Tag Archives: postaday2011

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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Is He Trying to Hypnotize Us?

He looked like this little guy

On August 8th, 2011, I and friend visited a fancy place in Zamalek in order to hear the winners of the Egyptian “This I Believe” contest recite their essays. I went to pretend like I cared about culture, and my friend (who is real) wanted to go because she had heard of the “This I Believe” essay contest in the states. No refreshments were provided, even though this event was sponsored in part by the American Embassy, so some of you may be sadistically happy to know that your tax dollars did not provide even one mini cupcake to a hungry American. Let us hope the tax dollars went to more democracy funding related endeavors and not refreshments at a different event that happened to coincide with this one. Some of the essays were more interesting than others, and all of them were in Arabic, making it harder to pay attention and I found myself thinking about winter for some reason.

Right after the event ended, I and friend were at the book table engrossed in the back of the translated This I Believe when a man accosted us at unawares. For the next eternity-like twenty minutes, we stared deer-in-the-headlights-esque as this man spewed a never-ending list of English vocabulary words and expressions at us while also reciting his resume/CV.  While “talking” to him, I felt desperate to leave yet was also held captive by a grotesque fascination with the creature that stood before me.  In my entire life I had never been subjected to something so much like a live infomercial, and this one was selling one thing: Ahmed.

Though I’m sure he was aware we were humans, his did not desire to converse with us so much as to have sentient beings (targets) to talk at that could actually understand his ridiculously ornamental use of the English language. A sample of his conversation could be deadly since it is so rich in English idioms, vocabulary, and antioxidants. Nevertheless, in spite of my own personal danger, I will attempt to communicate the absurdity of his personality and manner of speaking. I will  give him credit for at least being aware of a vast quantity of English words and phrases despite the fact he did not always use them correctly. I have exaggerated the extent of his errors here, though had you been obliged to listen to him for untold lengths of time I can assure you that you would show no mercy either.

He approacheth.

“So… did you find the essays pithy? Were they pertinent? Were some of them loquacious? Laconic? Verbose? Trivial? You know what laconic means? Ah yes, it is a GRE word.

“No? The essays were not laconic? I think some were egregious, what is your opinion? Do you have a thought? Dare you naysay me? What does gainsay mean? I think it means the same as naysay (checks on his iphone….that meaning is correct.). The etymology says it comes from again, like when you say no again and again because you are emphatic. I always think of pneumonic devices for new words. Every split second I am thinking of a new pneumonic device. I am like an intelligent Neanderthal. But why do we beat around the bush? I know I am a motor mouth.

“Are you traveling this summer? The pulchritudinous of Italy is gut wrenching. What does it mean when you call someone mongoose in English? Nothing? When we call someone mongoose in Arabic it means they are sly. I am giving a tour this Friday at the Egyptian Museum. The tour is the bees’ knees, my speech is easy on the ear, and you will wind up on the flipside better than sliced bread. Will I see you there? Ah yes, you are traveling.

“Well I will forgive and forget, this conversation has come home to roost so they say. By the way, I give lectures here every now and then. On what? What are your fields? International Relations and Foreign Service? I gave an entire lecture on the hoopoe, and it was lush in illustrations and unfolded across the span of the hour. The name in Arabic for hoopoe is onomatopoeiac, which means it was taken from a sound. Onoma, means name, and peaia means maker, so it is a name maker; it makes its own name.

“I am composing a book that is about evolution to revolution, since evolution is revolution on a grander scale, and revolution is evolution on a bigger scale. Evolution is revolution on a grander scale, since it takes a long time and has very small changes, and revolution is evolution on a bigger scale. Let me ruin the book for you: my thesis is that when a system becomes rotten to the core, change is inevitable. You have to go? Okay, here is my card with the info of my people. See you later alligator.”

Again, this is only an idea of what he said and the kind of conversation that this was, not an accurate transcription of said “conversation.” I bet the tours he gives are awesome, but of course that would mean that I actually have to hear his voice again, something I’m currently willing to put myself through. I will remember the word “gainsay” though.

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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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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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A Brief Treatment of Common Singalong Pitfalls

Our program has been blessed with incredible musical talent, including guitarists, one percussionist, and someone who plays the spoons. Though all of them are gifted, only one has compiled, of his own free will, an entire songbook full of songs he transcribed, printed, alphabetized, and then put into a binder. This songbook is accompanied by a mini-me spiral bound version that looks as professional as anything you could buy from a Christian bookstore.

Because of the abundance of musical talent, at many of our gatherings we have had the great privilege of huddling around his songbooks, flipping through them until some loudmouth sees a song they like and then calls out, “Hey can you play _____”, a question that deserves a swift slap in the face since he was the one who transcribed every song himself.

Obviously the singalongs are wonderful, especially since we have able bodied players, a songbook, and people who are literate. One would even think we had the recipe for seamless, coordinated singing that anyone would be overjoyed to hear. Unfortunately, my friend, it is not so. Despite that fact it is always fun, our singing often misses the “enjoyable for others” mark by a long shot. I have outlined below some of the causes of this phenomenon, one that also plagues buses and campfires the world over. First of all, however, let me state that I am one of the most egregious singalong offenders, and have committed every possible singalong offense hundreds of times over and look forward to doing so again in the future.

Factors contributing to less than perfect singalongs:

a. It’s hard to think of songs everyone knows on the spot. Inevitably, the first songs thrown into the mix are the national anthem and “Amazing Grace,” both of which are impossible for most humans to sing. The next ones are songs that people only think they know, “Sweet Caroline” or “Don’t Stop Believing” for example, which quickly sour as the majority realizes they only know one line that comes halfway through the song and lasts for brief 5 seconds of exhilaration.

b. No one knows all the words to almost any song, unless they’ve memorized it like a freak. One cannot live on choruses alone, yet the compulsively memorized songs are also the ones that others are most likely not to know. These are the personal favorites, the songs played on repeat in the soft darkness of one’s room during most of junior year in high school. Alternatively, the song reminds one of summer camp or an old crush, also experiences no one else will share. They will not like the song as much as you.

c. People choose songs that are inappropriate for group settings, suggesting their favorites which, as I’ve already pointed out, the entire group will not instantly love. Songs that people enjoy for their easy pace, wistfulness, and deepness will almost never carry over well in a group because they are, above all, slow and sad. Do you go to parties and try to make friends by talking about the long and drawn out death of your next door neighbor? No, you tell jokes. This is the singalong equivalent of a Lady Gaga song.

d. Famous singers generally have beautiful and/or distinctive voices. Singalong companions often do not and are also unaware of this discrepancy in vocal ability.  There are not many people that can sing like Kelly Clarkson. She won a nation-wide contest that captivated America and if people of her skill level were present at any Chuckie Cheese’s, then obviously things like American Idol wouldn’t exist. Therefore, we should not be so surprised that we do not sound like her when we sing her songs and indeed that we cannot sing her songs very well.

e. Singing along with a guitar is different from singing with a YouTube video or your car radio. For the unexperienced,  it is always difficult to find the key in which the guitarist is playing. Some never find it and continue to blissfully sing in the key they are most used to hearing while they are alone in the kitchen cooking and singing. Since they are not vegetables, everyone else notices.

f. Similar to the above foible, everyone likes to sing the song just as they hear it in their head. If they’ve sung the song many times on their own without backup music, it’s likely they’ve added cute dips and improvisations to the normal cadence, all of which the rest of the group is unaware and cannot follow along with. A group of 6 people each singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” as they have developed it in their personal repertoires sounds surprisingly similar to an ax sharpening contest.

g. Invariably, some  participants exhibit a severe lack of personal awareness while they are singing. Though you feel you are pouring your heart out during a rendition of “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” staying true to the original intent of the song, to others you look like a maniac that will soon be in need of a defibrillator.

h. And, as always in groups intent on singing, the silent majority is forced to listen to the louder minority. Sorry, everyone else, even though all of you had a better song suggestions, because you couldn’t speak up in time you will be forced to listen to this really long, slow song that we don’t know very well since someone yelled it out a second ago and said it was their favorite even though it turns out they don’t know most of the words.

But, like I said, these factors in no way impede the enjoyability of a singalong, they only enrich it. The best part is that despite how much of a failure one singalong may be, there is always hope that next time it will be different, and that the person playing the guitar will know that one song you’ve been dying to sing even though it’s 9 minutes long and is about cat diabetes.

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