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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: ‘eating’



Civility FAIL

Thursday, September 10th, 2009

The president gave a speech last night.  I didn’t watch it.  I need to be able to read the synopsis of political speeches these days because I can’t quite stomach the queasy feeling I get half the time.

And so, I missed the moment everyone’s talking about this morning: South Carolina senator Joe Wilson yelling, “You lie!” when President Obama said that his vision for reformed health care wouldn’t cover illegal immigrants.

Here it is in case you missed it:

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I find myself in a quandary here.  I’m not entirely sure where I stand on health care reform (yes, the system is broken, and I am mystified by people who think that a government run plan will be more of a burden than a privately run one, apparently on the basis that it’s more “American” to have corporations do it, because corporations are never, ever evil), but I know where I stand on this.  (And if you don’t know, you clearly didn’t read my post from Monday).

The New York Times, in its fact-checking recap of the president’s speech (interesting read), points out that the president is speaking true on this point (and most others … although some of them need to be read creatively).

I keep going back to this: W. was president for 8 years.  He stood up in front of Congress year after year and bragged about how well the war on terror was going and how Iraq was always under control.  Did anyone stand up and yell, “You sent our men and women to fight a war whose sole benefit was to line the pockets of the Vice President?”  No, they didn’t. And it would have been a far more intelligent thing to say.

In fact, this morning, both parties are at pains to remember any occasion on which a presidential address was interrupted in such a manner.  This is not the British Parliament.  We do not have a system that encourages smart retorts in Congress (and, let’s face it, it’s more fun to watch it happen with British accents.  The Brits are so much better at coming up with deep-cutting nasty comments that sound perfectly reasonable on face value).

I keep coming back to this: it’s obvious that the political rhetoric in this country is such that the president has to keep proving his worthiness of being in the office of president … the one that he was elected to, and by a much more definitive margin than his predecessor ever received in two terms.  It’s like people just assume that he’s less than human and not fully American, and it’s up to him to constantly prove otherwise.

In more amusing news, a California state assemblyman from Yorba Linda, one of the true champions of pro-family legislation (that would be pro-conservative definition of family, natch), resigned after bragging to a colleague about an affair without realizing that his microphone was on and that his comments were going out on public access television and preserved on tape for posterity.

Not only that, but it seems that this was his second mistress.  He wasn’t only cheating on his wife — he was cheating on his other mistress, too.

So much for pro-family values!  Although, he did put his money where his mouth is: part of the bragging included the revelation that he didn’t use a condom.  So maybe he’s a true Christian™ after all.  God wants babies!  They’re delicious!

Just Can’t Take it Anymore

Monday, September 7th, 2009

It’s been a while since I’ve posted.

In all honesty, I’m a bit tired of the same old aimless blogging.  This outlet is no longer as anonymous as it used to be, and, in true “careful what you wish for fashion” I’m in a conundrum: I have more readers, but they’re people that I know.  Some of them don’t always seem to be familiar–either with the concept of exaggeration for comedic effect, or with my tendency to use it liberally.  Some of them are likely to approach me in the hallway (either a literal hallway or a metaphoric one) and ask me about something I’ve written.

In the case of literal hallways, it’s even more alarming: I’ve written things about my work environment that are predicated on a good number of my coworkers not knowing that I have a blog.  Some people are good about keeping the secret, others … less so.

And so, I’ve tried to keep my liberal rants and raves to a minimum in the hopes that I won’t offend anyone.  And in doing so, I’ve made myself rather bored with the whole concept.

Well, I’ve got a rant.  And if it offends you, tough.

For a while, I’ve been trying to put my finger on my feelings about the current political situation in the country.  And, frankly, it’s not just a political thing although what set me off today is political in nature.

We have guaranteed freedom of speech in this country.  The problem that I’ve noticed is that as a society, we don’t practice responsible freedom speech.  Americans seem to think that if they have a thought on their head, it needs to be stated out loud.

At the moment, we have this whole situation going on with President Obama: the man has the gall to want to speak directly to schoolchildren to encourage them to stay in school.  The nerve!  Doesn’t he know that as a bona-fide secret Muslim who was born in Zanzibar* and is trying to convert the entire country to Socialist Fascism** that good right-wing American Christians will see right through the AntiChrist’s ploy to brainwash their children.  After all, Memaw and Naydell left school after the fourth grade, and they turned out just fine!

Seriously.

Our last president … well, let’s put it this way.  In eight years, he took the entire nation to war with one country that had something to do with 9/11 (sorta) but that wasn’t spectacular enough for the news media … or his popularity ratings.  So, we decided to go to war with another country that had nothing to do with 9/11 and posed absolutely no threat whatsoever to the United States–this second war was justified on the presentation of completely false intelligence that the White House, it has been revealed, practically made up.  As part of said invasion, it was revealed that our infantrymen were involved in torture of sensitive prisoners, and graphic humiliation of non-sensitive prisoners.  We went from having a balanced budget to one so far in the hole that it’s hard to fathom … and, oh, by the way, started the whole corporate bailout scheme that everyone seems to have forgotten about and now blames on Obama.

Let me say this: I have lost my enchantment with Obama.  I have.  I’m starting to think that the best chance the Democrats have to keep the White House in 2012 is for Obama to not run again.

That said, where was this level of vitriol and anger at Bush 43?  I hated the man — hated him.  For all of the reasons mentioned above, and much more.  To his dirty rotten core.  But if he’d spoken to schoolchildren about the importance of education, I would have made a joke that the speech would be titled: “Stay in School!  Don’t turn out like me,” and let it go.  I wouldn’t have petitioned the school board to either not show the speech or change their policies to allow children to skip school during it.

What we’re hiding here is racism, pure and simple.  People don’t like Obama because he’s an educated black man.  It’s not nice to say that we don’t like him because he’s black, so we make shit up.  He’s Muslim.  He’s socialist.  He’s fascist.  He’s Zanzibari Kenyan.  But, no, really it’s not because he’s black.  We’ve evolved.  (But only metaphorically — we don’t use that term to suggest that we believe in Evolution.  We all know it’s much more likely that an invisible guy who lives in the sky snapped his fingers and made the entire universe happen in six days.)

Moving beyond politics: Americans really do think that they can say whatever they want — which they can, but without any sense of appropriateness or decency.

Take, for example, an experience that I had in El Paso a few weeks ago.  Natalie and I delivered training to a group of 70 people.  At the end of the day, as we were proceeding to the rental car with our things, we reflected on the day.  “It seemed to go well,” she said to me.  “People really seemed to enjoy it.”
“I think so too,” I said, “but I noticed that there was at least one evaluation that seemed to be straight 1s down the line.”  [Our evaluation forms consist of rankings on a 1-5 scale: 1 is "strongly disagree / poor / strongly dislike."]

Natalie then did what we’ve learned over the years that you should never do.  While standing in the parking lot, she pulled out the collected evaluation forms and started going through them.

I should say this.  The number of negative evaluations was somewhere around 4.  Of 70.  Far outnumbered by the number of overwhelmingly positive evaluations.

However, the negative evaluations were really negative.  Like, nasty on a personal level toward the two of us.  One of them, for example, went into pedantic detail about what a poor speaker I am because I said “um” and “ah” too much during one of the presentations (which I had prefaced by saying, “I haven’t done this one in a couple of years, so bear with me”).  I won’t even repeat some of the other comments because, well, they’re not worth repeating.

We sat in the rental car (yeah, it was a dry heat, but 102 is 102, especially when the sun is shining directly on you) in shocked silence.  “So much for professionalism,” I said.
“What on earth would make someone think that it’s OK to say these things to someone?” Natalie asked.
“I … have no idea.”

The coordinator of the event contacted us last week to see if we could set up another date for later in the fall or spring.  “All in all, I think it went very well,” she said.

Natalie called to ask if there was any way to respond in a way that would both convey our enthusiasm and willingness to continue working together, while making reference to the unacceptable and inappropriate nature of some of the comments on the evaluation forms.  “No,” I said.  “It’ll make us seem petty.”

My guess is that the reason people say nasty things is the disconnect of the written word: it’s easier to write it out and not have to deal with the repercussions of watching what you say hit home.  I work with a professor like that: in person, he’s the sweetest, most generous guy.  Put an Ethernet connection between him and the rest of the world and he becomes the sadistic lovechild of Dorothy Parker and Jason, the machete wielding villain of the Friday the 13th movies.  I’ve never heard him use the f-word in person.  I’ve never read an e-mail from him that didn’t contain it.

Why are we, as a people, so unaffected by the notion of the effect that the words we write have on others?  Why do we think it’s OK to engage in such awful diatribe?  Have we really lost the ability to debate civilly without resorting to name calling, innuendo, and wild accusations?

In other words: what’s wrong with us?

*Yes, children: in 1961, Mombassa, which is now in Kenya, was part of the sultanate of Zanzibar.  It became part of Kenya in 1963.  I strongly suspect that the reason why no one in the birther movement knows this is because they all think Zanzibar is a made up place like Wonderland, Narnia, or Canada.

** Quick primer: fascists are on the extreme right side of the political spectrum; socialists are on the left side–and not that far to the left, either.  You think they’re farther than they are because American “liberals” are what, in most countries, are called “leftist-centrists,” meaning that they’re just to the left of the center on the political spectrum.  Socialists and Fascists do not like each other as a matter of course.  It is not politically possible for Obama to be a socialist while pursing a fascist policy.  It does not make you look smarter to try to use both terms together and pretend that they mean the same thing.  They don’t.  And it makes you look even more stupid than you are.

Ramadan Kareem

Thursday, August 27th, 2009

So, I’m sitting at my desk eating lunch.  My office door is closed, and there’s a knock.  I thought I heard the voice of the other Chris in the office, so I opened it, figuring he was either coming to share gossip or ask me for something.

I open the door in mid-chew.

Instead of Chris, I found Yetkin, the guy who organized the trip to Turkey over the summer.

I cover my mouth, and mumble through food, “Hi!  How are you?”

And then I remember that it’s Ramadan.  Yetkin can’t eat or drink during the day.  And here I am stuffing my face right in front of him.

“Um,” say I, trying to chew really fast, and pulling the door closed behind me so that the food smell won’t waft out.  “Sorry … ”

It’s not the first time this week that Ramadan has reared up.  On Monday I stood in front of someone with a mug of coffee for a full ten minutes before it dawned on me.  For caffeine addicts, Ramadan’s just gotta suck.

Then there’s the friend from grad school who was stocking up on Count Chocula.  “Suhuur’s [the last chance for food before sunrise] just not suhuur without Count Chocula,” he posted on Facebook the other day.  [I should add that he's 35.]
“Yes,” I commented.  “I believe that the Prophet himself said that somewhere.”

After all, what are religious convictions for if you can’t poke fun at them?

Which is what makes this kinda funny:

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Ramadan Kareem, y’all!

Rest and Relaxation

Thursday, August 20th, 2009

My wanderings around the state have come to an end, and not a moment too soon.  I do enjoy the traveling, but there comes a point when you’re in yet another hotel chain that looks like any other hotel chain (LaQuinta?  Fairfield Inn?  Hampton Inn?  Is there a difference?) when you realize that you simply can’t face one more morning with Faux News blaring in the background over another styrofoam plate and plastic fork breakfast featuring KAW-FEE brand coffee bean product and individually wrapped English Muffins (which are neither English nor muffins.  Discuss).

There is the occasional quirkiness to be had.  Despite the fact that San Angelo–which only two years ago was proudly putting in all of its tourist literature that it had the highest murder rate west of the Mississippi between 1850 and 1870–is now trying to bill itself as the culture capitol of the Panhandle Plains (a title that is disputed by … well, no one), the town is relatively uninteresting.  A tour around town on a Sunday evening revealed a frightening number of businesses with Christian names (such as: Bible Automotive.  I’m not kidding.) and a dearth of business actually open to the public.  After eating Mexican food from a restaurant that clearly used to be a service station (the food wasn’t bad — Bobby Flay had apparently been there at one point), Natalie and I wound up at Baskin Robbins … along with half the town because, as I may have mentioned, there was nothing else open at 7 pm on a Sunday.

Then there was the unexplained psychedelic van (above) that I stopped to photograph on the way out of town.  And this place:

This place practices false advertising: there are no man’s for sale in the man’s shop.

My most recent trip ended a scant three hours ago with a flourish and flutter (literally: the woman sitting next to me apparently cramming for a medical school exam who had refused four requests to put away her book and notes for landing seemed surprised when it all flew up the aisle upon touchdown.  That’ll learn her).

We were over in El Paso, the one place in the state that, it is regularly agreed upon, we must fly to.  I’ve heard rumors that you can drive it in under eight hours now, with the speed limit on I-10 through west Texas now legally at 80 miles per hour, but I’m more happy to reduce it to an hour and twenty minutes on Southwest Airlines.

I have always liked going to El Paso — in fact, I’ve enjoyed all of our trips to the border area, both in West Texas and down in the Rio Grande Valley (for the uninitiated among you, even though technically El Paso is on the Rio Grande, the term “Rio Grande Valley” seems to only apply to the part between Laredo and Brownsville, on the Gulf of Mexico).  We usually get groups that are really energetic and happy to learn, and this was the case with our session yesterday.  One of the guys was so enthusiastic that he engaged me in conversation in the men’s room.  I am not a particular fan of the conversation-while-I-pee.  If you see me in the men’s room, please don’t strike up a conversation until I’m at the sink, OK?

It’s also saying something about the sort of people that Natalie and I are that we kept coming back to the five or so really negative evaluations we collected at the end of the day.  There were 68 people in the room–our largest audience ever.  The vibe was overwhelmingly positive, but we still kept coming back to those negative ones.  I think somehow we just need to validate that the criticism isn’t valid–we’ve gotten unenthusiastic comments before, but this time the people who didn’t like us really didn’t like us, and they weren’t shy about expressing it.

At the end of the day, though, this last trip was a good note to end the late summer training sessions on.  We had a new audience, and they seemed to be happy with what we were doing.  The people who invited us were effervescent.  And then it was off to have a nice drink in the historic Dome Bar in the lobby of our hotel, the historic Hotel Paso del Norte.

And now … I’m home.  Next up is a trip to a conference in San Juan, Puerto Rico toward the end of September.  Technically it’s work.  I just wonder if I can put sunscreen on my expense account :D

Cures and Diseases

Tuesday, August 18th, 2009

The doctor’s office is decorated in a style that is more reminiscent of the sitcom Newhart.  The wood trim is oak, highlighted with brass chrome.  The wallpaper is a narrow stripe pattern that alternates between midnight blue, brick red, and kelly green.  The seating is a beige sectional sofa that is low to the floor and impossible to sit upright in.  The entire waiting room has an overall feel that suggests that a mounted moose head wouldn’t be out of place hanging over the receptionist’s desk.

The receptionist herself is an ex-Marine.  I know this because the larger-than-life SUV that’s always in the parking lot has at least three lady Marine bumper stickers and, when you meet her, it’s pretty obvious that the car is hers.  She has a bedside manner that matches.   “I have a 9:30 appointmentdon’tshootmeSIRYESSIR!” is the way I usually want to check in.

As has been the case on my last three visits to this doctor, I am kept waiting for half an hour past my appointment time.  The entire rationale of my choosing the earliest possible appointment in the morning is so that this won’t happen, and I am rather unhappy about it.  I suppose there’s no reason that they need to be running around urgently, but I always find the extremely relaxed staff to be annoying.  Couldn’t you be taking me back and letting me wait in the exam room? I want to ask.

The upside of this tactic is that, once I’m in the exam room, the doctor always comes in immediately.  I suppose I should be happy about that: the magazine selection is better in the waiting room.

The doctor has no sense of humor.  Never has.  I’ve stopped trying.  He opens my file and starts going over my case.  “Well, let’s see,” he says.  “You had surgery five months ago now.”
“Yup.”
“Any discomfort?”
“Well, no, but the reason I’m here…”
“Let’s take a look.”

In a scene that would be funny were this a sitcom (or hot were this gay porn … and involving two other people), I am told to drop trou and assume the position on a table that would, it seems, be a welcome accessory in certain clubs that I’ve only ever heard about because of its ability to pretty much turn me on my head (while holding on for dear life).

I hear the snap of latex, all the while protesting, “The last time I was here, you said that I was already completely healed so I dunno if you really need toYARGHcould you warn me before you do thatGAHHfor god’s sake do you keep that metal scope in the freezer between uses??”

“There’s a bathroom through there if you’d like to wipe the lubricant off your backside,” he says, snapping off the latex and turning on the sink with his elbow.  I do so, realizing that I must have the same look on my face that the dog has whenever the vet brings her back to the exam room after going to “collect a sample.”  I kind of feel dirty and violated.

“So,” he says, “we still have some minor irritation to contend with.”
“Yes,” I say.  “That’s why I’m here — last time we tried a new prescription.”
“Yes, I see,” he says, finding the line item in my file.  “And how did that work for you?”
“It didn’t.”
He looks at me.  “You didn’t fill the prescription?”
“I did.  I think it made the problem worse.  It certainly didn’t make it better.”
“Well,” he says, and hems and haws for a while.  “There’s another one we could try.”
Yay.
“We’ve had some success with it.  There’s a catch, though.”
“A … catch.”
“Well, some patients have reported a burning sensation the first time they apply the compound.”
“Burning,” I say.
“In some cases, the patients have reported that it burns so badly that they have to wash it off immediately.  I’ve had a couple who’ve refused to use it after that.”
Blink blink.
“But let’s give this a try.”
“You know, the irritation is kind of minor…”
“Let’s schedule you in for three months from now and see how you’re doing.”

And then I’m back out on the street, $30 lighter (the Marine receptionist having given me a nasty look for not having a ten dollar bill on me), with a prescription in my hand for a compound that apparently causes a massive burning sensation.

I think my doctor must have been at Evil Medical School with Dougie.  :sigh:

 

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