Category Archives: Anecdotes

Aug 08 2011
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Anecdotes, Humorous, Three minute read

How to Heal America

I realize this is not a Disney character. But I have seen one with Winnie the Pooh. Also, why does this exist?

I spent 90 percent of my childhood dreaming in a room covered in Disney merchandise, frequenting the Disney store at the mall, watching Disney movies, and singing Disney songs. One of my first hobbies was repeatedly singing “Part of your world,” better known to me and my sisters as the “Ahhh…ahhh…ahhh…ahhhh” song. We would put pantyhose on our heads, call  it our long hair, and sing the “ahhhhhh” part of the song over and over again until my mother’s brain exploded. This semi-dangerous and highly annoying Disney obsession is by no means singular to the United States.

A brief tour through any toy store in Egypt quickly confirms that Disney controls the vast majority of children through the sheer bulk of its merchandising power. Disney characters  not only occupy every nook and cranny in kid’s stores, but they maintain a significant presence in other sections of life: stationary, clothing, lingerie, automobiles, etc. You name it, and there is a Disney character pasted on it. It’s almost like someone lasered a television playing a Disney movie, causing it to explode like alien guts all over Cairo and leave Disney goo everywhere.

I have learned that Disney characters/cartoon characters belong on everything. They are more important than saints, more dear than family members, and cuter than children. Anything can be improved through the addition of an adorable figure from an animated movie covered in sequins with a nonsensical caption like “Hungr nam drop.”

Today I went strolling through the markets around the Ataba Metro stop in an almost regrettable decision to leave the house during the day and go into the sun. The spirit of Disney was present everywhere. Disney infiltrates the minds of the children when they are young and here in Egypt this early obsession turns into the desire to cover the entire home in sparkles, flowers, and Minnie Mouse. If you’re desiring to create a more intimate bedroom, perhaps you should consider buying Winnie the Pooh sheets. If your pajamas seem cold and standoffish, surely it’s because they don’t have a big Minnie Mouse on them. Indeed, Disney appears to own a majority share in the women’s pajama market, and Bashar Assad owns a plurality (Syria is apparently well known for its pajamas). I have seen Minnie, Mickey, Donald, and others all gracing almost every part of the home.

Would Americans be friendlier if everyone was covered from head to toe in sparkles, teddy bears, and Mickey Mouse? Would we greet each other with kisses on the cheeks instead of hand slaps or grasps? What happened that caused us to become such an austere people, wearing black every day of the week and slugging every smiling stranger in the face (this might just be me).

I have made up my mind. I’m going to give back to my society, use my talents, and make my fortune by selling Disney themed pajamas for adults in America. I truly believe that this is the only and best way to cure the deep divisions that we have seen widening over the past ten years. I will not stop until President Obama wears Goofy to bed and Michele has a “Best Frien” nightgown with Daffy Duck and Minnie Mouse high fiving each other on it.

I will be the change. I will be the Disney themed pajamas that I want to see in the world.

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Aug 07 2011
3 Comments
Anecdotes, Best blog posts, Humorous, One minute read

One Day in Post-Revolutionary Cairo

Fellow revolutionaries.

WARNING: extreme content ahead. Approach with caution.

1:00 pm: Wake up! Surf the Egyptian internet! Eat natural yoghurt and granola! Brush my teeth! Whoa!

3:00 pm: Go to a friend’s crazy air-conditioned apartment…! Wile out and watch True Blood and eat insane pancakes! Clean up the kitchen! This is Cairo, baby!

8:00 pm: Politely say goodbye to the hella gracious host! Wish him a speedy recovery since he’s feeling under the weather–more pancakes to eat in the fridge, bro! Dominate the elevator all the way down to the ground floor…in Cairo! Sick!

8:30 pm: Sit in the shade to get out of the sun—-naw, just kidding, man! The sun’s long gone. This is night Cairo now! Stroll to a rooftop café! Sit for hours and discuss religion! Too extreme for you?? Too bad cupcake, you’re in Cairo!

10:00 pm: Hey, Mr. Waiter! What say you revolutionize my sheesha with more coals? You know how we roll!

12:00 am: Get home to avoid being locked out! Make a gnarly cup of Nescafe! Uh oh—the internet’s not working. Night ruined? Not a chance! Break out the Arrested Development DVDs! This night just got more extreeeeeeeeeeeeme!

3:00 am: It’s Madame Bovary time! Classical French literature is so subversive!

6:00 am: Journaling so hard right now! Tons of feelings and awesome thoughts! All you mopey teenagers ain’t got nothin’ on me! Chilla!

7:00 am: See ya later, Cairo! Get ready to rock it hard tomorrow, and by that I mean today—the sun’s already up! Yeah! I be playin’ it vampire style!

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Aug 06 2011
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Anecdotes, The Cairo Metro, Three minute read

Escalator Anxiety: Why Does it Exist?

I thought I was like most people in that I have never suffered from escalator related anxiety. Indeed, in my humble opinion, escalators are almost a basic right. I find few things more offensive than seeing a broken escalator and being forced, against my personal, American will, to hike up the stairs like a health freak and/or plebian. What could I ever do to deserve such self-debasement in sight of my very salvation?

Though the ridged steel and rubber of escalators runs in my very blood, based on my daily observation in the Metro station, a significant percentage of Egypt’s female population is not nearly as confident in their escalator usage.

During the morning rush, an entire horde of people is bottlenecked at an escalator in the Sadat Metro station, efficiently being funneled upwards. The crowd shuffles on at a steady pace and then just as it’s almost my turn, the woman in front of me hesitates before boarding as if she’s considering, “Wait, do I really want to do this?” or “Did I put on deodorant today?” or “Whose kid am I holding?” Though this pause might only cause a slight hiccup in the flow of traffic, it makes me want to scream wildly and set everything on fire since there is simply no good reason for her to hesitate. The eighty people before her didn’t hesitate before they boarded, and that includes the blind guy. Even though she might have to lift up her floor length garment, that could be done one millisecond beforehand or even simultaneously while stepping onto the escalator. Older women are worse offenders since they are sometimes legitimately scared of riding the escalator and test it out in the worst way possible. They gingerly place a foot onto the first step only to realize seconds later that half their body is slowly pulling away from them at which point they are forced to hop on in order to avoid a hospital trip.

Indeed, it is becoming more and more apparent that all my life I’ve overestimated how easy it is to ride the escalator. If it were this simple, an old lady would not have fallen onto me today and almost taken me on a lengthy bowling-like escapade ending that could have ended in severe internal bleeding. From this remarkable woman I learned not only how to incorrectly ride an escalator, but also that it is, in fact, possible to ride an escalator incorrectly.

She went wrong immediately as she boarded, when she did not lean forward in order to make up for the difference in speed between her lower and upper halves. Though she may have noticed her increasing lack of equilibrium, she proceeded to not grab onto the side of the escalator for assistance, and instead slowly leaned farther and farther back until she lost her balance entirely and latched onto me as she continued falling. I felt like I was being dragged to my death by a big tub of pudding. At the same time, luckily, two men also grabbed onto her and supported her from the back and on her left side so we did not all go for a tumble. She looked at me with wild eyes as she sent some swift escalator-related prayers to the Big Guy Upstairs. I, for my part, tried laughing nervously in order to make light of the situation, but my chuckles were not returned and may have only gotten in the way of her fervent muttering. At any rate, we all made it to the top safely, I probably the one in need of the most counseling in order to understand how someone almost fell off an escalator. Read that sentence again. I still do not believe or understand how this is possible and I saw it happen. This is probably one of those questions we’ll only be able to answer when we reach the big metro station in the sky, but until then, I either need to start doing push ups or watching out for wobbly old women on the escalators.

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Aug 03 2011
5 Comments
Anecdotes, Humorous, Three minute read

My Feet, the Moth Kings

They don’t always look this bad. Sometimes they look worse.

In Boston, my feet lived like caterpillar kings, cocooned away from the outside world. I took care to shelter them from the elements, always dressing them in semi-clean, hole-free socks. Each day, I firmly laced them into closed toed shoes that were either waterproof or water-resistant, and each night I tucked them into bed along with the rest of my body. Only my head remained above the covers in order to keep an eye on my teddy bear, who I do not trust.

In Cairo, my caterpillar king feet have undergone a great metamorphosis. They have emerged from their sock cocoons transformed from soft, wussy flesh colored appendages to hardened, grey, creatures of the street.  I continue to watch the change with grim fascination as the days pass and Cairo grime continues to take its toll, as they become moth kings.

First, let us discuss the street environment as it relates to my feet. Since Cairo is essentially the last frontier of the desert, its streets are quite dusty. Some might even call them boulevards of dust, dust avenues, or lanes o’dust. In addition, the city’s continual decay and repair necessitates bags and piles of construction elements, which are set loose by the wind and join their long time companion, dust. To top it all off, garbage particles of various stripes also do their part in making a magical mixture of filth that is whipped up by the car, bus, pedestrian, and equine traffic.

Were the climate here similar to that of winter in Boston, my feet would have no need to concern themselves with these outside conditions. However, the climate being slightly hotter and drier, I was forced to cut the apron strings. I currently wear sandals daily, exposing most of my foot to the oven-like conditions of Cairo. Naturally, this has crisped my skin like a fine Christmas goose, and caused the formation of something akin to an exoskeleton over the majority of my foot’s surface area. This shell is comprised both of Cairo dust and dead skin cells that have baked onto my foot and now refuse to slough off.

As a cute furry creature snuggling against its mate in winter to stave off the cold, so the Cairo dust snuggles into every crease of my foot. At all times I have part of Cairo with me. Is there anything more poetic than seeing the greyish tinge of my heel and knowing that I am a carrier of the ancient history of the Pharoahs themselves? That as I walk down the street, I am absorbing the very heritage of great civilizations and various cuisines? Were I not afraid of contracting one of the more deadly diseases, I would surely stride barefoot down every thoroughfare in Cairo attempting to aggregate in the heel of my foot the very essence of this indescribable city, which I would then try to sell on ebay.

However, as much as I enjoy history immersing itself between my dead epidermal cells, my skin’s increasingly rough texture is slightly alarming, and I am almost certain my feet are going to start clacking on the ground like wooden clogs if I am not careful. After this year in Cairo, a pedicurist will only look at my feet and weep, which is why I’m going straight to a deck specialist to have her power wash my feet and then sand them down as soon as I get back to the states.

And no, I will not start wearing close toed shoes.

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Aug 02 2011
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Anecdotes, Best blog posts, Three minute read

Postal museums: people are stamp-eding to get in

View from the couch. Also, the only picture I took before my camera died. The only man who knew what this is has gone insane.

Today, just as the Egyptian army began activist clean up and put away time in Tahrir square, three happy go lucky American students arrived safely though thirstily at their apartments after a riveting day of museum hopping and fame snatching. If all goes well, I will be leaving my program shortly to begin my career as a full-time documentary interviewee specializing in Egyptian museums. Allow me to explain through the medium of story telling:

After the spiritual revelation that was the Egyptian Agricultural Museum, our group formed an unspoken consensus that we must taste the dust of every museum in Cairo that lies off the beaten path. Little did we know that our destinies and the destiny of one founder of pastpreservers.com would soon collide.

The next stop on our list was the promising Egyptian Postal Museum, a mecca for mail enthusiasts from all over Egypt and the world that attracts up to ten visitors a year. Incredibly, we almost missed the museum itself even though it was unlabeled and tucked away on the second floor of the national post office. When we arrived, the museum/postal worker found the key and opened the door for us to a one-room world of postal wonders. Dusty glass cases contained everything from international postal uniforms, stamps, miniatures of famous postal offices in Egypt, and figurines of postal workers from different time periods. It was more than I had ever wanted to know about Egyptian and worldwide mail delivery. Luckily, I avoided learning too much.

Personally, my favorite part of the museum was the couch and nearby fan whose blade was left unguarded, an element that added a thrilling level of excitement to what could have been a boring place. My heart raced as I gingerly stepped by the fan when I reluctantly got off the couch, nervous it would catch my chinos and begin boring into my flesh. I made it by safely, though I never made it back there after my short rest at the start of our visit, my one regret. I also regretted the fact the museum did not have air conditioning, a complaint I plan to tweet at the Supreme Commander of Armed Forces.

The museum was mustical, but the real magic happened as we were leaving. Turning to go down the stairs, I was shocked when I spotted another white guy on the ground floor peering up at us with equal puzzlement. We both thought to ourselves, “No way these people came all the way out here like us freaks to see the postal museum.”  It turns out we were both wrong. Our groups gave each other the up and down as we descended the spiral staircase and as we were about to walk by him and out the door forever, he confronts us.

Tension reached its peak for a brief moment but then he tells us that he works for an Egyptian television station and that he and his television crew are doing a piece on lesser known museums in Egypt.  He is surprised anyone else knows about this place and asks if we would like to be interviewed. Obviously, fame grubbers and blabber mouths that we are, we eagerly agree. The film crew sets up and the host of the show asks us hard hitting questions in passable English like “Is this your first time in Egypt” and “What was your favorite part of the museum?” Unfortunately for my friend, right before we began filming, I had  jokingly said “So will we be singing? We know a song in Arabic!”

So he had a surprise question as well, “Do you know any songs?” It was a cheap shot, to be sure, but I can’t say we (I) didn’t ask for it. If all goes well, you will see a short interview and song by us on Egyptian television (channel 25) after Ramadan.

SNEAK PREVIEW: Emily loves the couch!  Lack of English labels might be a problem for some tourists!

It’s pretty riveting stuff so I can understand why the people of Egypt are anxious to see it before the end of Ramadan. There will probably be another Tahrir sit in because of this…so much for life back to normal. #revolutionmyway

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