Tag Archives: funny

Sep 13 2011
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Anecdotes, Two minute read

Bats: Just Hanging Around (It’s a Pun)

You can see his eye glowing. There’s a body too, I promise. 

I realize I’ve already written about the bats, but last time I could have been lying. I could have been spewing whatever crazy froth had floated to the top of my brain, just as I do when editing other peoples’ resumes, putting up job descriptions on Craig’s list, or applying for a place in the emergency room. But now I have proof of all my romantic waxings about bats, and my life, your life, and especially the bat’s life has changed.

It’s nothing unusual to see bats loitering around while I’m clacking away at the ol’ silver clickers (keyboard) on my increasingly dusty balcony in Mohansideen where it never gets completely dark. I’ve even named one of the bats Nigel, but it’s difficult to tell which one he is since they all look like soot colored flappy things against the grey nighttime sky.

I had already finished yelling at the moon (credit: 30 rock) and drowning in my endless sea of Arabic homework. And so there I was, getting my greedy fill of internet magic and thinking about the banality of life when the world changed. I see Nigel fly up near the tree next to my balcony, since bats can fly. This was nothing special. I was utterly unimpressed, disgusted even.

And then he latches onto a branch and HANGS UPSIDE DOWN ON THE BRANCH! UPSIDE DOWN! CRAZY! He hung for a good 3 minutes and I felt the whole world disappear as I stared at his freakish being suspended there in the vegetation. It was, to be quite frank, the most ethereal bat experience I’ve ever had. Here is a play by play of my thoughts throughout the encounter. Also, National Geographic is probably going to be contacting me pretty soon because of my breathtaking pictures, in which case I’ll have to buy sunglasses and leave this lame blog behind.

12:45 am: No new facebook notifications. My life is worthless. Why did I even have wireless internet installed? Why did I go through that hassle only to reach the unavoidable conclusion that my online life is as mundane as my carbon-based one?

12:46 am: There’s Nigel…he’s looking fit tonight. Why is my eye twitching?

12:47 am:  What a second..what the..OH MY GOD! HE’S HANGING UPSIDE DOWN ON THE TREE! I’M SITTING HERE LOOKING AT HIM AND HE’S HANGING UPSIDE DOWN JUST LIKE THAT BAT DID FROM ANASTASIA! THEY ACTUALLY DO HANG UPSIDE DOWN!

12:48 am: HE’S STILL THERE! MUST GET CAMERA!

12:49 am: (enthusiasm wearing off) Oh good! He’s still there! If I could only see his dark leaf-shaped body against the background of the actual dark leaves….this picture is not going to be great. (checks camera) Nope, not great. What did I expect anyways?  This must be what average people feel like. (too much?)

12:58 am: Why was I impressed by seeing a bat hang upside down in the first place? I need to get more sleep.

1:00 am: You know what, it was really cool to see Nigel hang upside down. It was freakin’ AWESOME! But seriously, why is my eye twitching?

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Sep 04 2011
5 Comments
Anecdotes, Fiction, Humorous, Open Letters, Three minute read

Message From the Ants: You Are Powerless Against Us

TRY TO STOP US!

Though we love our new apartment, one of its only flaws is the continual potential for an ant infestation.  The potential was realized this afternoon, when I heard a scream in the roommate’s room. Concerned, I rushed in and happened upon my roommate being held down by a giant masked ant with a knife at her throat. “Man,” I chuckled, “this infestation is both exceedingly ugly and worse than I thought.”

But really, there was a literal river of ants flowing from the balcony door, around the corner, and into a crack in the wall. I’m not great with numbers, but there must have been at least one or two, maybe millions, or something like thousands of ants endlessly streaming into the wall, carrying an unknown substance to their queen for her to feast on. Powerless to stop the flood, we left the apartment and discovered upon our return that they had vanished, only one or two unpopular ones left behind. As we commented on how bizarre the experience was, I found a tiny note in the corner of the room near the ants’ escape crack. It was typed out very clearly and left little to the imagination, except for picturing the tiny ant computer. Here is the note, as it was written but slightly larger and edited for profanity.

Dear pathetic human scum,

I assume by now you’ve noticed we have no regard whatsoever for your existence. It matters very little to us the arbitrary barriers you have placed on our earth, or the packaging in which you wrap our food. You cannot keep us out. We are tiny and there are millions of us. You are large, pasty, gangly, and one. You can’t even crawl up the sides of tile wall or build tunnels into the earth. Did you really think your two opposable thumbs would be a match for us? The thought is laughable. Between us, we have billions of limbs. In one hour, we could make a statue of President Obama  the height of the Empire State building out of our severed limbs and then dismantle it. You could write three emails.

Do you know how many possible entrances there are in your room alone? What about just the area surrounding your bed? Thousands. There are thousands of ways for us to invade in the middle of the night, swarming across your face, tickling your nostrils until you wake up and begin screaming. As you thrash about clumsily you might take some of us, but you can’t actually believe this will affect anything. You might be bigger than us, but our combined weight is a number your puny brain is incapable of comprehending both because of its size and because it is rendered in kilos, so I’m not even going to waste my ant breathe. The trick we performed earlier was meant to send a message: you are weak and powerless. Your degrees mean nothing to us. Bam! We’re there. We’re a river. We’re a thick, writhing mass that makes the carpet look alive. Boom! We’re gone. You have no idea what happened. You’re in the dark. You’re drooling, clueless, as you will remain.

We are in the walls. We are in the ceiling. We have this entire place surrounded and if we ever have the cause to investigate a sugar or pie situation, there will be no mercy. We will throng and our queen will feast. Bring chemicals if you must, just know that where one falls three rise to take his place, each a little crazier than the last.

Best regards,

Patrix “7 leg” O’Norkle, ant representative and part-time gym attendee (credit: MB)

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Sep 02 2011
2 Comments
Anecdotes, Humorous, Three minute read

A Lighter and a Muse

A peanut, tweezers, and thing of floss for size comparison.

On a run to purchase ingredients for an intrepid night of pie making in post-revolutionary Cairo, we also picked up a lighter for our kitchen stove.

Though it has all the class of a 7-11, I have found within it incredible meaning beyond its mass produced tackiness. For me, it symbolizes some of my feelings about the move to Mohandiseen and my new life there more perfectly than any lighter has ever symbolized anything.

The raw picture of uncertainty and irony on the body of the lighter is enough to move one to tears or sleepiness. “S..OKY” is scrawled across it, a grotesque, hairless face with inhuman eyes, a cavernous mouth, and unexpectedly straight teeth blocking the middle letters of the word. Were the head not there it might read “SPOOKY.”

As I thought about this later on, the adjective resonated with me. Isn’t every time one moves into an unknown place a little spooky? Mohandiseen itself is eerily quiet and pleasant to walk around in, with a bizarre number of trees and expensive coffee shops. Couldn’t this be scary to someone who is used to living near only one expensive coffee shop around the corner from a Pizza Hut? Stricken by the unexpected depth I found in the fifty cent kitchen device, I probed further.

The gaping mouth is my earlier extreme thirst for coffee that went unsatisfied because I could not ignite the stove without matches.  I had forgotten to purchase some when I was at the store, which is heart breaking since they were the only thing I really needed in order to make my Nescafe.

The eyes on the lighter are a picture of this coffee-less, ironic, hell that I experienced today, since they are open but do not see, just as I had coffee but was not able to drink it. Covering up some of the letters introduces an element of chaos in the picture. It might actually read Socky, a friendly hand puppet, or “Smoky” in an anti-smoking warning, which would complement the other ironic undertones of the lighter.

And then I began to wonder whether it even matters what is written? Don’t we evaluate the picture and the letters as a whole and formulate our own truths, which must be equally valid regardless of whether or not there is supposed to be an anti-smoking message or a call to be kinder to our sock friends? The philosophical ambiguity of the lighter highlights the mixed emotions I have about living in an area where a pro-Mubarak protest was held a little over a month ago. The people here by and large did not suffer to the same degree under the past regime as did those who were not as well off. Indeed, many in this are grew wealthy during that time period and were sad to see Mubarak and the good ol’ days go down the revolutionary toilet.

Does living here make me one of them? If I eat fool (beans) and ta’amiya (Egyptian falafel) every day and ride the metro, does that still connect me with the “people?” It’s these kinds of questions, mainly philosophical, that the new lighter has ignited (pun?) in my mind. I’m glad to have such a thought-provoking piece of functional art at my disposal in order to stir the thinking wells of my brain.

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Sep 01 2011
2 Comments
Anecdotes, Humorous, Lists, Open Letters, Three minute read

Six Stages of Packing

STOP EVERYTHING! WHERE IS YOUR TUNA?

It is finished. I have moved and am now in a magical place called Mohandiseen, where the honking in the distance almost sounds like crickets, the sky has 3 more stars, and cotton candy grows on trees.

I don’t care if I have to eat beans and toothpaste for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and tea time snack in order to live here. It will be worth it to have this haven where I can literally cocoon myself away from the craziness of Tahrir, in order to appreciate it more fully.

While packing, I gleaned some impressive information on the emotional phases of the moving process. Allow me to elaborate.

Time to Go

The day has come. It’s time to move out of your apartment, the apartment where you have lived. You saw this day coming because you signed the lease and chose this day yourself. Still, it strikes you like a thunderbolt. You squirm in your shoes, you pace up and down nervously as your palms sweat and your eyes swim, but you can’t avoid what’s coming. It’s time to pack. As you begin the laborious process, you start progressing through the six stages.

Stage 1: Despondency

As you survey the grotesque bulk of your possessions, your heart is stricken with an iced lightening rod. Hercules himself would have trembled at the sight of what must be squirreled away…unworn clothing, laughably ambitious shoes, three partially used deodorant sticks, two cans of tuna, etc. You experience earth shattering, heart breaking, soul sucking hopelessness. “Might as well give up now,” you think, as you check to see what’s on television.

Stage 2: Elbow Grease

After weeping briefly, you pull yourself together and realize that today is the first day of the rest of your life, and that if you don’t pack your landlord will confiscate you and your possessions. You start puttering around the room, rearranging and evaluating things, and all the while hope slowly wells within your chest. “Maybe this can be done,” you think, “and where did those cans of tuna go?”

Stage 3: Sweat

You’re really moving now. The hot Cairo sun is beating down upon all the Cairene earth. In the AC-less room, your temples and back grow damp as the pile of material possessions is slowly organized and moved into seal-able spaces. You are happy in your delusion that things are actually going to get done. “I’ll even be able to fit in my cans of tuna,” you contentedly state to yourself.

Stage 4: Despair

Your bags are filling fast and you there is no end in sight. Your forehead is sweaty and you feel like crap for some reason, even though you got three hours of sleep and have only eaten chocolate. Emotions run high as you recall past loves and wonder where they are now. Are they packing too? Do they know what this is like? As you look at the miserable pile of crap your life has become, a mere anchor to a place you are no longer attached to, you begin to wonder what the meaning of it all is.

Stage 5: Rejuvenation

After looking at a tree, you realize things aren’t so bad. You decide to throw away the yards of velvet you wanted to make into a magician’s cape for your niece, and that makes you feel better. Now there’s just the odd shaped things like packing tape left, most of which can be thrown into your backpack. “Wait a second, ” you think to yourself, “WHERE ARE MY CANS OF TUNA?” You lay your eye upon them and a chorus of heavenly angels sings as you nestle them into the perfect spot in your suitcase. The end is in sight and it looks like a celebration at Pizza Hut.

Stage 6: Jubilation

After cramming the last pair of socks through the crack of your suitcase and zipping it shut before it could escape, you glance around your room and realize you have done the impossible. You have packed your life into measurable square feet, and you have done so with only a mild breakdown. Come hell or high water, one thing is for certain. As soon as you get to your new apartment, you’re unpacking everything and cracking open a can of tuna in celebration. Champagne is for squares and people who don’t eat enough protein.

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Aug 29 2011
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Anecdotes, Fiction

Make Your Own Cairo Street Sludge

Just add water and blazing heat

It never rains in Cairo, but the ground is always wet. This is one of the great paradoxes of this country. From whence does the moisture come from, if not bequeathed upon us from the bounty of the sky? This man made street moisture is a conglomeration of air conditioning residue, also known as Cairo rain, car washing by-product, and people throwing water on the streets to keep the dust down. The final result is unwanted, unpleasant, gloopy, sticky, ubiquitous, puddles.

Personally, I hate stepping in puddles. This aversion is not limited to Cairo. I hate unprotected puddle stomping everywhere and especially so when I’m wearing open toed shoes or pants that leave part of my leg bare and thus unprotected from any stray drops of street water.

The puddles here, for a variety of reasons, are particularly unappealing, and I shiver every time I’m forced to step in the street goo. What if it splashes onto my pants, squishes between my toes, or (God forbid) somehow makes its way into my mouth. No amount of pure grain alcohol would be enough to make me feel clean again.

I was searching for what exactly makes Cairo street water so special, and found this recipe on allrecipes.com. I haven’t tried it yet, but it had great ratings and comments.

Extra-Foul Cairo Street Puddle

By-products of at least 3 animals (feral dogs and cats are acceptable)

Powdered garbage

Handful of trash

Motor Oil

Human Spit

Bleach

Air-conditioning residue

Spilled Pepsi

One shard of glass (optional)

Dust (to taste)

Mix all of the above ingredients. Leave for years. In the morning, add an extremely inappropriate amount of water, making sure to waste as much as possible. Let sit in sun and reduce for 4 hours. Encourage cars to drive through. The mixture will be most foul before 4 o’clock pm, when it might completely evaporate. Does not keep well. Makes a great gift!

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