someone making a laundry list of all the worst things I tell myself, but that day, I handled myself PERFECTLY. I wasn’t even upset after the brunch (although I was a bit surprised someone could be so ugly…and I’m referring to him, of course). I admit that later in the evening my defenses wore down a bit and I maybe did some snickers binging for comfort, but I wasn’t about to walk in front of a bus, and I can still look in the mirror and at reality without having to blink or feel bad about it (I am what I am! The end!), so that is HUGE progress.

Anyway, that’s not the point. I’m not physically perfect; I’m great in a lot of ways. Less great in others. Sometimes I’m confident. Sometimes I’m less so. Usually, though, I’m as balanced as I should be and that’s FINE at almost-24.

Back to the story : ) So I’m walking to econ class, and I see him in the distance. Trying to avoid a self-hate trigger (but I’m sure staring madly from afar), I tried to dash up the stairs in front of me so I could turn the corner to class before him and have him out of my sight-line (and also in 2nd place in some kind of neurotic car race to class I’d subconsciously constructed between us…that’s healthy: “You’re hot and oblivious to my jealously, but I’m the winner because I can walk faster!”). Unfortunately, I wasn’t paying attention to my feet, and SOMEHOW my impeccable balance abandoned me and I fell into such a heap on the stairs (which is weird because it’s only like 4 stairs!) that I remember three people rushing over to me to see if I was ok. My leg was bleeding THOUGH my pants and this funny (and very typical, if you know Columbia’s Registrar’s office) sort of big black woman just said to her friend, amazed that I was still ambulatory: “If that had been me, I’d have stayed down.” I was DETERMINED to go to econ that day. I remember that I’d spilled something on myself at lunch and it was the perfect reason to ditch class (I can’t go LIKE THIS!) but I’d told myself that no matter what I was going…well I guess obviously after my fall I didn’t go.

For the second awful moment related to him, he and his friend (who, oddly enough, is one of the characters in my Arabic book! HOW WEIRD IS THAT!? -- they did a new DVD edition last year with new actors and HE is one of them!) were sitting outside the steps to the International Affairs building where we had econ class, and being "elevator peeps" (a phrase coined by another friend to refer to the people we've seen in the elevators in the dorms hundreds of times and seem to shadow but who we don't know) when I walked past him and his friend, anticipating in my head some kind of humiliating and jerkish comment (even though he had NEVER interacted with me before, nor had I ever seen him insult anyone...this was just my insecurity demonizing him and inflicting senseless dread upon myself), and he said: "Going into class already?" What I would later find out was kind of an insecurity -> eagerness on his part I interpreted to mean "You ugly nerd are you going into class 20 minutes EARLY? HOW LAME!" and so I looked at him and said, in a snotty voice that did not at all reply in turn to his rather civil tone: "Yeah. I am. If that's alright with YOU." Sort of taken aback, he just said: "Um. Yeah." (Poor thing, he must have been totally confused by my attitude!). I then proceeded to give him the DOUBLE bird (the finger with both hands) and said "THANKS!"

Luckily for me, he didn’t see my fall on the steps, and he didn’t really remember that I was the guy who was such a bitch to him outside class, when, two years later, we had accounting and finance together and, for whatever reason (read: His gaydar subconsciously beeping when he was around me, even though I didn’t even know I was gay, and him doing, and it is subconscious – poor guys – the “I am uncertain of my sexuality and don’t know it yet, so I’m oddly drawn to someone gay, even if he doesn’t know it yet, because I internally crave exit from the closet I don’t yet know I’m in and might never be able to leave” that I now have seen SO MANY TIMES…especially in Cairo!) he always wanted to sit next to me. He decided that our distant French ancestry, and the fact that the region his family name is from and my family name is from are next to each other in Central-South France that we were “brothers” and we became decent friends. It was an awkward dynamic, in that I was always confused and skeptical of his being friends with me, self-defensively condescending (although less and less so as time went on), jealous, and not wanting to grudgingly admit that we were total opposites but could be really good friends. I remember filing daily reports with friends who I expected to be equally stunned at the odd phenomenon: “And today, he actually TOUCHED MY CHEST and said that I had impressive pecs! I mean WHAT IS THAT? He’s gay, right?” Someone should have told me *I* was lol. In the end, he called me a few times while I was working at my law firm and he was working at a real estate firm, but we were bother really busy and I ended up not calling him back. Still hope he’s well, though, and wouldn’t mind catching up with him sometime (although I do hope, if he is gay, that he doesn’t struggle with the closet his whole life, as I suspect he may).

He’s #1. #2 and #3 insecurity people from college were an inter-related pair, because they comprised what I’ll call the “gorgeous European haute-bourgeoisie library-dwellers who are all econ majors and smoke outside the library while talking on their cell phones and planning trips to each others country villas and Ibiza.” Ok so anyway, there was a GORGEOUS (in the “sometimes gorgeous model and sometimes sort of brutish” way) Italian guy and his differently-but-equally gorgeous “roommate” (I now look back with skepticism), a French guy who, for all the Italian was the kind of six-foot beefy, was more of a slight super-defined but facially PERFECT (like picture the head of one of the Roman senators in the Met Museum) French guy. The Italian lived on my floor Freshman year, and I’m trying to remember why, exactly, I’d ever had discussions with the French guy. It’s really odd that I can’t remember in what context we’d spoken… my girlfriend’s best friend had slept with him…and of course I was made uncomfortable by rumors of his four hour marathon “only stop to get a drink of water and keep going” abilities [Ewww! Yuck!]…and I knew another girl who used to go and flirt with BOTH of them and come back to tell me about hanging out with them in their dorm room with them both only wearing boxer-briefs!...but why I ever spoke to the French guy and in what context really escapes me. Anyway, I do remember exactly HOW he spoke, and I do remember being invited, through a mutual friend (WHO? This memory gap is so weird!) to go clubbing with him, and I also remember that he was doing XTC…and I didn’t go…I also remember that what I hated MORE than the fact that he got to be French, and have really tan and freckless skin and REALLY blue eyes, was that he was one of those people with such defined triceps that they ALWAYS looked flexed (mine are now quite nice, for the record ;p).

Well anyway, the whole point of this blog entry WAS going to be that I googled French guy, just to see what he was up to, and I found something that TOTALLY made me laugh. I mean, let’s be clear: when we really grow up and gain confidence in ourselves, we don’t need to look down on others to get over our demons. If I’d googled him and he’d become a French youth ambassador or Olympic biathlete or something (speaking of: my Ricco didn’t win today but we are wishing him luck for later in the Games!), then I’d probably think “Wow, good for him!” but this did make me laugh…a lot…because it’s EXACTLY how I remember him. I guess what you should take from this blog entry is that you now know a LOT more about my “down” times in my late teens/early 20s, and you also will get to read a hilarious idiotic comment (although I make no profession of an ability to judge his OVERAL intelligence) by someone who (used to be) gorgeous and who I (used to be) really jealous of. Follow this link, and look for the quote by someone from France (do a cntrl+F search for “France”) and look for the guy with the initials J.F. (don’t want to say his name, because it feels kinda mean).

VC

Kwan's Health Uncertain

Blog readers, we need to send our collective strength to Michelle Kwan, who might have to drop out of the Olympics (NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) and is, I hate to break it to you, suffering from "YET LAG."

VC

PS: It occured to me that yahoo might fix the typo really soon, so just in case you think I can't spell (well actually, I can't, but that's not the point) yahoo news described Michelle Kwan as having "yet lag."

Strange Dream

I just remembered a dream I had last night. Very odd.

I was going to Shakira's flat, and while it's true that her flat is in the area that is next to AUC but quickly becomes VERY lower middle class housing within a few blocks, in my dream it was like it turned into an informal housing slum. I remember that the streets were sort of like cobblestone and totally dark and I was almost slipping on the pavement as I walked, thinking about how pitch black it was and how surprising it was that I'd never noticed how close she lived to the brick boxes with no water or electricity that you see so much of on Cairo's margins. I then realized that I'd somehow missed the turnoff to her house and had walked past it into this area, and when I turned around I also realized that I'd been walking in and out of the gutter (which was just a shallow depression along the side of the street -- and not how Cairo is in real life). It wasn't traumatizing or anything, but I did have mounting anxiety about how dark and late it was and how unfamiliar I was with the area.

I went upstairs to her flat and here is where the dream really changes. I visited with someone in real life who does not exist, an African-American guy whose relationship to Shakira I don't really recall. They sat me down at a table (almost like a botth at a diner) and introduced me to someone who I recognized (after a few minutes) as American rapper Dr. Dre (I think that was him). We were all playing it cool and not saying anything about Dre, until for some reason we decided to go to another location and the guy who sat me down and introduced me to Dre sort of asked: "Do you know who he is?" and we laughed about how I'd recognized him but was not making a big deal out of the situation or asking questions, and he and Dre said they appreciated that. It wasn't clear to me if they were lovers or something, but I remember that we were all just sort of happy and easy-going and it was like they were relieved to find another friend (like Shakira) who could be really down to earth and know the secret. It was funny, too, because they told me that when Dre first met up with this guy, they would pretend, when in public in the US, that it was this other guy who was famous (just to distract people) and Dre was his personal assistant, and so he would like shout orders at Dre in public, like: "And I told you I wanted that NOW!" so that people would never think to really look who Dre -- a servant, basically, in the lie -- was, but then he'd have to run up to Dre and whisper: "Wait, what is it that I want?" and Dre would give him direction about how to manage the public and this fake celebrity lifestyle.

A friend of mine from college who, in real life, I'm not in touch with was also there, and we decided to go back to my flat that I was sharing with her. I remember there being some scary moments leaving Shakira's flat in the elevator (which IS true to real life) and that it started rocketing from the top floor to the ground level without stoping and I actually jumped out into the shaft (it's one of these open-shaft elevators, like the old-style wooden ones, so you aren't really trapped at the bottom -- you just open the door to the metal cage and get out), and counted my blessings that I'd escaped that elevator, again (this was totally triggered by my odd experience with it yesterday...I swear to God one day that thing is going to kill someone).

It gets weirder. When I left the flat I was aware that they were watching from the balcony and sort of, like, smiling and commenting about their new friend, and I started doing this thing, which I can only describe as half flying half walking, running (it's like skipping or bounding, but I get more height and distance and can REALLY jump like 20 or 30 meters at a time), and when I realized I was doing it in the dream, to get back to my flat, there was such a familiarity in the movement (like I could control it well and it was just a very familiar way of moving) that I realized that it's something I've done in OTHER dreams! It was also weird because I passed through all kinds of terrain getting back to my flat, including snow.

At some point when I was bounding along back home, Shakira and this college friend appeared in seperate cars and told me that we should drive back and try to pick up cute guys in THEIR cars on the way back. I said ok (!), and got in the car with Shakira, while I remember this college friend sped off in her piece of junk can and Shakira and I sort of laughed and rolled our eyes. There were NO hot people ANYWHERE, and then as soon as I said that comment (and of course in the dream I said it loud enouh or telepathically enough that my college friend could participate in the discussion even though she was in a seperate car off in the distance), this car with two REALLY hot guys appeared, we made contact, and basically did the "follow us" thing and they were all coming back to our flat to hang out.

The dream ended when I got back to the flat and I saw that Shakira and the college friend had left a huge mess with old pizza boxes and things lying around (I remember that the mess wasn't mine, because I'd just cleaned in the morning for the maid to come), and I was like scrambling along with them to try to make the place look presentable while one of the guys was using the bathroom.

That's all I remember!!

Weird, huh?

VC

Quranic Gardens

No Comment.

Hingis: Yay, Gaydar: Nay

Amazing news! Hingis DESTROYED Maria Sharapova in Japan this morning in the semis of the Toray Pan Pacific Open (or something like that). You can read this article for more info, but basically she crushed one of the most dominating players on tour, and it's like this child prodigy is making an equally prodigious return to tennis. Talk about a learning curve! -- Every week it's like she's 20 times better than the last week. She surprising even me (and I'm like her biggest fan other than her mom).

I was a little concerned that Sharapova might pummel her (she's one strong girl), and I was worried that it might be doubly humiliating for Martina because of a comment she made when she announced her return like 4 weeks ago about how she wanted to play Maria more than any other player on tour because she didn't see what all the hype was about (she said something like: "Watching on TV I can't see what's so special about her game, so I want to play her and find out"). Martina has never been one to shy away from controversy, so everyone who hates her (which is a LOT of people) jumped on the chance to say she'd put her foot in her mouth, but I think she was just being frank: Sharapova doesn't have great volleys, forward-backward movement, or variety of shot, and she has basically no strategy other than "hit it really hard to wherever my opponent isn't standing." Anyway, Hingis killed her!! :) [you can check out this article for a cute photo of Hingis, a reference to her controversial Sharapova comments, and a funny description of her win over Sharapova as a physical and mental "beat-down" lol]

In totally unrelated news, I've deleted my gaydar profile. There are a lot of reasons, but I gues the most important one is functional: I am not interested in sex; I don't want a relationship with anyone but Pookie; and I already have too many friends (although not in Cairo) to properly stay in contact with right now, so "networking" is not really a reason to be online. I've found myself checking the site less and less frequently, and totally disinterested in the people who contact me, so the site has no purpose for me at this point. I think if I were to say "I'm so proud of myself" or "I feel like this is a new phase" or something then it would mean that I was investing a lot in the site in terms of what I was hoping to get out of it that I wasn't...this is hardly a watershed moment...but I did feel like it was worth blogging about just in this little paragraph, because I think that it does kind if point towards my imminent return to NYC (that for a while seemed impossibly far away), and my final decision that there is really nothing worth me exploring in Egypt as far as any kind of gay community is concerned (and "meeting people through friends" is not really an alternative entry point to online networking as it would be in other places)...which is fine :)

Still chunking on and plugging away!

VC

PS: (just to be controversial) --> Any thoughts on burning of embassies as a form of free speech?

My New Lover

Provocative blog title but I totally do not have a lover (especially not a NEW one...ewww).

I do want to say, though, that the only good thing about this whole defamation of the Prophet cartoon scandal THING (since it's clear that no productive dialogue is going to come about, or even articulate monologues, for that matter) are CONSTANT images of the Danish Prime Minister super hottie Anders Fogh Rasmussen in the media.

Why no one is talking about his hotness in their news reports is beyond me! He's definitely the hottest state head at the moment by far.

I'm thinking that if Pookie and I don't have a puppy by the year 2010 (HEY! I'm giving him FOUR YEARS to work it out!) then I'm buying a one-way ticket to Copenhagen. I can tell Foggy is a dog lover ;)

VC

Edit: I forgot to say (related to the topic of the cartoon scandal) that I think Jack Straw has NO spine. He's worse than Blair. I cannot stand the kind of egg-shell walking he engages in and think that his speech about how inapprioriate the reprints were and how the UK tastefully decided not to do that is ridiculous. I can't stand the US government for its irrationality and lack of diplomacy, but I can't stand the UK even more because it's BOTH the scared puppet of the US and the spinless uber-diplomat. Basically, both countries really disappoint me in terms of their highest levels of government at the moment.

Iran Nuclear Row & More News

(that's what the BBC graphic calls it)

I really do not know enough about the laws/treaties involved to make a judgment on this, but I have to say that the announcement that the foreign ministers of all the permanent members of the Security Council (including China and Russia) agreeing that the IAEA should refer Iran to the Security Council seems kind of circular. I mean -- if all the foreign ministers (who are themselves the ones who sit on the Security Council for the nations they represent) have already agreed that Iran should be referred to the Security Council then *I wonder what will happen* once Iran is referred.

When they sat down for the press conference Rice was BEEMING (they had been negotiating all day and late into the night, according to the BBC, but she sat down at that table grinning from ear to ear).

What I think happened is that the US and maybe the EU-3 told China/Russia that they would provide super high compensation for any processing work they could convince Iran to outsource (so it wouldn’t be, like, on a voluntary basis that Russia would be transporting and processing these materials), and once the price they named was met, they gave in.

I think US policy can be described by what I call the “Being Poor for Peace” plan. With reconstruction funds ending this year in Iraq, sanctions being placed on Iran, and aid being cut to Palestinians, it looks like from the Sinai to the Caspian Sea, we’re looking to have a whole lotta poor.

Finally – the most unlikely use of technology I’ve ever seen (I will try to find photos): Robotic camel jockeys. Small robots that can be used to “ride” camels in races across the Gulf (Sheikhs have traditionally raced camels against each other in widely-attended events not dissimilar to horseraces in Europe and the US) and are quickly replacing the small children (many of them boys as young as 3, according to the BBC) trafficked from South Asia and Africa to ride the camels. Imagine some Swiss engineer (the robots were designed in Switzerland -- another reason to love that country!) tinkering with a robot helping to end a form of child trafficking. Very cool.











VC

Emergency Announcement

I have to take another look at Revelations to see if this is a portend of the second coming or the apocalypse, but – and you might want to be sitting down when you read this – I have just cooked.

Because I have not yet posted the account (with photos) of my failed attempt, recently, to cook lentils, you probably can’t completely understand my bravery, getting back up on the culinary horse so soon after such a hard fall, but I am proud to say that I have just cooked and eaten my first meal at home since…well…the last time I prepared something in California, which would have been a really, REALLY long time ago (and about equivalent to the level of complexity of microwaving popcorn).

After a diet, today, that consisted of two Snickers Crunch bars, a canister of Doritos, and a row of full-fat Chips Ahoy cookies and milk (the lowfat ones just taste stale), even my body had reaches its junk food limitations, and was telling me that it needed some veggies. When I was so sick a few days ago and couldn’t eat, I did have one noticeable craving, and that was for corn, so today when I was stocking up on imported junk food, I also bought corn, mixed vegetables, beans, and basmati rice (is there any other kind, really?).

The key to the corn (shown in the photo -- no idea why my hand looks like it's rotting) is that it was already canned and in liquid and therefore did not require cleaning or water boiling (sadly, it was the water boiling step that I think led to the terrible disaster with the lentils). I had to seek SOME preparation advice from a friend in Amsterdam in the middle of a heated debate over whether or not Lara Fabian has an audibly-Belgian accent when she sings in French, and whether or not Barbara Streisand is nasal...I wasn't sure if I should use my saucepan or my pot (which I still regard skeptically after it failed to properly cook the lentils) and was instructed to give it another go with the pot.

I just plugged the electric burner plate in, within a minute it was hot, put the pot on the plate, dumped out the corn, and within literally 2 or 3 seconds it was already making scorching sounds (which to the amateur chef means: “Done!”). Both my sauce pan and my pot are way too big for the little mini serving of corn, and there wasn’t enough liquid in the can to even cover the bottom of the pot, so it was clear that the corn might start frying (and, now really understanding the full lifecycle of a corn kernel, I was a bit worried that the corn, although not exactly in kernel formation, might undergo some kind of popping process and I’d end up with burning-hot and totally soaked mutant sweet corn jiffy pop). I took the pot off the burner, got a spoon, and put it back on the burner stirring the tiny bit of liquid in the pot around with the corn for about another 3 or 4 seconds, removed the pot from the burner, unplugged my little “kitchen,” and was done! I even served the corn on the plate I’d gotten out to eat my pizza on last night (but which saw very little use – it’s straight from box to mouth for this Chunk!).

All the dishes have been rinsed, the corn was actually quite good, and the whole thing (including the eating and cleaning part) took about 5 minutes. Amazing. I’m a total corn convert.

Tomorrow I will make the mixed veggies, and then they day after I’ll try beans with rice (the beans are also already canned, so they will be easy, but the rice will mean a second go at boiling water, so wish me well!).

Random sidenote: How good does yellow sweet corn look on a fake black marble table!?

Oh – this is not related, but while I was eating, I was watching BBC Hardtalk with senior British politician Shirley Williams, of the Liberal Democrats (this is the minority party that is NEITHER Blair’s Labour Party, nor the resurgent conservative Tories). I found her to be *extremely* impressive, and regret that we don’t have politicians in the US who are so articulate AND straightforward. She has my vote!

VC

A Moment of Silence

...no...not because I've gotten more bad news from law schools. This is something MUCH more tragic.

This is the senseless burning of a Prada store.*

Of all the Prada boutiques Manhattan -- and there are 5 (and Dr. Juicy and I have been to all of them...together...in one single day...IN THE RAIN) -- this one in SoHo was definitely the most beautiful. Architecturally it was really stunning, and I think it's a tragedy that if something had to burn in SoHo, it was this Prada store, rather than all the atrocious art that is sold on the sidewalk (TOTALLY blocking the entrance to Emporio Armani) on the weekends.

If anyone reading my blog is in the NYC Metro area, please pass by Park Slope for me. I fear that Juicy may have thrown herself out the window of the only building in Brooklyn tall enough to have an elevator.

VC

*Obviously if anyone had been seriously injured, I'd have not thought it appropriate to talk about the "tragedy" of Prada burning. I also understand that a lot of people lost a lot of precious things in the fire, and that is very sad. You'll note in the article, though, that 200 firefighters can't control the flames, which makes me think that it's because of the uncontrollable hotness of the clothes in the Prada store. I also think that the fact that it's been burning for so long might make this, in the fashion world, comparable to the story of the burning candle in the Temple of David -- maybe one day we'll have songs and light candles once a year in memory of Pradannukah, the week that they poly-blends just would not stop burning.

PS: I totally wrote this post a long time ago but just noticed that I forgot to move it from Word to the blog. Shoutout to Juicy for the article!!

More Bitching

I had a realization, earlier today, about relationships that I think is worth sharing, but first: More of the Cairo gay life!

Just got a text message from the Swedish (and gorgeous, although repeatedly turned-down by yours truly) Assistant Manager of F&B at the Hyatt: “I am horny. Any recommendations?”

My reply: “The other hand?”

: )

It’s been a week of gay scene disappointment overload. In the same way that a lot of people find traveling through conditions of extreme poverty and squalor depressing, I find gay life here really unmanageable.

It’s also odd how much time I devote to thinking about how miserable gay life here is, since in New York my sexuality and the society that that aspect of my identity fit into was such an unimportant part of my existence. I think about dinners with Pookie in which there might be a table full of gay friends and amongst whom it was not even known, even after years of friendship, who was top or bottom or both or doing what with whom – not because sex was demonized or shameful to talk about, but because for reasons that I think are obvious, fascinations with gay sex and gay life are pretty much exhausted amongst a group of 40+ year-old urban gay men.

I could hypothesize about why that is not the case in Cairo, but I don’t think the obvious explanation (that men here don’t get to freely experience their sexuality and so there is a constant fascination with what *might* be) really holds. Not with the people I know. Even men with international degrees, full passports, and a blackbook that rivals that of any guy in Chelsea, still somehow seem contented in Cairo to spend their time endlessly gossiping and hunting for the next story or lay that will occupy their time and feed their supposedly “discrete” network.

That men here are satisfied (or even if they are dissatisfied: reluctant to change) with what most people get over in their late teens and early twenties is only part of what bothers me about gay life, here. The other major annoyance with gay life in Cairo relates to what I think of as the “sexual utility” principles according to which all men are judged. It’s related to class, discretion, aesthetic preference, and I’m sure a lot of other things, but in general in Cairo men will not befriend each other unless they are theoretically capable of (or have, at one time or another) had sex. Of course, some men are not sexually compatible even if they find each other mutually attractive, due to an incompatibility of roles in the boudoir, but even amongst friends for whom sex would be impossible for that reason, they normally still need to find each other at least mutually attractive (if unfortunately unsuited for each other role-wise).

I find this really odd, and it took me a few *months* to put my finger on the phenomenon, because it’s so completely divergent from the standards according to which I normally select my friends. When I am at dinner (always dinner with Pookie seems to be the moment of comparison for this blog, lol) with Pookie and four of his friends are at the table, even if some of them are exes, you can see a CLEAR variety of types, and there are not really questions being asked, looks exchange, or any subdialogue AT ALL of how each person could be or is sexually useful to the other people, there. In New York, you might have a “straight acting” muscular Chelsea who has a “screaming queen” of a best friend who is not AT ALL his type physically, but who he adores as a person. In Cairo that couldn’t happen. Sure, you have friends who will say “no he’s my friend…not my type at all…” but in general that’s more about background stuff than actual physically taste. If you told someone here that Italian models hang out with Filipino drag queens, leather daddies, and surfer boys, and didn’t think anything about the fact that their friends, for them, might be totally unf*ckable, I think a lot of people here would find it shocking. If you aren’t potentially interested in someone here, at least from afar, then you won’t even speak to him, let along befriend him (and be seen with him in public). That’s the “sexual utility” principle that I find so disturbing about Cairo. I cannot wait to be back at a dinner table with Pookie and his friends in which there is as little sexual tension (or judgment) in the air amongst them as there would be between a gay man and a woman.

Getting back to my life, though, I said it’s been a week of disappointment overload, and Swedish guy is the least of that (I had his number before he even had a chance to embarrass himself, so there were not real expectations to be disappointed – he still annoys me, though). Another part of it has been Leopold. I had started to actually think of him as a friend after we managed to have an entire lunch, last week, in which, despite speaking tirelessly about the Egyptian caste system, he did not revert to his infinitely-tedious speculations about who is hot and what they are doing and with whom they are doing it. He passed-on some rather interesting stories about his family during Nasser’s time and their relationship to the Saudi royal family, and it was a really enjoyable afternoon.

A few days ago, however, Leopold called me to tell me he was having coffee with a friend (who tells people he his Saudi, but who Leopold of course follows behind his back with the qualification: “Palestinian born in Saudi Arabia”), who I was introduced to socially in the past. Leopold wanted to know if I wanted him to hook us up. I told him no, that I didn’t need a hookup, and that there was zero chemistry when I met this guy in person, before, even if physically he wasn’t bad. Leopold pressed the issue and it ended with me saying “whatever, I don’t care” and leaving it up to his discretion (and this was just a day or two after I turned down another guy he tried to pass-on to me without request/solicitation).

Yesterday, while in the middle of my work marathon, Leopold calls and tells me that he’s with the Palestinian-Saudi again, and wants to know if I can give him the phone number of the American hussie who I blogged about having dinner with me, Leopold, and Lord of the Dance for Coptic Christmas (the one who was with us the night that we fought with Amr Bin Laden and his guards).

I told Leopold that I’d give it to him, but that I thought it was really tacky that he was calling me, in this guy’s presence, when he’d been trying to hook us up just a few days before, and was now asking for another guy’s number. He protested that it wasn’t tacky, and that I wasn’t Palestinian-Saudi’s type. I told him that it was irrelevant, since I told him I wasn’t interested in the first place, but that for the record the hussie and I are physically *exactly* the same type (which Swedish guy confirmed when I turned him down the last time, but passed-on the hussie as “same type as me but like a cuter version” – which for the record Swedish guy AND LoTD both said I was cuter…not that it matters!). Leopold tried to say something weird about how hussie has darker hair, and when I said that’s ridiculous (because his hair is light brown), Leopold was like: “Well Palestinian-Saudi likes bitchy guys and you aren’t a bitch. You’re a proper guy.” (for the record: “bitch” and “bitchy” means, in Cairo terms, not feminine or mean, or any of the things one would expect it to mean in the US, but means more like “trashy” or “low-class slutty”)

I found the whole conversation frustrating – particularly because it so neatly embodied exactly what I find impossibly disappointing about gay life here: the middle of a “work” day and the only few 40yo gay men in this city with any education who aren’t already married are sitting around passing around numbers and scheming for their next kill, and feeling totally fulfilled and entertained by that.

I sent him the following text message: “Do not EVER network me in your circle of bitches again. It’s pathetic that a 40yo with any class or intelligence spends this much time on these things. I don’t want X or Y or any of your other contacts and stop calling if all you have to talk about is bitchy bullsh*t. Hussie’s number: ____.”

Refer to my blogging about making enemies, below. Needless to say a day has gone buy and he hasn’t called.

The examples of my being frustrated with this THEME of social annoyance would take me hours to describe. Swedish guy and Leopold are but two pictures of my current frustration that decorate the awful museum of Cairo gay life (I’d make a joke about entrance to the museum being “couples only” but probably only Desi would get it).

There has been another frustration that I’ve been meaning to blog about, and I’ve kept a running commentary on the situation in a Word diary, but I’ve not updated in a few days, mostly because I’m too lazy to fish out all the old text messages for you to supplement the diary and give you an idea of the ridiculousness of it all. Let’s just say as a preview that it involves an Italian diplomat, a piano concert, and diarrhea on the Mediterranean.

In many ways, though, be it the lashing I gave to Leopold, my refusal to even minimally indulge Swedish guy, or my iron-willed resistance to the Italian, this week has been about the wiping-clean of my social slate. It’s odd that my angst is, in so many ways, a romantic angst, and yet with none of these people who are causing my angst did I actually have anything romantic. Just the environment in which romance WOULD occur, but is so quickly snuffed-out, distresses me…so it’s not that my romantic life is full of drama, but rather that the setting in which my non-existent romantic life SHOULD occur is itself so full of drama.

Ok, now I need to write about what I decided about relationships, today…stay tuned!

While you wait: Check out these links about PUGGLES!

VC

Thinking Genius Look

Well the BBC special on Billie Holiday was not as good as the one on Callas, but there was one really eerie thing that, unless you have watched “The Making of Miss Saigon” a million times with me like Wong has (who had her birthday yesterday! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!), and she will unfortunately probably never see the BBC special, you won’t be able to understand, but Billie Holiday in her later years and Lea Salonga (even at 16) bear such similarity it was truly uncanny (one will note that it’s perhaps odd that an aged black woman could bear such a resemblance to a teenager from the Philippines).

It wasn’t just her eyes, but her look, her forehead, just EVERYTHING in some shots was so Lea. Very spooky. There is a part of the BBC special that has Holiday’s 1957 “Sound of Jazz” TV performance, where she sings the one and only blues song she ever sang (which she wrote, herself – something about how her man was bad to her), and her Nester Young, a dying saxophone player, was there, too. The looks that she has when she is singing in that part are SO much like Lea sitting at the piano in her first audition in Manila that I can’t believe it – its this thinking look (I described it once to Curie, and I don’t know if she remembers…there is a look that I call the “thinking genius” look and it’s actually the weird way in which someone like Lea can look like Martina Hingis, or Billy Holiday…it’s so hard to describe!). I really wish I could find side-by-sides to prove this! (I should say that USUALLY they look nothing alike, but just in these moments they really look the same)

Ah well. Better go to the gym. It’s so cold, still!

VC

PS: Alfred Brendel (pianist) special on, now. I really want to stay and watch. He said the cutest thing – he was like: “I wasn’t a child prodigy. I’m not, to my knowledge, a genius. I’m not from Eastern Europe. My parents were not musicians. I have a decent memory, but it’s not exceptional, and I am not a very good sight-reader. I have no idea how I made it.” *big grin* He seems VERY good-natured! His hands are SO still. God, Pookie was an ANGEL for taking me to so many concerts (probably because my après-box analysis was so on point ;p). Oh he just said another cute thing (reading from his diary…he’s also a poet and painted in his youth – they looked great to me, but he thinks they’re bad): “If I had a twin…a real-life double, my doppelganger could be used to save time by cooking and cleaning, and practicing…and in return he could be recognized in public, receive prizes, honours, and distinctions, charm ladies, smile coyly, and exude optimism…of course, he’d have to be kept happy, otherwise he might hide my socks, overdraw my account, or, worse yet, attempt to play the piano, maybe a Beethoven sonata, even…in the end he could run me out of business, completely!”

Meet Mr. Masry: Why I Have No Friends

I realize this will look like serial-blogging, because they are all going up at once, but I’ve been typing these in a Word document since my blogsite was not available, earlier (so these aren’t like PSs to each other).

I am really quite alone in Cairo. Assigning blame for that is tricky, since I’d say that it would be easy for me to be surrounded by smiling people all the time and have a different party or event or something to go to every night if I chose, so one could say it’s my fault for being alone, but I really feel that there was no other choice.

It’s weird to think that there are cities all over the world where there are people I feel comfortable calling any moment of the day or night if I am in severe distress (however unlikely it would be for me to actually do that), but the city where I live is unfortunately not one of those places.

There are people on the fringe, who with trust and cultivation and shared experience could go either way, but I’d say Shakira (who is not back in Cairo after vacation) is really the only person who I feel I can count on, here, and in a city of like 20 million people, that’s not a very high percentage!

Some of this is very clearly my own doing. In Cairo I have not just failed to make friends; I’ve made enemies. I used to always wonder, even as recently as my last year in New York, when I’d watch a movie or something with a criminal investigation and the question would be asked: “Well did he have any enemies?” how someone would ever answer “yes” to that. Sure, there were people who maybe didn’t think I was super fun, or interesting, or even respectable, but I never really had people who really thought I was a nasty person. Now I think there are a non-insignificant number of people who do think that. What I understand, though, and I don’t think I’m being too easy on myself, here, is that *before*, I was never in an environment where I had to deal with people who were, given my own personal values and social norms, such total a**holes, and being one who speaks his mind and doesn’t smile and roll with the punches (unless it’s a professional setting, and no I’m not willing to treat life like a job in which I’m constantly seeking good reviews and a promotion), I have told people exactly how I feel. A normal scenario would go something like this:

Chunk meets Mr. Masry (not to be confused with Slim Masry of former postings, who has never exhibited the behavioural pattern I’m criticizing, here). Chunk and Masry engage in a brief but not wholly unsuccessful exploration of amicable possibilities (ranging from having coffee, to seeing a movie, to something more romantic/datelike). Masry is interested, present, and mature/engaging to some minimally-passable degree until the point where he realizes that Chunk is either not going to be the ideal casual sex partner or is not going to be the ideal rush-into love (that means saying “love” but not doing anything about it since everyone is scared and closeted) – I’ve found meeting a Mr. Masry is like flipping a coin, and you’re equally likely to get someone for whom anything other than casual sex is as desirable as castration, as you are to find someone who will tell you he’s in love with you after a single dinner (and don’t think that you being clear about your OWN Chunky goals and limitations and offerings has any significant effect on what he will do/want from you). Once Masry is frustrated in his goal of getting EITHER a f*ckbuddy or a “habibi,” he will PRETEND (the movies are awful but the real-life population knows how to act) like he’s ok with the terms of your friendship (being straightforward or articulating one’s emotions in a straightforward manner would be far too sensible and ethical), only to persistently flake out, string you along, equivocate, confuse you and himself and then you again, and never, for one moment, engage in a healthy moment of self-criticism or productive reflection. At that point, when I see that we are at the “waste of my time and insult to the emotional energy I’ve put into this friendship” stage, I will normally confront Mr. Masry about his a**hole-ishnss, which *very interestingly* results in automatic and rote apologies and NEVER results in a logical explanation of one’s behaviour.

THIS IS WHAT KILLS ME: not UNDERSTANDING how and why things are the way they are (and I mean in general, not just socially…it’s like I cannot have MY logical rules satisfied, here, and I find it extremely mentally stressful).

I don’t *care* if someone apologizes to me or not. I don’t even understand what forgiveness means, because I’m not usually harbouring a grudge, but rather confusion. Forgiveness for me means understanding, and that I never seem to attain.

If you say to someone, for example: “Well why did you tell me that I should not make plans tonight because you wanted to go out, but then when I waited all evening for you to tell me where to meet you, you never called or replied to my text messages asking where you were or if we were still getting together?” Then you are really likely to get back an: “I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry. Please forgive me.”

That doesn’t interest me.

What I want is: “I was really tired and felt reclusive and didn’t want to go out.” OR “You are nice so I didn’t know how to break it to you that I’ve decided I’d rather hang out with my other friends more,” OR “I met a REALLY hot guy on the way to meet you and forgot to call you to cancel,” or just ANYTHING that remotely resembles an explanation.

If I then say (and one should NEVER use *diction* that can come off as insulting, even if you mean it as a dispassionate statement of fact): “Well it was rude for you to not call or text so I could make other plans. I didn’t even call you to make plans in the first place, but when you called me to go out, I said ok,” then the reply will (oddly, in my opinion, and it’s not a language barrier thing) be: “Thanks. Thanks man. Now I’m RUDE? You’re rude to say I’m rude.”

?? Huh? Not calling someone when you say you will is rude. 1000 meters is a kilometer. I am chunky. These are statements of fact that are not made as insults or compliments or anything in between.

Saying that, though, means that whatever level of discussiveness you had with Mr. Masry (which was already pitifully low) will instantly vanish, and an enemy will be made.

“I thought you were a nice guy.”
“I am a nice guy, but that was rude of you. That’s all I’m saying. I still think YOU are a nice guy, too, but last night you were rude.”
“So you just want to keep calling me names!”
“I’m not calling you names! You’re crazy – this is just me telling you the truth. You said you’d call. You didn’t. It’s not THAT big a deal, but it was rude.”
“Ok I’m rude and crazy. Thanks. Thanks.”

You can see it’s a downward spiral. Normally it ends with me TRYING to give a polite “sorry for the misunderstanding but I think it’s best that we end this discussion” goodbye, but it’s definitely how enemies are made, here. There are people who think that I am rude and mean, and I really can’t do anything about that (or rather: I don’t care to).

I think, then, about my “real” life in New York, and the AMAZING friends I have outside New York as well, the exes I’m still friends with, the people who KNOW that I *never* hit below the belt, sling insults, or engage in unproductive name-calling, and who KNOW that I’m a great friend and person, and I think: “How is this my life?”

That’s kind of where I am, today. I’m very frank and very undiplomatic (and why shouldn’t I be?), but I’m never unfair or abusive in the way I deal with people (except one or two times in my WHOLE life that were themselves just very unhealthy and much deeper than the interactions I’m describing, here), and it is NOT, when you’re not privileged enough to be dealing with a set of really cosmopolitan individuals who, one might say, tend to speak in emotional/socioeconomic/political urban unison (the only people I’d really been dealing with, before), a way to “win friends and influence” people as the saying goes.

VC

VC Goes Straight

Followup on hateful blogging:

I am also no longer gay. I’ve decided that whatever it means to be gay, here, and more and more I’m thinking “gay” is very much an aspect of one’s identity that is local, I’m not it. I’ll refrain from further hateful blogging by going on and on about whatever it is that I think gay is here, but suffice it to say that I am not it. I can still think of two or three self-identifying gays in Cairo who I think are decent people, but on the whole, at various ages, levels of wealth, looks, and geographical distribution, gay men here are pretty awful to deal with (in and out of bed). This is only to a degree about what families, Islam, Christianity, and Mubarak make people do, and is to a much larger degree about behavioural choices that don’t sit well with me (and I recognize that as a non-normative and personal statement that is free of good/bad judgment on some absolute global scale), and this is not the right place for me to be gay (or for me to be living, but that’s not something I can chance by blog declaration, so we’ll let that one be for now).

VC

PS: I’ve had plenty of sleep, watched some great tennis, got out of the house, had some good and yummy food today, and did a HUGE amount (about 6 hours continuous without distraction) of work, so I’m not being pissy for any of the usual reasons (boredom, low blood sugar, isolation, stress about lack of productivity).

Ode of Hatred for Cairo

I hate it here SO much.

I hate services here.

I hate the traffic here, which incorporates my hatred of BOTH the way people drive AND the way the streets are organized.

I hate gay life here, which is only in a small part a hatred of the way the government and various religious and cultural elements treat gays, and is in a much larger part a simple hatred of what most of gay life here looks like (I know the two aren't separate, but I'm holding people responsible for being what they are).

I hate my university and I hate my flat.

Hate is a really strong word, I know, and I feel (unfortunately) quite strongly.

I could never imagine a place, over such a sustained period of time (1.5 years) could so consistently annoy me, piss me off, bug the sh*t out of me, frustrate me, make me want to cry, to leave, to shout, and to write mean things on a blog. It’s SHOCKING how much I really do hate it here.

VC

Red Things

Well we've reached Chinese New Year, and as I well learned in boarding school, that means time to clean your house and give children money in red envelopes! (I'll note that "child" is defined as anyone still in school, and grad students therefore count!)

This is the year of the dog, and I'm a dog! Woof. Woof. *tail wag, panting*

According to China Today: "The Dog will never let you down. Born under this sign you are honest, and faithful to those you love. You are plagued by constant worry, a sharp tongue, and a tendency to be a fault finder, however. You would make an excellent businessman, activist, teacher, or secret agent."

No comment. A little surprising, actually. (Note that I think they are right on with the Dog, but I looked at the other signs and am not sure that you guys would think of the other categories as similarly on point)

That's one red thing.

The other red thing was presented by Bono in Davos, today, and that is Product Red -- a plan designed "to eliminate HIV in Africa." Check out this scathing review of the plan (rather stupid, the critique, I mean -- check out the parallel-syntax contrast between "rock stars" and "people who want to help the developing world" lol).

Ah hell...I've just spent like 40 minutes looking for an AmEx press release to promote it to those of you who could actually qualify (read: not me), but I can't find anything official on the Amex site. DAMN IT ALL! ;p

See -- being sick I get to be moody and complain in capital letters.

XO

VC