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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: ‘heat’



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.

Summer’s End

Wednesday, August 26th, 2009

Summer officially ends today here on this esteemed campus of higher learning.  Never mind that today will likely be the 66th consecutive day of 100+ degree temperatures, and that we’re still in a massive drought.  Summer’s over when classes start.

Most years, it seems that I always have something to say about the massive influx of students.  There is something disarming about the arrival of 40,000 students on campus all at once (and believe you me, they all showed up over the weekend).  Our summer school numbers are pretty low here, something I’ve never quite understood since it’s an easy way to relieve that crowding over the rest of the year, but what do I know?

The Bible pushers weren’t out yet this morning when I came in.  You may recall them from a post several years ago in which I lamented my inability to throw out holy scripture that I didn’t want.  I’m sure I’ll see them this afternoon, unless their precious saved souls can’t quite deal with the heat.  That’d be funny.

When I got to my department this morning, I was surprised to find new fliers up everywhere.

We have this professor–I won’t name him because he actually googles himself on a daily basis (and given his narcissism, there’s at least three or four entendres at work in that statement)–who has declared himself the only expert in the bizarre dialect of a language that he teaches.  He’s declared his office the World Headquarters of studies in this particular language.

So, this morning, there are fliers up all over the place.  He’s running some bizarre contest, and god alone knows what the prize will be.  A copy of his most recent biography, I suppose.  (Seriously: he publishes these random books consisting of his journals through one of those “publish it yourself” vanity presses, like we all need to know what his opinion of the canapes at a restaurant that no longer exists is … )

I saw another professor on my way out yesterday.  We joke around the office that he taught Hebrew to Moses — seriously, the guy is almost 90 and still teaching.  I’ve thought to myself that I suppose that I’d like to be that active at his age.  (The other running joke is that he’s still teaching because he’s afraid that if he retires he’ll discover that, after all these years, he really doesn’t like his wife.)  We have come in on Monday mornings and noticed on the switchboard phone that the receiver in his office is off the hook and wondered to ourselves if he failed to hang up properly again, or if this is going to be the time that we key into his office and find him still in there …

He’s also massively grumpy at times, when it comes to things like only four students registered for his class and it’s going to be cancelled due to low enrollment.  This was yesterday’s drama, and he was complaining about it to everyone.  The problem there is that the person he needed to complain to wasn’t in the office, so the rest of it had to hear about it at some length.  He doesn’t talk very loudly or quickly, you see.

The kicker to all of the pre-semester faculty drama is that I had a meeting yesterday that included the faculty member who sent a particularly nasty message at the end of my trip to Cairo.  She was very nice and sweet and pretended like nothing ever happened.  I suppose that’s one way to deal with it, but … for god’s sake, if you’re going to be that bitchy, own it!  Don’t brush it under the rug.  Seriously, does no one understand the finer points of bitchcraft?

At any rate.  I need to go see how we’re doing on the office pool: the first day of classes we always have a pool to guess what time the first panicked student will arrive freaking out because he/she couldn’t get into the class he/she wanted.  Never mind that registration is over and that we’ve been here all summer long — there’s always a handful of them.  I picked 8:45.

I hope your summer is ending smoothly :)

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.

Here, there, everywhere

Friday, July 3rd, 2009

I’m currently sitting in seat 5B on an AnadoluJet flight from Ankara to Sanli Urfa in the southeast part of Turkey.  We’ve been moving rather quickly these past couple of days — while we were sitting in the airport in Antalya, from whence we departed just a couple of hours ago, we had to take a moment to reflect on the fact that we have been in the country all of three days.  It feels like we’ve been here much longer.

In all honesty, this program has gone much better than I had let myself hope.  The organization that I’m working with is somewhat legendary for packing the itineraries on these trips so full that at least half of the participants wind up having to sit out a day or two due to illness incurred from lack of sleep.  Hence, I’m rather pleased that it does appear that they listened to my pleas not to overschedule the program, even if at first glance it may not have appeared as such.

When last I checked in, I was on an early morning flight to Izmir, Turkey’s third largest city.  I’ve never actually been to Izmir, and that, unfortunately, didn’t really change this time either.  We were met at Adnan Menderes airport and boarded a bus from which we went directly to the Greco-Roman city of Ephesus, an hour south.

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This was the group photo that we took that somehow I never wound up actually being in.  (“Hang on, I’m going to use my timer … where are you all going?”)  Oh, well.

There are, for the record, a lot more photos on my Flickr account.  As I’m doing most of my blogging offline, it’s very difficult for me to link to them from here, but check them out, OK?

Where was I?  Ephesus.  It’s a large old city, and I’ve been there before.  Still looks old.  The new attractions this time around were that the very large amphitheater was open (last time it was closed), although I walked in, took one look, and realized that I would have given myself heatstroke walking up to the top.  Instead, I discovered the other new attraction: Royal Caribbean and Celebrity Cruises pay local people to dress up like Romans and act out cheese-tastic skits for their passengers coming in from the nearby port of Kusadasi.

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This appeared to be a swordfighting match – it was kind of hard to tell, since the two fighters just yelled a lot a la Conan the Barbarian.  I guess that’s what you have to do with such a multilingual crowd.

After Ephesus, we went up the hill to the Meryamane Evi, the house where it is reputed where the Virgin Mary lived her last years in this earthy existence.  Most of you probably do not recall (as I don’t think I blogged it at the time), but the last time I was at Meryamane, one of the people in my group pitched a complete and utter fit in the parking lot because one of the interpretive signs at the site said that Mary lived there “until she died.”  As good Catholics know (and this woman was a better Catholic than you, and wanted everyone to know it) Mary did not die — she fell asleep and was lifted into heaven by angels.  The fact that she had earlier sneered that Eastern Orthodoxy was still full of superstitious beliefs that had been removed from Catholicism was an irony lost only on her.

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Anyway, as pieces of real estate went, Mary had a pretty nice one.  It’s set on a hilltop just outside where the walls of the city of Ephesus would have been located amongst the fir trees and pleasant flowering vines, and it catches a nice sea breeze coming in off of the Aegean Sea.  I should be so lucky.

Then came the visit to the pottery factory.  I’m always resistant to these sorts of “quick visits to a local factory” because they inevitably turn into sales pitches, but it wasn’t bad as these things go … and it turns out that membership has its privileges.  She knew the group we were with and offered us a 50% discount on the spot.  Unfortunately, that means that most of it was still out of my price range, but …

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Purdy, ain’t it?

After that, lunch at a ranch … that turned out to just be a ranch.  No actual house there — we thought we had been invited to someone’s home for lunch, and that turned out not to be the case.  They did, however, have a random yurt in the yard, which got us going on at length about words that are fun to say — “yurt” being one of them.

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Yurt!

So, after the yurt excursion, we did a double-shot in Selcuk to the site of the Basilica of St. John and the so-called Jesus Mosque.  The problem with the first is that they don’t actually know who St. John was — they’re not sure if it’s the Apostle, the one who wrote the Gospels, the one who wrote Revelation, or a completely different John.

It’s a prettier site than I remembered, though:

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Next door is the mosque of Isabey.  Isa is the Islamic name of Jesus, but despite the fact that everyone said it was the Jesus mosque, it turns out that it was named for some guy who lived in the thirteenth century named — you guessed it, Isabey.  Close, but no cigar.

After that was our first visit to a school on this trip, which was interesting.  As of now, we’ve had three with a fourth pending.

Shortly after the school visit, it was back to Adnan Menderes airport for a flight to Antalya that arrived at 11:30 pm.  Exhausted,we trundled off to the Marmara Hotel, which turned out to be a five star deluxe on the coast (not to be confused with “the beach”).  But when your coast looks like this, who cares?

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The day was fraught with various ventures: morning visit to the Antalya Museum, followed by lunch at a local school, followed by a walking tour of old Antalya that lasted for three whole blocks.  Again, when the blocks look like this, who am I to complain?

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This was followed by the inevitable shopping excursion to a carpet store.  The guide was very sneaky on that front — after consulting with our hosts, the four of us had unanimously decided that there would be no carpet shopping.  Then prayer time came and the three of them went into a nearby mosque to pray …and so the tour guide suggested that a nice place to wait for them might be the carpet shop.  Ha ha!  I went into the mosque and sat in the air conditioning instead.  If I buy a carpet — and that’s a big if — I’ll do it in Istanbul at the end.  I’m flirting with overweight luggage flying domestically in Turkey and I don’t need that weighing on my conscious.

I’m going to wrap up this narrative here.  At the moment it’s half past midnight in Sanliurfa (see map), and although I’m wide awake, balancing a hot laptop on my stomach isn’t the best thing to do to get ready for bed.  More later …

White Boy’s Burden

Monday, June 15th, 2009

I have a painful sunburn on my shoulders, upper back, and upper arms.  I can literally feel the heat radiating off.

Curse my mother’s Teutonic genes!!

:(

 

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