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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: ‘opera’



Careful what you wish for

Thursday, February 26th, 2009

The other night, I had one of those “be careful what you wish for” moments. At this point, I suppose there’s no denying that I’m an Internet addict. I’m constantly checking my e-mail (when it works — which it hasn’t been lately — I can even get it on my phone), and whenever we pull into a hotel for the night, I pull out the laptop to see if there’s an Internet connection I can use somewhere. Preferably one I don’t have to pay for.

This recent trip to the Rio Grande Valley was no exception. The hotel in Edinburg was annoying–you actually had to plug your computer into an Ethernet cable. What Luddites!

When I got to Laredo, I was happy to see a wireless connection. I checked my e-mail and then made the usual round of the Web sites I check for updates on an obsessive basis: my blog stats, Facebook, and flickr. The blog stats were unimpressive (not terribly surprising, given that I hadn’t posted anything for a while). Facebook was full of the usual crap: friend requests I’m not sure I want to accept, invitations to events I don’t plan to go to (lately I’ve been invited to an inordinate number of things taking place–usually the next day–in Cairo), and invitations to accept pieces of flair, little fish for my pond, and other random things. (Note to Facebookers: I reject all of these. You can send them if you like, but don’t be insulted if I don’t send them back.)

When I got to flickr, however, there was an update. Two of my photos had been favorited! This makes me happy (for the un-flickr-initiated, that’s what happens when someone decides they really like one of your photos: they can tag it as one of their favorites, which means that they can then access it from their own account any time they want).

Then I saw who had done the favoriting.

I’m sorry to do the bad story teller thing here, but I’m not going to publicly identify the individual in question. I know for a fact that he trolls the Internet looking for people who mention him, the organization he works for, and the Web site that he runs, and I don’t want to do him the service of sending traffic his way, nor do I particularly want him or his minions reading my blog.

What I will tell you is that, in the field I work for, this guy is kind of in the Fred Phelps role. Since 9/11, he’s been one of a handful of neo-conservative nutjobs who’ve decided to use the atmosphere of paranoia, patriotism, and the general political climate of the Bush administration to go after academia. He’s one of those people who thinks that the best way to make sure that university students aren’t being indoctrinated by America-hating liberals is to mandate “balance” in the classroom through legislation. He’s even established an organization dedicated to “improving” my field of study by “restoring balance.” The fact that said organization has, in the five years it’s been operating, never once criticized anyone for being too supportive of his viewpoint (and, trust me, there are plenty of people out there who are) is, of course, completely irrelevant.

For a while, there, they managed to get people in Congress to listen. Among the many things they wanted to do was appoint a “supervisory committee” (which he and his friends expected to be appointed to run) that, when they proposed the idea, would have had the power to go through individual course syllabi and suggest revisions. When nearly every university that receives funding under the federal program in question basically told Congress that they’d rather not accept any more funding than accept such oversight — and, by the way, is this even Constitutional?–things went through various forms of revision until the entire committee idea was dropped altogether. Nowadays, of course, if anyone even brings up this little historical tidbit, it’s because we’re all “hysterical.”

So, I have to admit that when I saw that this particular individual had seen my flickr account and favorited a couple of my photos, my palms got sweaty. I immediately went to my profile. Dear God, I thought, what can he find out about me? Has he seen my blog?

I mentioned this to a couple of friends, and got some sympathetic noises, and I went to bed.

When I woke up in the morning, I did the internet obsession thing again … and then I noticed that, over the course of the night, he had un-favorited my photos.

And I was strangely insulted. So, what, are my photos not good enough for you? Are they too liberal? They’re good photos! Really. (OK, technically, they’re photos of photos hanging in a museum somewhere. Regardless, I did a lot of work touching them up.)

And then I came to the conclusion that I’ve always known was lurking just underneath the surface somewhere: I need help.

… happy Thursday?

‘Tis the Season

Tuesday, December 23rd, 2008

I know that friends from around the country will laugh at my admitted southern wimpdom at declaring the weather down here “cold,” but for us, it’s cold, dagnabbit:

IMG_8873

For the record, today is a bit colder.  Oddly, the weather widget I’m looking at says: “Today: High 59, Low 54.  Right now: 40.”  (In Celsius, that’s a high of 15, a low of 12, and it’s currently 6.)  Ech.  What do they know?

It’s also raining right now, which I’m feeling a bit conflicted about, because it hasn’t rained in so long, but I had plans to take the dog to the park today.  (Ray left to go home yesterday, so I’m on my own and a bit bored.  I’ve managed to sit through two of the Austin Powers movies so far, and it’s not even noon.)  She hates getting baths, and I don’t like giving her baths, so taking her to the park when it’s going to be a big mud puddle doesn’t strike me as a lot of fun!

So, instead I decided to bake cookies.  How domestic of me!  I’m not great with the baking, but these came out great:

IMG_8877

These are Chocolate Crinkle Cookies, which I’ve never made before.  However, Bev and I were driving home last week and NPR had this cookie lady on, who described these in a style of narration that I can really only describe as semi-pornographic.  At one point, Bev and I looked at each other and I said, “I’m starting to feel a little dirty listening to this!” and she laughed and said, “I know, right?”  The narration was a bit lascivious in tone, but memorable enough that when I realized that I was going to show up to the folks’ house empty-handed, I thought, hmm.  I wonder if I have all of the right ingredients in the house?  And, for once, I did!

I also think that after eating more than two of these, you might become diabetic.  They’re really sweet.

So, anyway.  It’s a quiet week, but I’m enjoying it right now.  For many, the holidays are a time of stress, but for me, I’m just going to sit here and be a lazy bum.  The weather is cooperating with that plan quite nicely :)

Happy holidays, y’all!

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.

12 of 12: September 2008 (the Hurricane Ike edition)

Saturday, September 13th, 2008

Welcome to the Very Special Hurricane Ike edition of 12 of 12!  Not to make fun of what looks like it’s going to be a very serious storm, but Ike has played into my day in more ways than one, as I’ll relate below.

3:45 am: Sadly, this is not a trick photo.  I began this 12th in Veracruz, Mexico:

I was in Mexico for a little over a week on business, beginning in Mexico City, then to the colonial city of Puebla, on to the town of Xalapa–capital of the state of Veracruz–and finally to the port city of Veracruz on the Gulf of Mexico.  The temperature moved from the 20s in Mexico City and Puebla, to the high 30s in Veracruz (where the humidity was about 8000%).

The stay in Veracruz was stressful, not least because of the heat, but mostly because of the conflicting reports we were getting about Hurricane Ike.  There is only one flight out of Veracruz to the US each day (it leaves at 6:50 am, hence the crack-of-way-before-dawn wakeup shown above), on Continental Airlines to Houston. At a meeting on Tuesday afternoon in Xalapa, it was brought to our attention that Ike was aiming for Houston and that a couple of people from the University that we were meeting with had either postponed or bumped up their travel to the US in order to avoid the hurricane.

On Wednesday evening, I spent 20 minutes on hold with Continental Airlines’ reservations number on Mexico City.  Our meeting in Veracruz had fallen through and we were ready, able, and willing to leave on the Thursday flight if there was space.  There wasn’t.  However, I was told that the storm was scheduled to hit Houston on Saturday morning and that the airline was planning normal ops on Friday, so we should have no problem getting home.

4:15 am: Double checking

On Thursday morning, thus liberated, we did a bit of sightseeing in Veracruz until we couldn’t stand the heat anymore and went back to our hotel.  I checked my e-mail (which was only available in the courtyard of the hotel, which was hotter than blue blazes), and then went to my room with the intention of participating in the time honored tradition of taking a siesta.  Before I could, however, Natalie knocked at my door, laptop in hand.  “The storm sped up,” she said.  “Continental is planning to shut down its operations in Houston at noon.”

Over the course of the afternoon, I spent 400 pesos (~$40) recharging my cell phone while we tried to call Continental in Mexico City, but by that point the number was constantly ringing busy.  I contacted a coworker in the office, who called the university travel agent, who reported back that the flight out of Veracruz was still scheduled to operate, but that our connecting flight to Austin was looking “iffy.”  We went through a number of scenarios, but the only one that involved getting home before Monday was a contingency rental car reservation waiting for us in Houston just in case.

By the evening, our connection was definitely cancelled, and Natalie called her friend Paola to ask her to call the travel agent and tell them to call us in Mexico.  Paola is from Buenos Aires, and you don’t argue with a portena.  We were rebooked on a 1 pm flight to Austin, which made us both nervous because Continental still had a big notice on its Web site declaring that it was probably going to shut down Houston at noon.

4:40 am: waiting for the airport to open

So, we left our hotel at 4:20 am and headed to Veracruz Airport, keeping our fingers crossed.  What would have been nice to know, however, is that the airport doesn’t open for business until at least 5 am.  We sat around in the lobby, waiting for the ticket agents to show up (and start working), then had to sit around again waiting for the security agents to show up … and start working.

7:17 am: Sunrise over the Gulf

The flight left on time, and, not having gotten a lot of sleep last night, I napped most of the way to Houston.  The flight was rather smooth given the large hurricane out in the Gulf, although it did get a little bumpy toward Houston.

8:40 am: There’s a hurricane out there …

It was sunny in Houston when we landed, although from the air the edges of the storm (as above) were clearly visible.

8:50 am: Ghost Town Airport

Houston airport was a ghost town, hardly the bustling place that it normally is on a Friday morning.  We managed to get through US Customs quickly, by which point the luggage from our flight had not only circulated but been pulled off the conveyor.  At the recheck point, I asked if there was a chance we might make an earlier flight to Austin, knowing there was one scheduled for 10:10.  To our delight, the agent was quite enthusiastic about getting us on the earlier flight, handed us our new boarding passes, re-tagged the luggage, and sent us on our way to the next security checkpoint.

9:33 am: Bad day to fly

10:24 am: Clouds move in

It had been clear when we landed from Veracruz, but an hour and a half later, the first bands of clouds have covered Houston, extending almost halfway to Austin.

10:59 am: Waiting for luggage

And so, earlier than we had originally hoped, we were back in Austin, and once again the luggage was circulating by the time we got to baggage claim.

12:09 pm: Did you miss me?

I have a feeling that the sandwich on my lap had something to do with this…

5:20 pm: Storm clouds

After … well, I’ll be honest: it wasn’t a power nap, so much as trying to make up for the few hours of sleep I got last night.  Ray and I went out to remove the light objects from the back yard so that they wouldn’t blow around if the hurricane came out way after making landfall in the middle of the night.

5:20 pm: My shadow

Mocha has been following me around since I got home.  I think she might have missed me ;)

We’re keeping our fingers crossed for friends in Houston and Galveston–it looks like it’s gonna be nasty.

Take Time to Smell the Java

Thursday, May 1st, 2008

Yet another friend from the bloggerverse has done the unthinkable: Brian is giving up coffee.  (Well, specifically, he’s giving up Starbucks, but that’s his main/only source of coffee at the moment so it pretty much works out the same.)

I’ve done this before — at the urging of my boss, who is something of an amateur medical … adviser guy … who had gone on at length (repeatedly) about how drinking caffeine dehydrates you, and it’s much healthier for you to not drink caffeine, yadda yadda yadda.

In point of fact, it’s not the caffeine that does the dehydrating – it’s the fact that lots of people get their caffeine in the form of overly sugared iced teas, sodas, and beverages both hot and cold that may contain some sort of coffee product, but are not actually coffee, all of which will dehydrate you.

I gave up the stuff and endured massive headaches for a week and a half, and then promptly went to the Middle East on a business trip, where coffee and/or tea brewed to the consistency of coffee is served at every meeting, refusing would be an insult, and decaf is an alien concept.  So much for decaffeinating.

However, it does bring to mind that I think we’re now missing the actual point of coffee.  Coffee was never meant to be served in a paper or styrofoam cup and slurped down hurriedly on the way between point A and point B.

Indeed, the ritual of serving coffee to guests, as I’ve experienced more than a few times in the Middle East, is a way of both welcoming them and making sure that they’re not going to run off and leave after just dawdling for a minute or two.  The serving of coffee is a way of saying, “Sit down and get comfortable, you’re going to be here for a while.”

At the court of Zanzibar, one of the most highly valued of the palace slaves was the coffee bearer. Princess Salme Seyyed recorded in her memoir:

Half an hour after the [meal] eunuchs handed round genuine Mocha in tiny cups resting on gold or silver saucers …The coffee is poured out immediately prior to consumption, which task requires such skill that only few servants are fitted for it.

The coffee-bearer carries the handsome pot, made of tin adorned with brass, in his left hand, while in his right he holds only a single small cup and saucer. Behind or next to him an assistant carries a tray with empty cups and a large reserve pot of coffee. If the company has dispersed, these men have to follow the various members, and insure their partaking of the delicious beverage.

How highly coffee is esteemed by the Orientals, everybody knows. The greatest care being bestowed upon its preparation, it is specially roasted, ground, and boiled whenever wanted, and therefore is always taken perfectly fresh. Roasted beans are never kept, nor boiled coffee, either, when in the least degree stale, being then thrown away or given to the lower servants….

In 1729, Johann Sebastian Bach wrote an entire Coffee Cantata.  At that time, not only was coffee a pleasure of the flesh, it was downright evil:

Schlendrian: “You wicked child, you disobedient girl!  When will I get my way?  Give up coffee!”

Lieschen: “Father, don’t be so severe! If I can’t drink my bowl of coffee three times daily, then in my torment I will shrivel up like a piece of roast goat.  [Aria] Mmm!  How sweet the coffee tastes, more delicious than a thousand kisses, mellower than muscatel wine.  Coffee, coffee I must have, and if someone wishes to give me a treat, ah, then pour me out some coffee!”

Schlendrian: “If you don’t give up drinking coffee then you shan’t go to any wedding feast, nor go out walking.  Oh!  When will I get my way?  Give up coffee!”

Lieschen: “Oh, well!  Just leave me my coffee!”

Schlendrian: “Now I’ve got the little minx! I won’t get you a whalebone skirt in the latest fashion.”

Lieschen: “I can easily live with that.”

Schlendrian: “You’re not to stand at the window and watch people pass by!”

Lieschen: “That as well, only I beg of you, leave me my coffee!”

How many people would do that for Starbucks, d’you think?

So, if you’re a slave to the bean like I am, take a moment the next time you have a cup in hand to savor it the way it was meant to be: for the sake of its own character and being. Not as something idly sipped while reading the funnies, the latest stupid forward from that annoying friend who can’t be bothered to send a personal message, or in the car on the way to work. There’s a long tradition behind you, and you wouldn’t want to break centuries of tradition, now would you?

Now, if you’ll excuse me, for some reason I hear a New Guinea dark roast calling my name … :wink:

 

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