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About Ramblings of a Hopeless Khowaga

Welcome to my Web site. My name is Chris, and I’ll be your host. I\'m an opinionated, snarky, gay academic with a predilection for the history, the Arab world, languages, photography, food, and music. I live in Austin, Texas. You can read more about me, learn 100 random things about me, and if you’re wondering what the heck a khowaga is, click here. Feel free to browse, read, and leave comments!

Tag: ‘children’



The City Victorious

Thursday, July 9th, 2009

I knew I was in trouble when I saw the Ettihad Airways 777 trundling up to the gate ahead of us shortly after we landed at Cairo Airport.  Terminal 2 — referred to in cruel ironic fashion as the “new” airport, even though it is now the oldest and smallest of the three terminals — is notoriously cramped and the arrival of two or three airplanes at once is a sure way to gunk up the works.

It was worse than I expected.  Just down the gangway, where arriving passengers descend to the first floor for customs, a uniformed security official was distributing health declaration forms.  Egypt has had its share of cases of the H1N1 virus, and the country is in full lockdown, beginning with the airport.  The passengers off of the Ettihad flight, arriving from Abu Dhabi in their Hermes headscarves and Dolce and Gabbana thobes clustered around three small podiums filling out the forms (why Egypt, unlike Turkey, seems to be unable to give these forms out on the plane is beyond me), and jamming up the narrow hallway.

Then all 500 of us — for by then the Ettihadis and those off of my flight from Istanbul had been joined by a third flight arriving from Brussels — headed for one of two checkpoints.  The one I found myself waiting for was staffed by a tough woman with henna colored hair sticking out from under her hijab, who pointed a thermal camera at every single passenger, testing for fever.  Of course, by this point, we were all hot, sticky, and sweaty.  Who could tell what was fever?

A bottle-blond behind me tried to smarm her way forward.  “Please,” she said, “My kids are tired.”  By way of emphasis, she gestured to the two children, who seemed to be having fun playing with the stantions.  I considered suggesting the trick would have worked better if she hadn’t waited until she was at the front of the line to try it.  By that point, I was ready to bodily prevent her from getting in front of me.

Apparently fever-free, I stopped in at the Banque Misr, where a bored looking woman took $100 from me, handed me my entry visa, and an amount of money in Egyptian pounds that I’m not sure was correct because she didn’t offer me a receipt.

From there, the line for passport control took another 45 minutes.  Every so often, someone would complain about the wait, and would be set promptly in their place.  But it slowed down the process.  And this is Egypt, where things never run quickly.

The good news is that by the time I got through passport control, my luggage was sitting there waiting for me.

And off I went into the arrivals hall, surrounded by hundreds of anxious people waiting for arriving friends and family, wondering where they were (still in line, most likely).  The usual line of limo company reps popped up out of nowhere like a bad date.  “Taxi?  Where you go?”
“Zamalek.”
“I take you for 80 pounds.”
“EIGHTY?  Are you KIDDING me?  I’ll take a cab.”

I did eventually realize that I wasn’t going to win, as every limo company quoted the same price.  80 pounds to the city center.  Last time, I paid 60 and knew I was getting fleeced.  Back in my day, I would have paid 30.  But it was hot, I was sweaty and tired, and I had no idea where the taxi rank had been moved since Terminal 3 was completed in the parking lot of Terminal 2.

In the back seat of the air conditioned Lexus, I tried to strike up a conversation with the driver, but he wasn’t having it.  Fine with me.  I wasn’t feeling like talking anyway.  I looked out the window and noticed how unlike Turkey Egypt is.  While in Istanbul, several people asked me which I like better, Cairo or Istanbul?  Istanbul’s prettier, that’s for sure.  But there’s something about Egypt …

My room wasn’t ready when I got to the hotel, so I left my bags at reception and decided to go down the street to the supermarket for water and other supplies.  A British lady held the door at the elevator and we rode down together.

“First visit to Egypt?” she asked.
“No,” I said.  “I’ve been here many times.”
“Me too,” she said.  “I just keep coming back.”
“There’s something about it … ” I said.
“Exactly.  It’s chaotic, dirty, and nothing works-”
“-and you miss it the second you leave.”
We stepped out onto the street and bid each other good day.  I walked up the shady sidewalk, taking a moment to appreciate that I’m back in Cairo, a place that is, for better or worse, near and dear to me.

When I got to my room, I opened the drapes and found this:

_MG_3389

Yeah.  I’m hooked.

Readin’, Ritin’ and Revivin’

Tuesday, May 5th, 2009

There are some times that I am less OK living in Texas than others.  The passage of the state’s second Defense of Marriage Act was one of them.  I fear we’re coming up on another, and I feel like I should be able to do something about it, but I don’t know what.

It’s come to the attention of just about everyone that the State Board of Education has been taken over by a bunch of radical loonies.  These are the sorts of conservatives who make conservatives uncomfortable, and somehow they managed to take over the body that’s charged with revising and implementing educational standards at the K-12 level.  (Thank Bob it’s only K-12.)

This would be the same board chaired by a dentist (!) from College Station who came under fire shortly before the board’s final vote on revised science standards for endorsing a book that referred to supporters of evolution as “monsters,” “atheists,” and “morons.” I want to make it clear that the board currently leans in the direction that believes that if you ain’t their kind of Christian, you’re not a Christian at all.  (The fact that this is exactly the kind of logic that Osama bin Laden and his ilk use is the kind of irony that isn’t lost on me, but would be shot down as “totally different” were it brought to their attention.)

Earlier this year, a call went out for people to review the social studies standards.  As an historian who works with K-12 educators a lot in my line of work, I put my name in.  I didn’t get selected, and it didn’t take long enough to realize why.  I didn’t know that the SBOE member who represents my district had sent out an e-mail claiming that Obama was a terrorist sympathizer, and that an attack by said terrorists would take place in the first six months of his administration, followed by the implementation of martial law.  (Perhaps we should secede just in case?)

Clearly my passioned e-mail describing my committment to global competencies was a bad idea.

I know several people who did get appointed to the committees (two of them went with me to Egypt in 2005).  One of them, a University professor at a rival institution, was appointed to the economics review committee and managed to cause a horrific furor when he had the audacity to suggest that the term “free enterprise system” be replaced with “capitalism” in the standards.  “Capitalism,” after all, is what it’s called in every college textbook, and he thought that it would be appropriate for K-12 students to use the same terminology that they would use in college.  Why call the same thing two different names?

To say that this was received very badly would be an understatement.  As I was told later, when one of the SBOE members saw this proposed change, she stood up and screamed, “What kind of anti-American sonofabitch did this?  You should be ashamed!  I swear, whoever you are, if you were one of my appointments, you can consider yourself fired!”  (note: committee members are unpaid – it’s all volunteer work.)

My other friend wrote me to say that, while her committee was congenial, others were concerned that “too much attention” was being paid to the rest of the world at the expense of “our” history. Another friend told of how someone was appointed to her review committee–which was to oversee one of the years of world studies–whose sole purpose was to state over and over that he had moral objections to students studying other cultures.

For the record, Texas schoolchildren have two years of American history (grades 8 and 11), one year of government (grade 12), one full year of Texas history (grade 7), world cultures (6), world history (10), and world geography (9).  More than one board member has stated the desire to replace either the 9th or 10th grade course with a third year of American history, apparently being unaware that the 12th grade government course is entirely American history content.

It gets better.

After the first round of review committee meetings, the board cancelled the second round, apparently afraid that further anti-Americanism might ensue, so they’ve decided to appont an “expert panel” to guide the revision process.

First up?  David Barton and the Reverend Peter Marshall.

In his books and teachings, [David Barton] argues that separation of church and state is a myth and that America’s laws should be based solely on Biblical scriptures. His numerous claims include that the Bible forbids income and capitol gains Taxes. Barton’s views are so far right that even such groups as the Texas Baptists Committee and the Baptist Joint Committee have been vocal critics of his interpretations of history and the U.S. Constitution.

Even better: “Marshall has previously suggested that the California wildfires and Hurricane Katrina were divine punishments on society for the tolerance of homosexuality.”

TODAY comes the news that they’re considering LYNNE CHENEY for the expert panel.

Cheney is well-known for crusading against national history and social studies standards in the 1990s, calling the standards–which the National Endowment for the Humanities helped fund while Cheney was its chair–”grim and gloomy.” Cheney also denounced the standards as a monument to political correctness, claimed they gave insufficient attention to Confederate General Robert E. Lee and the Wright brothers and focusing far too much on figures like Harriet Tubman, and worried that they concentrated too much on embarrassing episodes in the nation’s history, such as the Ku Klux Klan and McCarthyism.

Outraged?  You should be.  The science standards revision made us uncomfortable by flirting with intelligent design–this will make us look like fools.  The next revision won’t happen for another decade, by which point our students will be the laughingstock of the country.

I still can’t tell what can be done about this twisted version of Evangelicals Gone Wild!  I’ve got half a dozen pleas in my inbox to help find real experts to testify before the SBOE, but it’s obvious they don’t care what people like us think.  If you live in Texas, write your state legislator–seriously.  The Lege is already moving to restrict the power of the SBOE after the science and English debacles.

I know that there’s probably very little that I can do about this … but I’ll feel better when it’s all over knowing I did what I could.

That’s why the good Lord invented spellcheck

Thursday, April 23rd, 2009

There was another flier in my inbox at work today.  They’ve been popping up frequently of late, these things.  And by frequently, I mean “multiple times daily.”  That’s how Professor N does things.  He only has good ideas.  If you fail to recognize the brilliance of one of his ideas, it’s because you’re a moron.  That’s the only suitable explanation.

Which is, of course, why I’m eagerly waiting to hear how many nones of people show up in the 250 seat auditorium this weekend to hear lecture after lecture about a 10th century poet most people have never heard of.  Hell, I couldn’t tell you the first thing about him (admittedly, he wrote in a language I’ve never studied), but Professor N seems to think that our medieval poet is All That and a Bag of Potato Chips.

So, when I got the program in my inbox this afternoon — as distinct from the e-mail announcement that I got this morning, the flier with the list of all speakers and their speaking titles that was in my box yesterday, and the piecemeal e-mails he’s been sending for the past three weeks — my reaction was to look at it very briefly and then hand it to someone else and say, “Here.  A gift for you.”

On one of my post-meeting voyages to the front office for something or another, Professor L waved me into her office.

“Did you see the program?” she asked.
“Yeah.  I didn’t look too hard, though, because he’s been sending me zillions of messages about it–”
“Here,” she said handing it to me.  “Look at the headings.”

I looked at the folded program, knowing that Professor L wanted me to see something in particular.

Program.
Speakers.
Film.
Suggestive Reading.

I re-read the last entry.  “Suggestive … reading,” I read aloud, and then laughed.  “Wow.  He must have been way more lascivious a poet than I realized!”

Professor L covered her mouth to hide a giggle and said, “I know I should be good and e-mail him to let him know, but … ”

Well, that’s just it.  Besides, even if she does, Professor N will claim that’s what he meant in the first place.

And that, my children, is why the Good Lord invented spell check and grammar check.

All Over for Another Year

Monday, March 9th, 2009

Another Explore UT has come and gone.

I have written extensively, year after year, about not liking this event.  This year, I fear was no different. The basic problem, I realize, is that I now have so much emotional baggage associated with it that there’s probably no way that I could ever actually enjoy the day (not that there’s much enjoyment to be had with 50,000 people invading campus).

Once upon a time, many years ago when I didn’t know better, my colleagues and I were dragged into a meeting with one of the staff people in the College of Liberal Arts.  The Dean at the time (or so we were told) had decided that he wanted to have a special area of the university’s annual open house event just for children.  And this staff person, knowing that we all do “outreach,” decided in her infinite and unquestionable — let me put that in Capitals to give them the appropriate weight — in her Infinite and Unquestionable Wisdom that “outreach” means “knows how to entertain small children.”  And so we were given the Royal Decree: do this, and make your Dean happy.

For the record, “outreach” does not mean “knows how to entertain small children.”  In our cases it means different things, but that’s really not one of them.  So, we had to search for little activities to do that might have some educational value.  Since we didn’t really want to be involved, we didn’t think too hard about it.

The year was something of a success.  So much so that, barely a few months later, we were pulled into another meeting with the same staff person.  “They really like the children’s fair,” she said.  “So, we need you all to stay all day.”
“Um,” we asked, “Can you provide us with the manpower to make that happen?”
“No.”
“How about some money to hire people?”
“No.”

All righty then.

And so we went forth.  We scrounged, threatened, pleaded, and, in some cases, bribed students to come and help us with the event, and thus did we entertain small children all day long.

A few months later, we were pulled into another meeting.  “This year, we need you to add a second event.  They want the fair bigger.”
“Um,” we said, “Can you provide us with some volunteers?  We had trouble getting enough people to staff the activities we did this year.”
“No,” she said.  “We don’t have any volunteers to spare for you.  Also, we want you to arrange performances.”
“Can we give you their names and have you deal with the performers?”
“No,” she said.  “You do it.”

And so … we went out for drinks, bitched a lot, and then went forth and somehow, by the skins of our teeth, managed to pull it off.  Barely.  Natalie nearly had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the day, and I recall a lot of swearing coming out of my mouth (we’ll pretend that this is different from the norm somehow).  I don’t even recall how the others fared because I never saw them during the course of the six hours that we were there.

So, when we were pulled into the meeting a few months later, we went in prepared to say, “We can’t do this much again on our own.  If you’re going to want a bigger children’s fair, you either need to promise us enough volunteers to make it happen, or you need to involve other units.  We’re tapped out.  And you need to hand off the performance coordination to a single person in the College because this ‘everyone coordinates their own’ thing is a bunch of crap.”

However, barely had the conversation begun when Her face darkened, the brow furrowed, and her voice turned gravely and belied the presence of possibly several demons from Hell in her inner soul.  “We … are … not … doing … LESS,” she hissed.

Dejected, we left, vowing some sort of awful revenge.  We had been told of other departments not being invited back.  What, we wondered collectively, would we have to do to not be invited back?

That year was probably the worst.  We didn’t want to be there, we didn’t want to be doing as much as we were, and it was incredibly hot.

The next year, both the Dean and the staff person were gone, and we were able to restructure everything to our wants: a single event for each of us, one co-coordinated table with name writing in different languages, and the College runs the performances. For all the complaining and dread, the past couple of years have gone relatively well.

None of this is to say, however, that I’m any happier about doing it.  For all that it’s gone relatively well, at some point during the annual push to do whatever we can do to increase attendance, just about all of the educational value has been lost. We spend the rest of our year designing high-impact programming that’s raved about.  We’ve gotten a standing ovation at a national conference of our peers.  People high in education around the state like us and what we do.  But what we do the first Saturday in March reflects none of that.

In short, I’m not particularly proud of what we do year after year.  And there seems to be no will to let us change it.

Last year, I finally had the bright idea to print out a little text box for the kids to glue to the back of their craft, explaining what it is and what it’s supposed to represent.  This year, most of the kids actually took the time to glue one on (last year, there was a lot of, “Wow, that looks boring”).  Do I think that, this morning, even half of them even remotely remember what they did or why?  No, not really.

And there’s the rub.

Oh, well.  Another year gone.  I can focus on other things … right up until this time next year, when I get to do it all over again.

The Never-Ending Dog vs. Children Debate

Saturday, February 28th, 2009

IMG_0278

The in-laws are visiting this weekend, and they brought their rambunctious teenaged dog, Freckles, with them.  You may remember Freckles from her appearance a couple of years back when she fit in the palm of my hand and liked to gnaw on toes with her sharp puppy teeth:

Freckles and Mocha have had a few snarling matches, because Freckles is into everything.  She reminds me of Mocha as a puppy — Oh, how I don’t miss the days when conversations would be interrupted with–

Crash.

“What’s she gotten into this time??”

I’ve had conversations with friends who have children about the similarities between young children and puppies.  You have to watch their every move, because if you turn your back on them for a second … disaster may strike (and it’s usually not disaster for them so much as a prized possession).  If they get sick, you’re up with them all night.  And long road trips are invariably interrupted by pee breaks.

The one advantage dog owners have is that we can lock our dogs in a crate for time out.  With dogs, that’s considered “good training.”  If you do that with your kids, it’s called “child abuse.”

Score one for dog owners.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, Freckles has gotten hold of a squeaky toy and wants the entire neighborhood to know it…

 

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