Category Archives: Three minute read

Aug 12 2011
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Anecdotes, Modern Life, Three minute read

Ready, Set, Feast!

Post-iftar….destruction in the wake of the swarm

I have eaten every day of Ramadan. Everyday, I wake and eat breakfast, wait a little while, then eat dinner, wait a little while more, and then eat my spoonful of peanut butter about 2 hours before bedtime. This differs from how fasting Muslims eat during Ramadan in a number of ways, mostly the part involving eating during the day and probably the peanut butter as well.

From the time of the call to prayer around 3:30 am to the sunset call to prayer around 6:45 pm, fasting Muslims are not to eat any food or drink any water. Though one is ravenous, eating is prohibited even slightly before hearing the sunset call to prayer. Feel free to twirl your fingers in a bowl of spaghetti or dunk your head in a puddle, but none of those substances may enter your body and begin journeying through the digestive tract.

Though I have eaten out in restaurants frequently during Ramadan, honoring my pledge to cook for myself no more than 3 times a month, I have only eaten twice in a restaurant right at the time of iftar, the break fast, the moment everyone has been waiting for with grumbling tummies and cottonmouth .

Tonight was one of those times twain: we arrive to the restaurant a little late, at about 6:30, and it is completely filled with patrons who are neither eating nor drinking. A buzz fills the air as people converse hungrily with one another, the waiters flit around setting food on tables, and others customers stare off into space, tiny drumsticks floating above their heads.

The hour continues to approach; the buzz reaches its height. Many tables are completely filled with delicious treats like hot bread the size of a large pizza and steaming bowls of meat and spices…oh joy! I stare at the food on everyone’s table as they gaze into space, trying to forget about their hunger during these last painful minutes.  The victuals themselves begin to speak in honeyed tongues, tempting the hungry souls:

“I’m a refreshing bottle of cool water….drink me! It’s almost time anyways, what does God care if one of his thirsty and deserving servants takes just one sip before the call to prayer? You know Auntie Fatima is going to elbow you out of the way as soon as she hears it just like she did last night…she’s always the first one to drink and no one says anything because her husband died ten years ago. As if you could blame him for wanting to escape her. Cowards! Drink me! Drink me!”

“I’m a tasty piece of roast meat….look at the color of my skin. Just look at how golden and crinkly it is! Look at it! How tender I am underneath a swift crunch! I just popped out of the oven. Can you detect the meaty scent wafting off the sides of me? I’m getting colder by the second! Auntie Fatima’s fleshy paw is going to grab me before you’ll ever sink your teeth into me. Eat me! Eat me now!”

And just when the temptation seems unbearable and even death would be preferable to this never ending hell, a waiter turns the television up. Could it be?? Yes! It is! It’s the call to prayer ( played 5 times a day on many television stations. I’m not sure which ones). Someone begins drinking water, the rest soon following in a joyous free for all in which no one is blamed for chewing too loudly, putting another mouthful of food in before finishing the last one, or knocking their little sister over while reaching for the juice. Images that come to mind when viewing the scene: my family around a plate of hot cookies, the game hungry hungry hippos, and swarms of any kind, barring swarms of koala bears or sloths.

I find myself eating with extra vigor despite the fact I was not fasting. In fact, I had just eaten my 6 o’clock snack to make sure I wasn’t insane with hunger when we got to the restaurant, in effect avoiding anything resembling a fast. I guess we all celebrate Ramadan differently.

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Aug 11 2011
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Modern Life, Three minute read

Birthdays Mean Facebook Notification Overdose

This was the cake at a birthday party. My name is on it, and so are other people’s.

Roughly 22 years ago on a 24 hour day kind of like this, I and my triplet sisters emerged from my mother’s womb. That makes today my birthday.

My birthday this year round has been surprisingly good, and I say surprisingly because with a new group of people there’s always the chance that everyone will be awful and hate each other and celebrating their birthdays. But thank goodness I have made great friends who, though neglecting to gift me with a giant teddy bear as I had requested time and time again, provided appropriate levels of attention that I need to survive much like a plant needs the sun or some cheeses need to be refrigerated.

Though I think birthdays are great, they can also a little awkward.  I love spoiling other people on their birthday, when it comes to receiving said attention in kind, I always feel a little bashful, a little “aw shucks, me? All I did was exhibit the five signs of a thriving baby for the last 22 years.”

For us slightly birthday-shy types, thanks to modern technology there is a new delight that I and my sister, Frank, were discussing recently: the avalanche of facebook notifications that one can enjoy in the privacy of ones’ cave. Call me vain, self-centered, superficial, and crazy but I love love love seeing my notification count tick upward as the birthday rolls on.

I may have been out all day today looking for an apartment in the searing heat, escaping from the sun in an Armenian church, attending a belly dancing class, eating McDonald’s ice cream, or smoking sheesha on the Nile, but all I was thinking about was the boatload of notifications I was going to have when I got back to my apartment and did what I really wanted to do: look at my facebook.

The day before my birthday, there’s a little bit of apprehension: who’s going to be the first one to post? Will it be a cheeky friend trying to have an ironic day-before post or one of my friends from my many world travels (obnoxiousness intended)?  And then it happens, the first “happy birthday!” Just like spotting of the new moon, it’s a harbinger of brilliant things to come. Though it’s a complete mystery when they begin, one thing is for sure: once the notifications start, they don’t stop. They burst out of the starting gate with an initial rush of posts from your diehard fans who watched the clock to be sure to enter their good wishes right at 12:00 am. Afterwards there are usually lulls in the early morning and late afternoon, but the notifications never stop and eventually explode in the evening hours as most young people surf their webs and complete social media tasks.

One can also observe a shocking variety among the birthday posts.  Many friends are content with saying a simple “happy birthday!” However, some would rather die than posting something so obvious: instead they post in different languages, attempt to be witty, sarcastic, thoughtful, thoughtless, wistful, nostalgic, etc., all in order to distinguish themselves from the other birthday posts on your wall and prove themselves to be better, funnier, or more thoughtful friends. Friends you have not heard from in years will pay their dues to a friendship whose embers died out long ago. Those you would have liked to post neglect to do so, causing mild disappointment made up for by five posts from random high school friends.

Regardless of the manner of posting, I love them all.  In fact, I like to save all my notifications until I feel the birthday ones have about run their course and then I go through them and thank people one by one, responding as I see fit in order to ensure another happy birthday greeting the following year. Withdrawal from the facebook birthday high is one of the hardest parts of moving past your special day since you know you will not be this popular until next year, and then you’ll also be older so the expectation is slightly tinged with sadness as are all things of beauty.

Footnotes:

1. Facebook this year has not been tallying up all of my wall posts properly so I’m not sure as to the exact amount of “happy birthdays” I have. I think it’s over 5.

2. I realize that in many ways this is pathetic. There are real humans present who wished me happy birthday and that should be enough. I also realize this blog post will completely alienate some readers.

3. I don’t get that many notifications. This was a plea for attention in the facebook realm.

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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 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 05 2011
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Humorous, Lists, Three minute read

Ramadominating

Saw this on the first of my many breakfast walks

The Ramadan sun sets over Cairo. A tumbleweed blows through Messaha Square. One man hurries homeward in the twilight, eager to get to his loved ones.  It appears that Cairo itself has come to a halt.

These scenes characterize the time of the break fast, when all of Cairo gathers with friends or family around food seasoned with hunger, the best of spices, and prepares to eat for the first time that day. Yet while most everyone else is otherwise occupied, this hour between 6:30 and 7:30 is my time to shine. It’s ramadominate time.

At this hour I take full advantage of the lack of traffic and prowl the streets, experiencing what life in Cairo would be like if it were pleasant, devoid of its constant din. While I walk, I also get a chance to stare at people as they break the fast together near their vegetable carts or coffee shops. Don’t mind my staring, I’m just ramadominating.

These walks I go on are only one of many ways I am currently squeezing the best juice out of my time grapes (30 rock reference), and when I say these walks I should clarify that I’ve only done this once, but have every intention of doing it again. You might be asking yourself how you can ramadominate as well. Here’s some advice that I have found helpful:

Do not go to bed before 5 am, and while you’re at it, you can forget about “morning.” True ramadomiators do not wake up before 1 pm.

Spend plenty of time on the internet looking at blogs about strangers’ “musings,” occasionally performing a half hearted craig’s list job search.

Stare at the two glasses of water that have been sitting on the table for about a week and decide they can wait until tomorrow to be put into the kitchen.

Eat Egyptian brand Ramen noodles once a week for sustenance, and peanut butter for all other meals except for dinner which you should eat in an expensive restaurant, spending more than what is reasonable for your salary, which is in peanuts.

Mooch off of people that have nicer apartments complete with un-mysterious stoves and cook things in them. In general, one should impose on others’ hospitality as much as possible in true ramadominate fashion.

Convince yourself that reading a classic novel for 30 minutes a day makes up for the fact you pay no attention to the news whatsoever and obtain most of your information in digest form from your more intelligent and well informed friends.

But expensive sample packs of Ritter chocolate and look forward to when you will be able to eat one and drink your coffee at 8 o’clock in the evening. Silently curse your friends when they make plans that interfere with this date with yourself.

This is by no means a comprehensive list of how you can ramadominate, but it contains the most important element: the creepy sleep schedule.  Eventually I plan to become completely nocturnal and sleep from 10 am to 6 pm, at which point I will be awarded the Nobel Prize in Ramadominating for figuring out the way to enjoy the best and coolest parts of the day.

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