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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 live in Austin, Texas, with my partner, Ray, and our child dog, Mocha. 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: ‘death’



LiveBlogging the Great Blizzard of 2009

Friday, December 4th, 2009

Given the extensive coverage the topic has received in major international outlets such as the Austin American-Statesman and KUT-FM radio, I’m sure that you are all aware of the impending blizzard that is set to descend upon the ATX later this morning (assuming the weathermen didn’t get it wrong, again).  In case you’ve been hiding under a rock, here’s the skinny: there is a 60% chance that we may receive up to an inch of snow today.

Naturally, this news has caused panic among some weaker willed individuals.  The University of Texas, for example, felt compelled to issue a pre-emptive notice yesterday afternoon reminding everyone that classes had not yet been canceled, but urged us to check the University’s emergency line before proceeding to work tomorrow for the latest updates.

As you know, here at ROHK we strive for journalistic and culinary excellence of a higher standard, and so, I am sacrificing my own well-being to bring you the latest news about the event that I am sure will be recorded in the annals of history as The Great Blizzard of 2009.

Do check back regularly for updates.

Friday, December 4, 2009

6:10 am: Wake up, get dressed.  In honor of the impending cold snap, I search for a clean sweater, and eventually discover one that my parents bought me for Christmas some years ago.  It was clearly purchased before they moved to Texas because, even before I lost the 10 pounds, it was still at least one size too large and makes me look like a mustard colored burlap sack.  However, today we are going with function above form, following the trend set by world-famous survivalist Jake Gyllenehaal in the documentary film The Day After Tomorrow:

jake-gyllenhaal-london-hat

See?  If Jake can sport an outfit that reveals no muscle definition whatsoever, so can I.

6:54 am: Sitting outside of Beverly’s house.  It takes her longer than usual to come out to get in the car this morning, because she is clearly working up the nerve to set forth in the malstrøm and dodge the sunbeams that are beginning to fall outside.

7:10 am: Realizing that I am driving too fast for conditions, I reduce my speed to 72 miles per hour (114 km/h).  This adds at least 2 minutes to my commuting time this morning, but it’s important to drive safe!  Arrive alive!

7:26 am: Walking from the garage to campus.  It is chilly this morning.  The guy who’s not homeless but wants everyone to think he is who usually sets up behind Einstein’s Bagels is nowhere to be seen.  I hope that he has managed to find a shelter for the not-homeless-but-wanting-others-to-think-they-are.

7:35 am: In the office.  It was a tough last sprint across the West Mall to my building, what with the grounds services golf carts whizzing by, but I did make it here.  Lisa has already begun prepping for the cold weather by cleaning out the oven, which has been left a mess by a previous user/staff member.  This is very wise of her — clearly we may need the electric stove as a heating device if the power goes out once the deluge has begun.

7:55 am: Typing these words.  Outside the window, I can see that it is cloudy.  This is clearly a very bad sign — much worse than it has been on every other cloudy day this week.

8:15 am: The men with the leafblowers are out in the pass-through between my building and the next (which once served as the setting for Café d’Amour in the first Spy Kids movie).  Clearly they have been apprised of the danger that can result from snow falling on top of leaves.  I’m not sure what it is, myself, but as landscaping professionals, it’s their job to know these things.

8:28 am: Discover that emergency provisions are already stocked in the front office: two bags of Chips Ahoy™ and one of Pecan Sandies™.  Skeptics may suggest that they are, in fact, left over from Professor E’s final-class-of-the-year celebration yesterday, but that’s just crazy talk.  Lisa continues preparation of baked goods for this afternoon’s Survivalist Training/Birthday Celebration.

9:14 am: Correction: Provisions are one bag of Chips Ahoy™ and two bags of Pecan Sandies™.  Please make a note of this. This is, of course, in addition to the banana bread that Lisa has made, along with the molasses cookies that are apparently on schedule to be made at noon.

Looking out the office window, I can see that we now have a lower cloud cover than we did earlier.  Possibly this is due to the impending snow.  Possibly this is due to the arrival of the alien/Snuggie™ vanguard that I described in yesterday’s post.  Will investigate further.

The Statesman is reporting that “some” snow flurries have been seen in some parts of Central Texas, and that San Antonio may see a light dusting.  I shall keep the brave people of San Antonio in my prayers.

9:28 am: Discover that #Austinsnow is now being hashed on Twitter.  I have to join Twitter to do this, but the feed is too damned amusing not to share:


10:07 am: Take a break from perusing postings about the first harbingers of wintery doom–is Skol preparing to eat the sun and invoke the long winter known as Fimbulvetr?–to notice that the clouds are looking far more sinister now than they did an hour ago.  At least a five on the Scale of Sinistry, up from a four and a half.

Kim suggests that the gravity of the situation requires that the word “aught” be worked into the title, and that we should refer to this as the “Great Blizzard of Aught-Nine.”  What say you?

10:15 am: Realize that I left my iPod in my car.  In the movies, the guy who goes back for something never, ever lives until the end.  (Well, except in the Final Destination movies, but then Death spends the whole movie trying to catch up.)  Not falling for it.  Take that, Law of Murphy!

11:13 am: Fear not, dear readers!  I remain as fervently committed to bringing you updates as they develop.

It has transpired that one of the bags of Pecan Sandies™ has been devoured by inconsiderate coworkers who do not realize the strategic value that they will play in our survival should the worst be realized and we become stranded in the building.  An investigation with possible court martial is under way.

According to #Austinsnow, the earlier rogue flakes have abated.  We remain poised for a resurgence.

It is very cold in my office.  Am contemplating putting on gloves.

11:32 am: Confirm with Ray that he made it to work safely.  Breathe sigh of relief.

11:47 am: Cabin fever has clearly set in amongst the staff.  Food is being anthropomorphised:

apple

Also, the Chips Ahoy™ are stale.  We will put them on the back burner for now.

12:12 pm: Hearing Christmas carols being sung on the West Mall.  Assume there’s irony involved in any song mentioning snow.  The Statesman is now claiming that the snow is “on the way,” downgraded from the “it’s already falling” that we got earlier.

Am off to dodge air molecules on the way to find lunch.  Pray for me.

12:26 pm: Back from acquiring food.  Bitter cold, grey skies, no snow.

There was, however, a young man in front of Goldsmith Hall wearing what is either a very large paper boat or a paper papal hat on his head.  Not sure what the purpose is, other than to make people stop and stare.  Which we did.

12:37 pm: Have met the first person today who claims to have seen at least several snowflakes.  There is much praising of his survival instincts.  He has clearly suffered emotional trauma (but not enough to get me to cancel the panel presentation in 23 minutes in which he is supposed to deliver a talk in Persian).

12:53 pm: Ray calls to tell me that it is “snowing heavily” in Round Rock.  The office moves to Defcom 2 in preparation for the snow to begin falling.

12:57 pm: SNOW!!!!!!  There’s at least 15 flakes out there.

1:05 pm: Photographic evidence that the onslaught has begun:

snow

It’s kind of hard to see, but you can definitely tell if you look under the trees.  There’s a small possibility that some of it’s dust on the window that I shot through, but some of it is definitely snow flakes.

1:47 pm: And now the sun’s out.

1:51 pm: The Statesman is now reporting that winter weather advisory that had been issued for today … has been canceled.

I didn’t even get to go out in it: I’m trapped in my office because there’s a lecture going on outside.  Poop.  On the other hand, it’s a nice sunny day now!  And I left my sunglasses at home.

2:43 pm: My journalistic efforts have been foiled by the final presentations of one of the Persian classes going on in the room outside my office, however, I assure you, I will continue to cover the story until my last breath.  Or until it’s time to go home for the day, one or the other.

2:56 pm: BREAKING NEWS: the baked goods that have been added to the stockpile of supplies in the office include banana bread, chocolate ginger cookies, and both Irish and English breakfast tea.

I have learned from this blizzard that the primary difference between Irish and English breakfast tea is that the former is caffeinated, the latter is not.  (At least, that’s according to the HEB in-store brand — I can’t help thinking that’s not actually correct, but I’m not a tea-o-phile, so can not confirm.)

I have also learned that the air filter on the LCD projector needs to be changed.  I didn’t know it had an air filter and that it could be changed.  Things our sales reps forgot to tell us.  I wonder if this will affect the quality of the breathable oxygen in the event that we become trapped up here.  There are at least two clouds that I don’t like the look of visible from where I’m sitting right now, and that’s before I turn my head too much.  I have a feeling this isn’t over yet, dagnabbit.

3:36 pm: I am startled to see that there is ice buildup on the roof of Goldsmith Hall, which I can see from my office window.  It’s blue and shimmery and … oh, wait.  It’s someone’s jacket.  In fact, now that I look at the photo I took at 1:05, I can see that it was there then, too.

Never mind.

4:07 pm: Whoa!  I’ve gone viral — 600 hits in the past two hours.  Who knew?  The pressure’s on!  (OK, I know I’m supposed to be all Ocean’s 11-style cool and act like this is so <yawn> boring, but I’m just a touch too neurotic for that).

In weather related news, we’re holding at 39 degrees F / 3 degrees C with bright, practically cloudless skies.  I do so hope that the roads have been plowed and salted before I head home–I’d hate to drive in unsafe conditions.  My palms get a little sweaty just thinking about it.

4:23 pm: Time to start powering things down and head out into the wilds.  I shall check in again once I have arrived in the wilds of Round Rock, across the moors of Pflugerville and the towering craggy peaks of Tarrytown.

Stay strong, fellow commuters!  Man shall always persevere over Mother Nature.  (I mean, just look at the Domain.)

4:35 pm: On leaving the building, I see the measures that my fellow Austinites have gone to in order to protect themselves from the blustery weather.  One young fellow is wearing a dark suit, but has elected for the protection of white athletic socks.  Clearly, desperate times call for desperate measures.  Later, I will see another young man so affected by the cold weather that he has had to pull his boardshorts down in order to cover his mid-calf, exposing a considerable amount of plaid boxer short above the waistline.  I feel for him.

4:50 pm: Apparently, the snow has caused a short circuit in the gate at the parking garage.  One poor woman sits there with a line of cars behind her, and is finally forced to back up and go to the pay station in order to make her ticket work.  It’s very sad that such desperate measures need to be taken in order to complete such mundane tasks.

5:02 pm: MoPac expressway.  Cars moving much slower than the posted speed limit.  Possibly due to the weather.  I can think of no other reason why traffic heading north out of Austin would be moving so slowly at 5 pm on a Friday afternoon, especially the weekend before the Red River Shootout in Dallas.  It just boggles the mind.

5:35 pm: I  arrive home and begin searching for things to cover the plants in order to protect them from tonight’s deep freeze.  I now have a basket full of habanero peppers (seriously, what am I going to do with so many habaneros?  I might have to make salsa for the office Chrismukkah gifts.  But, oh no, I’ve said too much.

5:45 pm: I send Ray out to Home Depot so that I can wrap the Christmas gifts that came in the mail today.  I hope they didn’t get wet.

6:03 pm: Gifts wrapped, Ray happily off at Home Depot, I sit in front of the television, open my laptop, and blog this, the last of my updates.  At 6 pm, the winter weather advisory has expired, and I, for one, am considering myself very lucky–very lucky indeed–to have managed to survive the Great Blizzard of 2009.

LiveBlogging has now ended.  Please remain seated until the vehicle has come to a complete stop.  Don’t forget to search under the seat in front and in the overhead bins of you for any belongings you may have brought on board, and have a nice day in town, or wherever your final destination may be.  Drive safe!

So You’re Back, Then?

Sunday, July 26th, 2009

It’s been over a week since my last blog post.  This probably makes me a Bad Blogger, but whatevs.

It’s also been a little over a week since I flew back from the Middle East.  I had a slow weekend that involved going few places and seeing no one, and then it was time to go to work on Monday.  Needless to say, as I mentioned in my last post, returning to work was not something that I was actively looking forward to.

My office was a mess.  I had been running a workshop right up until I left and had left a couple of piles of things in my office to deal with when I got back.  Normally, when I go on vacation, I try to leave the house or my office in as good a shape as possible, so that when I come back I don’t have exactly the kind of reaction that I had when I walked into my office on Monday: “Oh, fuck.”

My office is still a mess.  There’s still workplace drama.  It’s like the never ending cycle of birth, death, rebirth, and the occasional Bollywood epic describing it.

What my being out of the way has meant, however, is that I haven’t been able to touch base on what one friend called Celebrity Death Fest 2009.  (Yeah, it’s kind of a tasteless term … but it does have its merits.)

All over the Middle East, the one thing everyone wanted to talk about was Michael Jackson … but not for the reason that I thought.  In addition to the obvious question (“What do you think about Michael Jackson dying?”  Seriously, folks, what answer is there to that question??) came this stumper: “Was Michael Jackson Muslim?”

Before you give yourself whiplash trying to figure out where that question came from, lemme ‘splain: when Jermaine made the public announcement of MJ’s passing, he ended with a prayer to ‘almighty Allah.’  Jermaine is Muslim.  Michael … I never heard nothing about.

However, since the Muslim world loves a good conspiracy theory bar none (they include themselves–most of the theories involved local politicians I’ve never heard of, and some of them weren’t about which ones had slept with Sylvio Berlusconi), this was immediately taken as a Sign that the entire Jackson family was Muslim and that the Islam-hating Western media had covered it up.

Clearly they’ve never seen Janet.  Or maybe they ought to, I dunno–depends on whether you think Islam is pro- or anti-feminist … and whether you think Janet is pro- or anti-feminist.  She’d certainly present a different face of Muslim women than a woman in a burqa, that’s for darned sure.

In one of my more sardonic moments, I responded to someone in the Istanbul bazaar, “Right now, the public face of your religion is Osama bin Laden.  Do you really think a gender neutral accused child molester is a step in the right direction?”  Fortunately for me, his English wasn’t good enough to understand most of what I said.  (It was kind of tasteless … even if there’s just the faintest hint of truth in there.)

As for what I think … well, the sad truth was that the likelihood was that his story wasn’t going to end well.  I feel sorry for the guy.  He was surrounded his entire life by people that wanted stuff from him, and he was always alone.

I never got asked what I thought about Farah Fawcett, Billy Mays, Karl Malden, or Ed McMahon.

Anyway.  It’s still hotter than blue blazes here in Texas (everyone in Turkey kept apologizing for the heat–I finally had to break out with, “It’s 44 at home!  It’s only 36 here!  We’re loving it!”), with no end in sight.  If anyone has sway with the Powers that Be, some rain would be great, mmkay?

And maybe some throat lozenges … I think my long-anticipated summer cold might finally be materializing.

Netiquette

Friday, May 8th, 2009

Today’s rant from Chris™ involves the arrival in my e-mail inbox of requests for money.

I’m not talking about those bogus “Nigerian” businessmen who send stupid messages like, “I am the wife of so-and-so.  My husband was beaten to death with badminton rackets after winning a game against the local military strongman/smoothie franchise owner.  I just happen to have $80 zillion that needs to be deposited somewhere, and your bank account is as good a place as, say, a Swiss bank account.  You just have to send me $1,000 first.  Whaddya say?”

I’m talking about legitimate requests for money from people that I actually know.

I am reminded, for example, of the time a few years ago that an e-mail arrived from an old college friend.  She was going a run in support of AIDS research and needed people to sponsor her.  While I’m all about supporting AIDS research, I support the cause directly through the mandatory voluntary charity program we have set up through payroll and … the message asking for sponsorship was the first communication I’d had from her in nearly five years.  I had no idea where she was living, what she was doing in her life, and, frankly, was pretty sure she had the same amount of information about me.

Contrary to feeling honored to be part of an important process, I felt kind of like she’d sent a broadband message to her entire address book (which is, I’m sure, what she actually did).  Etiquette would normally dictate a semi-personal follow up directed individually to me that would sort of soothe that rough patch over.  Such a message didn’t come.  I did get routine messages of increasing frequency detailing the amount of money she still needed to raise, but … I actually felt a little insulted.

I didn’t donate, and, as callous as it may sound, I don’t feel that guilty about it.  Just one message to me individually would have swung my opinion.  Just one.

The organization that I went to Saudi Arabia with in 2005 sends me requests for money so frequently that I have the address set to filter directly into my junk mail folder.  I know they’re teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, but knowing the guy in charge, I’m not sure that would be a bad thing.

I just got another one from a colleague who works for a non-profit.  Their funding has been cut this year, and the doyenne of this particular organization sent a message to “twenty select friends” asking them to contribute $1,000 each to help her make up the shortfall.  While I like this woman personally, and I think the work that she does is important, I have issues with the way she does it.  Also, and more importantly, I don’t have $1,000 laying around that I can donate.

Her message was, at least individually addressed, but … I’m not a huge fan of requests like these.  What if the shortfall continues next year?  If I manage to find money somewhere (I could, theoretically, use one of my work accounts and buy an institutional membership in her organization), am I going to be expected to contribute next year?  I’m not sure I want to establish that precedent.  Provide me with a more solvent business plan and I’ll consider it.

I realize this all goes to make me sound like a stingy bastard, and perhaps I am.  I’m also an underpaid public servant whose savings account balance can’t ever seem to hit four digits.  If you want money from me, you need to make a good case for it.

What say you all?

What’s in a Burger?

Sunday, May 3rd, 2009

OK, this post is a little bit of an experiment.  I’ve been meaning to expand my genre writing, by which I mean, “posting about things other than whatever rant I have parked in the back of my head at the moment.” This, by the way, has nothing to with our friend Lee, who started up a food-and-restaurant blog a couple of months ago and has already managed to score invitations to all sorts of closed-door events they seem to hold just for people who blog about food.  Really.

I’ve feared for a while that Ray and I are stuck in a restaurant rut whenever we go out, because, well, we are.  So, when I was at Costco last weekend, I discovered the second edition of Fearless Critic’s guide to Austin restaurants, and I decided to buy it because … well, sometimes I’m in the mood for Thai food and pho just won’t serve as a decent substitute.  (According to the Guide, the situation is more grave for those seeking Italian.)

Friday evening, Ray had managed to score us tickets to Death Cab for Cutie’s show at Austin Music Hall (and I do mean score – the tix were for the VIP section.  Working for evil corporations does sometimes have its perks).  After I got home from work, we headed downtown where I similarly managed to score a parking spot at a meter barely three blocks from the venue.  For those unfamiliar with Austin, this is in the heart of the Warehouse District, where meters–which stop working at 5:30 pm–are now nearly impossible to find, and most lots and open parking surfaces have been co-opted by the Ethiopian Mafia, which charges a flat rate for the evening that increases by the hour – $5 if you get there early, but as much as $10 or $15 if you try to arrive around peak clubbing time.

Where this is all going is that we wound up stopping for a bite to eat at Hut’s Hamburgers, a local institution that I’ve never actually been to before.  We had walked past a series of restaurants overflowed with the Young and the Pretty, not that we don’t enjoy that scene … mainly for the viewing … but we didn’t time our arrival downtown well to have enough time to wait out a table and still get to the show on time.  In the midst of a Friday afternoon around 6:45 pm, Hut’s was able to seat us right away.

Perhaps this was a sign.  Perhaps it was just because Hut’s doesn’t have a patio or a huge selection of alcoholic beverages beyond beer, and is therefore not a popular destination for after-work Happy Hour.

The place is in what appears to be, for all intents and purposes, an old gas station from the 50′s or 60′s.  It’s been a restaurant for several decades, but there’s still something offputting about opening the door to a restaurant that you can’t see inside of.  “What am I getting into?  Will I be able to leave?”  It’s kind of dark inside, and the decor is somewhere between “cute retro” and “hasn’t been cleaned since 1981.”

Hut’s is an unapologetic burger joint, and when you’re at a burger joint you shouldn’t do something stupid, like order a salad.  This is fine.  Ray and I both ordered burgers, and a basket of fries and rings to split.

The burgers all have cute names.  Mine was “The Wolfman Jack,” which comes with too many diced green chiles (canned), sour cream, and bacon that was so limp I could actually fold it.  I’m a bit of a bacon purist – if it bends, it ain’t done.  Ray ordered “Mr. Blue,” with bleu cheese crumbles, swiss cheese and bacon (and lettuce, although he asked them to hold it, much to the satisfaction of the guy who brought the food out and declared lettuce “green water.”)

One of my basic tests for a restaurant is, “Could I have made this at home?”  In the case of the Hut’s burgers, the answer, sadly, was “yes.”  I’ve had better hamburgers.  Sorry, guys.

The french fries were … well, I could fold them, too.  This is not good.  Limp, damp fries are the culinary equivalent of the limp, damp handshake.

The bright spot of the meal were the peppered onion rings.  I was disappointed to see, when the tray arrived, that there were only four onion rings (there’s always a disappointing onion-ring-to-fry ratio whenever you order a combination order).  However, the four that arrived could have been worn as anklets – they were massive, thick, and wonderfully crispy.  Ray questioned whether there was too much onion in the onion rings (ha!), but I quite enjoyed them.

Would I go back to Hut’s just for onion rings?  Oh yeah.  I might be tempted to order another burger, too.  After all, Fearless Critic seems to think they’re great (Hut’s is #3 on the list of burger joints of Austin, after Phil’s Ice House — with which I wholeheartedly agree), and Fearless Critic hates everyone.

The Queen Boat, Reconsidered

Tuesday, November 11th, 2008

It’s been quite a while since I’ve written one of my long boring posts, so if you don’t like them, well, I’m sorry.

We had a guest lecturer on campus yesterday who got me thinking (which I am wont to do from time to time) about stuff I haven’t thought about in quite a while.  I’m not going to use his name because he made himself a bit infamous for reasons that have nothing to do with the talk he gave, and I don’t want people stumbling across my blog by seeking him out in Google.  If his topic sounds interesting, e-mail me and I’ll point you in the direction of his article.

The gist of his talk is something to the following effect: he argues that what he calls a “sexual binary”–namely that one must either identify as hetero- or homosexual–is a western notion that is being imposed on the rest of the world.  If this sounds post-colonialist, you’re not wrong (if you don’t know what post-colonialism is, don’t worry about it — I’m only passingly familiar with it as I think the concept that your thoughts have to be limited by a school of thought is kind of stupid).

His specialization is the Arab World, and his particular grief is that the West is imposing this sexual binary on the Arab World when human rights groups, NGOs, etc., identify a certain subset of the populace as gay or lesbian, even when those people may not identify as gay themselves.

For the record, I started having problems with this guy’s talk when he contradicted himself by suggesting that Arabs have learned the concept of being exclusively “gay” or “lesbian” from the West, but then later said that he knows there are Arabs who do identify as gay or lesbian and that’s OK.

Now, he’s not one of these guys suggesting that homosexuality is a western disease and that it’s an unnatural behavior learned from the West — what he’s saying is that in a good chunk of the world, sexuality is more polymorphous than a simple binary.  Men who are married to women and have children also have sex with men, for example, and that these societies have constructed space to allow this behavior.  What he’s arguing is that the insistence from outside that these people be recognized as “gay” and given rights that they’re not asking for is actually causing more harm than good.

And then he brought up the example of the Queen Boat.  The story is recapped as follows: in May 2001, police raided a nightclub in Cairo (the Queen Boat — it was one of the nightclubs that’s on a large boat that goes out for a two or three hour cruise on the Nile that are popular among tourists and Egyptians alike) that was a reputed gay hangout.  52 men were arrested and charged with debauchery (there being no law against gay sex in Egypt), and the trials spanned over months.

Several international gay rights organizations picked up the banner and pressured western embassies to take up the cause of Egypt’s “repression of homosexuality.”  The western gay press ran stories about “Egypt’s Stonewall.”

The problem was this: none of the men arrested identified themselves as gay, even under allegations of torture.  The gay press attributed this to a long-standing social stigma against homosexuality, but Our Speaker suggested another explanation: none of the men actually considered themselves gay.  Many, in fact most of them were married and had children.  Instead of being Egypt’s Stonewall, it was a trial that went nowhere, and with the exception of two men who’ve been in jail for years, most of them were free within a couple of months, badly embarrassed at having been accused of “licentious behavior.”  Several of them have since emigrated from Egypt (with wives and children).

Our Speaker argued that the international attention did more harm than good–Egypt at the time had no law against homosexual acts.  Parliament is now considering them, however, in response to the Queen Boat incident.

I was trying to digest all of this–I think he’s got a point, although I think there are problems with his analysis–when a friend of mine, an Egyptian doctoral candidate in history, raised her hand and made a counterpoint that I’d been waiting for.  The Egyptian government was, at the time, facing rising opposition from Islamist parties who were accusing the government of being corrupt and amoral, and were holding themselves to be the protectors of virtue.  Shortly thereafter, the Egyptian government sanctions a raid on a well-known gay nightclub that’s been operating for years and charges everyone on board with amoral behavior.  Coincidence?  She doesn’t think so, and neither do I.

Another example our speaker brought up was the novel/film ‘Omaret Ya’qubian (The Yacoubian Building), which was very popular the last time I was in Cairo in 2006.  Among the characters in the novel–which is a sort of Egyptian Peyton Place, following the lives of the inhabitants of an apartment building in downtown Cairo–is the self-identified homosexual character Hatem, who engages in a relationship with a Nubian soldier, Abed Rabbo.

Our Speaker argued that the novel is essentially Islamist in tone, even though the author clearly thinks he’s being very sophisticated.  Hatem, who lives alone and is the passive partner in the relationship (read: “bottom”) is identified as شاظ “shadh” (or “shaz,” as the Egyptians would pronounce it) which means deviant or pervert, but is also common street slang for gay.  (I started to have problems with his talk around this point, because he was saying that the book was mistranslated into English because shaz used to only mean “deviant” in a much broader sense, even though now anyone who reads the book would read it as “homosexual,” which the author is on record as having said is what he meant).

Abed Rabbo, on the other hand, is married and has a son, and is never identified as a shaz.  (Abed Rabbo later murders Hatem … well, it’s complicated).  Hence, Our Speaker puts forward the suggestion that the behaviour is only deviant because Hatem has sex exclusively with men, and exclusively in the passive role, for which he is “punished” with death at the end of the novel.

Again, he kind of has a point here, although I kind of think that Our Speaker would do well to review, for example, The Celluloid Closet for examples of early gay and lesbian characters in film, who almost always met a tragic end.  One of the explanations of this is that it helped anyone in the audience who was having conflicted issues about feeling sympathetic toward the gay character feel better when he or she “got what they deserved.”  Indeed, audiences who watched the film version of The Yacoubian Building were reputed to cheer Hatem’s death, even if they had been sobbing moments earlier when Abed Rabbo’s son took ill and died.

And then this got me thinking about Prop 8.  I know, it’s kind of crazy that thinking about the tenuous relationship between Islam and homosexuality in Egypt might have gotten me thinking about Prop 8 and the enormous backlash against the Mormons for funding it.  Believe me, I’m all for holding the church accountable for their part–but Californians actually voted for it.  I find it interesting (anthropologically speaking) that someone could stand in the election booth and vote for Barack Obama, arguably one of the most liberal Democrats to run for office in years, on the one hand while voting for Prop 8 on the other and see no contradiction.

What, I wonder, was the tipping point?  I don’t believe that it’s as simple as “the Mormons poured a bunch of money into the campaign and that’s why it passed” (note to Michael: I’m not saying that I don’t think it’s A reason, I’m saying that I don’t think it’s the ONLY reason.)

I don’t have answers to this, I’m merely posing the question: what made the people of what is, next to Massachusetts, considered the most liberal state in the Union decide not only to ban gay marriage but to retroactively alter the state constitution, thus potentially invalidating 18,000+ marragies already on the books?  The LDS campaign may have pushed it over the top (in fact, I’m fairly sure it did), but there was already a solid base to begin.

How could we have made history by electing our first black president and shattering the racial glass ceiling, but reaffirm separate-and-unequal status in several states all in one fell swoop?  Are we the sacrificial lamb being offered up?  “We’ll elect a black guy, but the immorality has to stop” — is that it? Trust me, I’m kind of used to it.  I live in Texas.

But it doesn’t make me happy about any of this.  It just makes me wonder what’s really going on here.

If I have any more thoughts, I’ll share.  You can, too.

 

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