Liquid/LC100

Marwan Is Dead.

2007-06-04T13:57:00.000-07:00

That is all.

This blog will self destruct in 30 days.

Ripped from my Chrysalis

2007-01-08T02:27:00.000-08:00

The long hibernation is drawing to a close.

After seven long, unfulfilling years as first mate, I'm stepping down, quitting the ship that I helped build. Nary a tear in the office as I depart, but sometimes gratitude - however fleeting the sentiment - is too much to expect. No matter. Media degree in hand, I'm stepping out, raw pink, into the job market to offer myself up to the encircling sharks of this, my adopted land.

Writing my CV now - but how does one enscapsulate seven years? Not the slightest bit of media experience which a prospective employer might be interested, but goddamn if I haven't done everything else. It's almost hard to remember it all. Just think of every job that can be done in a trading company, and you'd have my unwritten-CV in a nutshell.

Office boy? Check. Did accounts for two years. Management? Check, ran the business alone on several occasions, and this year I finally achieved my dream of running a stall at GITEX solo. (Which based on my comprehensive reports, turned into a bit of a nightmare but oh well..)
Ran techical support throughout - I can safely say I'm one of the best troubleshooters in Dubai, and peerless when it comes to fixing older systems (which is oh-so-useful these days, one supposes).

Ability to work under pressure? We used to build a hundred systems in Jebel Ali for shipment the next day. Doesn't seem impressive? Let me make that live for you. The previous evening, my team would ship in all the raw components, and arrange them under my assembly line procedures, designating each builder an area of responsibility. The next day, we worked from dawn till dusk, hammering and screwing together computers till our fingers bled (not an exaggeration). But that wasn't the end of it - all the PCs had to be packed, sealed, marked and transported to the warehouse. Which for the two people was often quite the job. And of course, the next day, we had to haul the stuff out of the warehouse and into the hot sweaty container - along with ooh, the six hundred or so other boxes which made up a typical shipment.

All this is in addition to finding the time to go to Melbourne and finishing my degree in Media and Communications.

But how much is relevant to the PR/Advertising/Marketing/Car Magazine that I'd like to join? Precious little, one suspects. They want people who've been in the industry and understand the way that it works, not somebody coming from a totally different background with utterly no experience.

It's a hurdle I have no choice but to overcome.

Ends And Odds+ GITEX aka A Very Special Episode, Day Seven Of Seven.

2006-12-11T14:10:00.000-08:00

By now, I guess most of you have realised that that I put quite literally, no thought into these posts. Despite this painstaking attention to carelessness, occasionally a few things left undone, and such is it with my last couple of posts. To wit:

Re: crabby birthday blues: suffering from bouts of OCD and depression. And I don't use the word 'suffering' as lightly as do some expats; this isn't a disease or an illness where you either conk or one day, the clouds magically part in your hospital window and all is well. This is your own mind methodically constructing a prison using jagged shards of memory and paranoia as cement.

The last day of GITEX, was an absolute, unmitigated tsunami of customers. What I thought were heavy crowds on every day prior, equated to the toilet line on Friday. Jesus, Mary and That Other stoner-looking Dude from Arramatiah, that was some lineup. The aisles became a mosh pit. Conversely, we had so many extra staff on the inside of the stall that I was forced on the out, trying to grab the attention of stray passerbys.

Bottom line, we had really good sales. And then - nothing. Everybody vanished. But no matter, for that brief, halcyon moment, we had sales so tremendous it almost made the shitty thing worthwhile.

After the blitz subsided, I toured the stalls to see if there were any of those famous last minute deals. You betcha. Eager to avoid carting stock to showrooms, many dealers were chopping hundreds off their margin to raise cash. One even went so far as to stage a mock auction for notebooks, although one suspects they had quite a few ringers in the crowd to make sure they didnt lose too much - if at all.

In the central spot between the halls, one bunch was still persisting with 'karaoke' (make air quotes please, that was not singing) while the other hall, filled with teenage salespeople, had become Bluetooth Date Central.

What of God? I don't know - halfway through the evening, she disappeared, never to return. I had found my courage, too late. No matter. I've seen that face for nearly a decade, and I'm pretty sure I'll see it again. But what I have learnt from the whole debacle is that I'm still not anywhere near ready for a relationship with a real, three dimensional human being. A lot of that is maybe because I try to out think women, to predict their next move. to treat their emotions like revs on a tacho, that start in one place and proceed up to a fix. But that ain't how women are, and I need to start to ascribing to them the complexity with which I purport to credit myself.

PS: I had originally planned to publish a gallery of photographs I took during the exhibition, detailing many of the absurdities which accompany something as gonzo as GITEX. After much thought, I decided against it - there are people in those images who were neither aware they were being photographed, nor would they have been likely to consent to such a recording. So, so much for that.

Yay, Another Birthday

2006-12-09T23:55:00.000-08:00

What a wretched day it was, twenty six years ago, the day that I was born.

GITEX Aka What's Love Got To Do, Got To Do With IT? Day Six of Seven.

2006-11-23T15:02:00.000-08:00

La Commedia Finale, as they say (when badly Babelfish translated). Just 24 hours to go and then I'll be done, forever and ever, with this GITEX and the entire friggin IT industry.

An uneven day. Sales were flatline by midday, but suddenly stormed back into contention by evening. By 4pm we had covered, in half a day, all of yesterday's gross. With customers flooding the place, I sent all our guys out for the quickest of lunches so we could be ready for the expected Thursday rush, which every stall had been nattering on about since the beginning.

But ma cherie, it was not to be. Over the next four hours we sold sweet fuck all. Barely a couple of grand even, and despite lots of movement hardly any inquiries. I, for reasons best left unexplained, had less than four hours of sleep last night, so till evening I was woozy as all hell. Every couple of hours I had to sneak out to the van to take some powernaps. Not that they did any good, but it was either that or fall asleep on the counter.

So we were looking forward to 9 0'clock then. Jesus, colour us surprised then, when the organisers walk up and tell us the show has been extended to midnight by popular demand. An extra three hours. Would it be the straw that broke the camel's back?

Would it, bollocks. From nine to eleven thirty we had barely *four* customers. I'm not proud to admit it, but there you go. What the heck happened? In search of answers, I moseyed down to Hall 1, and discovered a partial explanation. As it turns out, there is no exit from the expo except through Hall 2. However, the customers don't know that, and without knowing that there are two Halls, complete their shopping and try to leave, only to be directed through our butt end of nowhere.

So, all the customers we get have already done all their shopping and just want to leave. Brilliant, Trade Centre. Mind you, what should we expect from them - these guys didn't even announce the extension, so our hall was quiet as a coffin by ten thirty. Not so with Hall one, where customers were still shuffling around, picking up stuff. Gee, I'm not bitter or anything, at all.

Same deal tomorrow, as well: 3pm till midnight. Unfortunately, there's a pretty good chance that it will be a full house all the way tomorrow, so I'd better get some sleep. But not before...

Our GOD update: Well, shit. I finally made with the friendly with one of the stall lackeys. Who confirmed pretty much none of my suspicions. She's just one more hired hand, and a young one at that - 21, for pete's sake. Couldn't find out if she's really married or not, but she was moseying up real friendly like to one of the other stall hands - this real slick, oily haired grease ball. Well, at least that's the way I see him right now, who knows what he's really like.

So maybe all this time I had a shot, and I never took it because I was too tied up in old memories. They say you learn from past failures to avoid future pitfalls, but what the hell happens when all you do is live in the past, paralysed to take any action in fear of failure? What the hell becomes of you then?

Maybe it just means I'm finally growing up, ten years too late. Or that perhaps I should take a sledgehammer to this eggshell I've erected around my ego. Either way, something has to be done.

Because doing nothing is no longer an option.

GITEX Aka The Straight Story: Days Four through Five of Seven

2006-11-22T15:44:00.000-08:00

No, I didn't forget to write yesterday, but not a lot happened really, and I'm trying to avoid repeating myself.

Needless to say, today more than made up for it. Let's get the heavy stuff out of the way first.

First off, I made the huge mistake of abandoning my absolutely awesome parking space *right next to the entrance* in the exhibitor car park to go back to the shop and restock. Bad enough that it took one and half hours to make the round trip, but on my return a car space couldn't be had for love or money.

What incredibly shortsighted planning by the organisers, who have three huge car parks but close one off to VIPs, who never seem to show up, leaving what must be at least thousands of visitors scrounging around for a space. You want to have a cheap laugh, wander around the car park with your remote and hide in a suitable location, then whack the unlock key. Chortle with amusement as the hapless shoppers double up by your car and desperately crane their necks looking for an approaching driver. One doesn't even need to be that covert - just walk around with your keys out and prepare to be everyone's best friend.

But back to my story. Rather than circling near the entrance end of the car park like the everyone else, I decided to go in the hinterland of the other end.
Now, I'll try to relate this as fairly as possible - but pardon me if some anger creeps in.

From the outer circle, I had just turned into one of the empty inner lanes. Dawdling along in my van in second gear, the nose of a Merc appeared from behind a large van. I surged up to him, put my indicator on and waited patiently till he left to park. This is really important to know - I didn't see anyone else around. Job well done, I dismounted my really quite filthy van and turned in the direction of the exhibition center, when a white Infiniti FX35 with a tricksy looking plate and a fat VIP badge hauls up. Cue tinted window dropping, and two locals inside. The driver beckons to me.
Figuring he needs some directions or something, I walk up.
"How you came here?", he asks. Huh? I drove here from the entrance. Nonplussed, he keeps repeating the question, and I keep repeating the answer.
"You cannot come this way." What? How? I had no idea what he was talking about. He insists that I "explain how I got here."
Now, you should know, this was 3:30 in the afternoon and the sun was against me when I turned into this lane. As I turned around to see the way I came, it became obvious that I turned the wrong way down a one way lane.
Ah, Ok, I agreed. Looks like I goofed. I explained I couldn't see the faded arrows on the road in the reddish afternoon light. By this point, I was wondering who this fellow was. Copper? Nah, all of them were on the main road. CID? Here? Policing traffic? He had some sort of exhibitor badge on but I couldn't read what it said.
But he was adamant that I had made a mistake. And what's more - and here's the fucking kicker - he insisted that I remove my car from the slot as penalty. Oooh, but insisting would be a nice way of putting it. What actually happened is that he waved his finger, turned his face away and said - as you would to a dog - 'Remove your car."
Remove your car. He repeats again, in a tone that suggests he is not used to being disobeyed. He adds he was waiting in the lane for a long time - even though I never saw him - and he was saving the spot for a "friend".

Here's where intelligent Marwan and coward Marwan separate. Intelligent Marwan thinks, well, he's not a cop. It's his word against mine that I broke any rules. No witnesses. And even if I did travel the wrong way up a one way street, that hardly entitles him to my hard earned parking spot.

Ah, but coward Marwan squeaks, you have no wasta. That's a lowish plate. If he wants to start trouble, not hard for you to be the loser. And you look like a driver, not the owner of a stall. Not that that should be a crime - I'm out here doing a job like everyone else. But if he wants the spot - give it to him. That's how things work out here.

I honestly don't remember what I said next. I tried reasoning with him but to no avail. To him, I was no more than an insect. So what does one do?

I gave it to him. I pulled out and drove off. Because that's the way things work out here. Because the colour of my skin does not entitle me to a rejoinder. Maybe I don't even blame him - bullies are used to being listened to, and I capitulated like a right fairy. I think I am ashamed of myself more than anything else - ashamed of not standing up for my rights as a person, ashamed of the colour of my skin, ashamed of the way things work out here.

You know what, fuck it, there ain't anything else left to say about today. It was that shitty a day.

* GOD Updates: Christ, can I get away from this woman? Look, I'm honestly doing my best to avoid her. For the love of pete, her booth is on the opposite side of the stall from mine. And I'm usually looking the other way anyhoo. But heavens to Murgatroyd, everytime I turn my head there she is. Either she's parked at the back of her stall looking in my direction, or she's taking a break and walking past my area.

Goddamn my nerd genes. What's more, I've just realised something. Whenever she looks in my direction, I instinctively jerk my head away so there can't be any eye contact. Ok, I know why I do that, but way to go Marwan - that doesn't look suspicious or pervy at all! Aack. Fuckity Fuck Fuck. I feel like I am in a rapidly contracting Iron Maiden of my own creation. I know nothing at all about this girl, who she is, what she does, or if she even notices my bald ass at all and yet I find myself trying to hide from her at every oppurtunity.

Which wouldn't be that hard, you'd think, in a freaking EXHIBITION HALL. But nope. It's like crush zen radar - everywhere I look my eyes seem to find her. I go to my van to get stock, there she is parked on the curb talking to her friend from ShDG. Walk out of the stall to look for laptops, turn around, and she's fucking right behind me. No jokes, my heart musta moved a couple of centimeters out of place.

You're a fucking idiot, Marwan, and you're too old for this adolescent shit. If you could deal - or at the very least, communicate - with all those girlfriends before, then what is so fucking hard about this one anonymous girl? Is it that I'm just intimidated by how beautiful she is? In five days, I've never even been close enough to hear her speak.

For fucks sake, says my tired cynical half, do something or shut up already. Yeah, what, Trigger, says suddenly-sarcastic sappy romantic remainder. Open lips and let tongue do the walking, says cynic.
But what if it's the wrong thing? worries Cyrano De Marwan.

It's never the right thing. All you can be is yourself.

But what if myself isn't what good enough?

Well, then maybe it wasn't supposed to work out. But you gotta take a risk.

But she's married!

You don't know that for sure. Where's the husband? No phone calls. No overt signs of an other.

Left Freaking Hand, Genius! Hard to fuck up that analysis.

Heyyy...aren't I supposed to be the mean bastard?

Uhh, oh yeah. Anyhoo, what do I do?

T-A-L-K to her.

Easy for you to say.

Loser. Confidence is for winners.

Yeah and based on today's parking special episode, I've got real podium potential, don't I?

There you go again with the negativity.

Fuck it, nigger. Romance is dead.

GITEX aka I Wanna Be Sedated: Day Three of Seven

2006-11-20T12:29:00.000-08:00

Marwan has a splitting fucking headache today from being exposed to 11 ELEVEN - hours of bass from the JVC car stereo truck. Not to mention everyone else who wanted to show off their fart cannon subwoofers. So there will be no update today, besides the following:

The pressure is ramping up quickly- and we were caught understaffed. Unrelenting waves of customers from 11AM to closing time are starting to take their toll.
Saw a young girl (pre adolescent) in a 'Sexy - Hot - Available' T-shirt. Sigh. The decline of humanity is surely underway.
Locals still leading the pack as educated consumers. Indian expats are conspicuous in their absence. I can only assume it's because money is tight.
Watching people play Guitar Hero isn't as fun as one might think. It's like being lightly paddled on the soles of your feet.
Speaking of basic torture, no God updates. I think my imagination is starting to play up, because I almost swore I saw her looking at me.

Man, I really need to get over that girl.

GITEX: Aka Nigger, We Just Getting Started Up In Here, Day Two of Seven.

2006-11-19T14:05:00.000-08:00

A day of highs and lows.

The morning was so utterly dull I was considering packing in the whole enterprise. From 11AM to 4PM, there wasn't a person walking around who wasn't dangling an exhibitor badge from their lapel. It's only to be expected, I guess. Today is a working day, after all. But goddamnit, aren't there supposed to be overseas visitors?

Words simply can't express how dire things were. Nearly five hours of standing around without a single sale can wear down a soul mighty quick. Sure enough, most of my guys were soon either entrenched at the cafeteria or wandering around in search of things to do.

It did afford me time for more of my Patented Marwan Scrutiny (PMS for all you acronym fans):

Exhibitors will do just about anything to stave off boredom. Newspapers, menus, address books - everything and anything makes good reading matter.
How do these kids do it? I'm fagged out and haggard after a mere two days, but these tousled Archies and Veronics turn up every day looking like they swished off a fashion ramp. It's not just the morning either - evening arrives and they're still putting the Energizer bunny to shame while I'm slumped over my printers looking for all the world like the lost piece from Cluedo.
Not much time to look at GOD today, thankfully. Fuck me, I need to find some goldarn closure soon or I'm going to be saddled with this for all eternity. Although heaven knows what this poor girl is thinking with me staring away at her all day.

Which brings me neatly to post 4PM and the start of the evening rush. Who should turn up to sample Guitar Hero at the neighbouring stall but a white lass from i-Mate, with unseasonably good legs and a reasonable bum to boot. Pity her face wasn't anything to write home about.

For some reason, though, the fact that a white girl was playing Guitar Hero seemed to draw a crowd. Of mostly Arab and Indian Expats. I struggle to think of a time when I have been less impressed with my fellow man. Are we so shallow that we will stare at anything in a skirt? Being uber-geek that I am, I was more interested in the killer scores she was racking up in GH. Probably the only one though.

You have no idea how annoying it is that you can't bring your own food in. The sole cafeteria, as I've mentioned earlier, is ridiculously overpriced and mightily limited in seating. Ah, you say, but why not pop out for a bite?

That brings me neatly to my next point - Airport Expo has shit all for parking. Oh sure, morning is fine when the exhibitors rock up, but by nightfall it's a mess of practically Global Village proportions. Get on it, DWTC - it does nothing for your image when traffic cops are forced to direct the frustrated shoppers.

Speaking of frustrations, it burns that all the good, frontal space is taken by the big boys. They've used so much real estate for useless displays, most of which have little to no connection with the computing world. While here we are with honest-to-goodness compy goodness and nobody knows where the hell we are, situated so expertly as we are next to the toilets. Kentia Hall, your Middle Eastern twin is East Hall, Airport Expo.

That's all she wrote for today. Things are looking grim, boys and girls. We started off salespeople - but now we're just plain old hustlers. Pretty soon we'll be down to grifting.

GITEX: Aka Purgatory. Day One Of Seven.

2006-11-18T13:07:00.000-08:00

Will do my best to keep this current, but you gotta know, running a stall is tricky y'all.

Debated whether to put up pictures from the show, but am erring on the side of caution. People turn up in the shot wherever you look.

10AM: Exhibitors milling about. Most stalls still unfinished. We're finishing up ours up; now it's a process of weeding out all the little things we forgotten. Pens, big shortage. Same goes for pricing sheets. Sent driver back to get these, plus miscellaneous stock.

11AM: Show starts! And...nothing. No noise, nothing at all to signify GITEX is underway. Early crowds are disappointing, to say the least. No sales yet.

11:15AM: Whoops, spoke too soon. GITEX organisers buy a printer off us. But they won't pay for it till evening. Doh!

12PM: Customers still thin on the ground, but getting lots of enquiries now. Funnily enough, locals seem the most knowledgeable about their purchases; it's the expats who bombard you with pointless interrogation and wear you out.

1PM: Three hours on my feet and blisters are starting to make their entrance. But no chance of a reprieve - there's just two stools in our stall. One's used by the accountant and the other must be shared among five people. I let the helper take it, he's running around like a blue arsed fly.

2PM: Shortages! Everyone seems to want the same product at the same time, so now we're out of portable HDDs. Big ticket stuff like LCDs are absolutely stuck, but little crap like speakers and mid range VGA cards are shifting well.
I'm really tired by now. Breakfast was a single Spinneys cookie. We're right next to the sole cafe, but everything is really, really overpriced - 5Dhs for a undersized can of Miranda!
Necessity being the mother of invention and all that, I send the staff out to eat lunch in our van at staggered intervals. It's crappy restaurant fare - rice and God knows what for curry - but it'll have to do. I save myself for last because I have to handle the till while the accountant dude goes for his lunch.

3PM: Accountant still not back from lunch. My ankles are on fire, but I get no respite from the customers. My expensive items are still selling crappily, but overall sales are up. That little nugget keeps me going ever so slightly.
Personal note sidetrack: The stall opposite sells videogames. Without giving too much away - think 'KG' upside down.
Anyway, the demo guy is banging away at Guitar Hero. One wonders how bright an idea this was - put FIFA '07 on display and I guarantee boffo sales from locals, but how many expats do you know here who want to RAAWWWK? Don't really see a lot of locals doing the karaoke shuffle to Nazareth and Black Sabbath. Doesn't stop me instantly wanting a PS2 and Guitar Hero though...
But the chick. Oh lordy lord, the chick. She's selling PSPs on the other side, and she is the spitting fuckin' image of the first girl I ever fell in love with. Now, let's pause for reflection here. Here I am, busting my ass trying to move boxes. And right opposite is the figurative, literal, living breathing girl of my dreams. And she'll be there for one whole week.

Jesus H Christ.

Concentrate, Laddy. And hope she bops over to the other side, out of sight, or I'll be so addled I'll be giving shit away for free.

4PM: WHERE THE FUCK IS MY ACCOUNTANT? I haven't eaten a damn thing, and the feet are jonesying for an impeachment. Haven't even had a chance to walk around, such is the general rush. At least Girl Of Dreams (GOD) isn't on my side anymore, going back to her area on the opposite side. Not that I haven't been making plans.
Man, I'm rusty at this shit. What do I say? Do I pretend to be making inquiries? Or should I be bold and ask her out for a cup of coffee? Crap, getting turned down would be bad because it's only like the first frikking day. And does it in any way constitute sexual harassment?

5PM: Dad turns up with Free Mind in tow. The rush is dying off a bit, but now I'm no longer hungry. Neither is my accountant, the garrulous sod. So I decide to tough it out for a bit longer.
Some general notes: We are one of literally a handful of shops. Virtually all the space is taken up by the giant chains like Plugins or Jumbo. The trouble is, they all seem to be selling the same consumer level pap, so they are cannabalizing each other's sales. So we, who sell only computer stuff - which, you know used to be the point - are carving out a little niche. Only a teeny one mind you, but it's there. It helps that we know our products well enough to be able to explain them, which is more than I can say for the big chains and their hordes of untrained, rushed-in-service sales staff.
Speaking of sales staff, a great deal appear to be college age youngsters. You can easily spot the go getters from the dullards - they're the ones who aren't afraid to run up to people and talk to them. But man, where are these kids coming from? I haven't seen so much youth since, since - well, since I was in college nearly ten years ago.
GOD update: Sent Free Mind on a perilous mission to find out what her name tag says. He returns with cloudy tidings: 'Sales Executive'. Hmm. Unimaginative parents, what.

6-7PM: Another rush. Don't need food, need a fucking foot bath, stat!
I've got ten minutes off. Should I go to GOD and try to strike up a conversation? People, I'm a geek, not a lothario. This shit don't come easy to me. Aw, hell, had to make a go.
Sidle up to the stand. Nearly there. Jesus, she's taller than me. That's fine by me - no short ones please! But no opening. I'm just about to ask her for a PSP price, but am intercepted by her compadre. Godamnit - now I have to make small talk with him instead. Five fruitless minutes later, I return to my stand and my own personal hell.

7-8PM: Steady flow of customers now. At least none of that usual last minute crap, which is really wearing at the end of a long day, lemme tell ya. After the initial uncertainty, my stand is now operating like a well oiled er, um, thingy, I guess. Calling it a machine would still be a sizeable insult to any mechanised device.
GOD, GOD, what to do? Thinking about her has, I admit, alleviated some of the tedium of standing in the same spot for hours on end spitting out the same prices. But I can't do that for seven days! Need to come up with a plan....
Just as one isn't coming together, Free Mind's eagle eyes spot the bad news: she's got The Rock. Ouch, ouchy ouchy. Heart breaks in a million razor edged fragments, etc.
I think I need to sit down.

9:45: For fuck's sake, this was supposed to end at 9! GOD and her crew are covering up but we're still getting a few stragglers. I'm tempted to call it a day anyway.

10:15: Done and done. Day 1 is done, y'all! Next one won't be so long, because frankly, I don't anticipate anything significant. After all, what can top meeting GOD and losing her in the space of a single day?

Well, nothing I hope. Gotta drop Free Mind and the staff, go back to the office and do the accounts, find some darn food - I've still only had a cookie all day - and write this stupid entry.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

2006-11-09T04:51:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow, I leave Australia for good. Arriving back in Dubai to do another long stretch of three to four years. Gotta get a proper job, and other things.

Strange, to not have any feelings about leaving Oz. What an empty place, at least by my reckoning.

More when I get in.

Car Insurance claims from around the world

2006-11-08T09:51:00.000-08:00

Courtesy Top Gear Magazine.

Ireland:
In Tipperary one driver made claims on Dec 20 for a record eight years in a row. Explanations included, 'a duck', 'miscounted corners', 'another duck', 'a young lady who without braking I was attempting to photograph (see enclosed)'.

UK:
'Being told my mother-in-law would be staying another night caused me to brake violently.'
'I pulled away from the side of the road, glanced at my mother-in-law and headed over the embankment.'
One man claimed half a biro, which he'd used to take notes after an accident. The payout? A meagre 18p.

Germany:
A Dusseldorf man said 10 prostitutes set upon his car with fists and stilettos but could not say why.

Australia (the best ones):
'A Koala bear had entered the car and taken the brake off.'
'A bogong moth plague swooped down on the Mitsy (Mitsubishi) so I was doing figure of eights'.
'A pygmy possum in the glovebox caused my wife to scream and the noise gave me a stroke.'
'We gave a fairy penguin a lift and it became aggressive.'
'I was driving along when I saw two kangaroos copulating in the road, causing me to crash. I then evacuated through the sunroof.'

Quotations, by Marwan

2006-11-06T21:46:00.000-08:00

This post will be a a thought clearing house, like a blog pensieve.

Everyone wants to lead, if only someone would follow.
Failure is a prostitute on her knees before you - and she always swallows.

Choice Selections

2006-10-31T20:16:00.000-08:00

From the wikipedia entry on South Africa in the apartheid era:

"Sex and marriage between the races was prohibited. "

"Eligibility for a passport had, in any case, been difficult. A passport was a privilege, not a right, and the government saw fit not to grant many applications by blacks."

"...lack of opportunities for the races to mix in a social setting entrenched social distance between people."

"Proponents of apartheid argued that once apartheid had been implemented, blacks would no longer be citizens of South Africa; rather, they would become citizens of the independent "homelands". In terms of this model, blacks became (foreign) "guest labourers" who merely worked in South Africa as the holders of temporary work permits."

"While other countries were dismantling discriminatory legislation and becoming more liberal on issues of race, South Africa was continuing to construct a labyrinth of racial legislation."

"During the 1960s, 1970s and early 1980s, the government implemented a policy of 'resettlement', to force people to move to their designated 'group areas'."

"Chinese South Africans who were descendents of migrant workers who came to work in the gold mines around Johannesburg in the late 19th century, were usually classified as 'Indian' and hence 'non-white', whereas immigrants from Taiwan and Japan, with which South Africa maintained diplomatic relations, were considered 'honorary white', and thus granted the same privileges as whites. It should be noted that "Non-Whites" including Blacks were sometimes granted an 'honorary white' status as well, based on the government's belief that they were "civilised" and possessed western values."

" Punt Janson, the Deputy Minister of Bantu Education, was quoted as saying: "I have not consulted the African people on the language issue and I'm not going to. An African might find that 'the big boss' spoke only Afrikaans or spoke only English. It would be to his advantage to know both languages.""

My Silent Friends

2006-10-28T20:49:00.000-07:00

Aka, the people who visit this blog. I installed SiteMeter on a lark, but it's proved surprisingly interesting to discover who reads my occasional ramblings. The vast majority are from Dubai, of course, but let's have a lookie at some of the others:

Sydney, Australia - I know who that is!
Sunnybank, Queensland - population, 7325. Wow, that's kinda cool that a small town like that reads about stuff in Dubai, even if it was only for 41 seconds.
New York! Awesome. One day I will live there.
Billingham, Stockton-on-Tees. Birthplace of Tony Scott, when it's not bullying Sunnybank with its 80k+ residents.
Rishon LeZiyyon, Israel. Are Israelis allowed to visit UAE blogs?
Albertslund, Denmark. My masterminding of the cartoon riots from my secret Scandinavian fortress is revealed at last.
Birmingham, Alabama. Home of the funniest fictional paedophile male rapist sociopath ever.
Surbiton, Slough. Why can't I can't get away from Ricky Gervais?

Special thanks to the one guy who was directed here by Google after using the search terms - I shit you not - "She stripped for me, Moulin Rouge". Possibly the single least fulfilling click in search engine history.

Thanks to all who've turned up here/taken a wrong turn and read my spastic emissions in the last year and two months. A further special thanks to everyone who took the time to comment, regardless of content. You all made this a little worthwhile.

Even though there's only like five of you. Two of which are my friends. One of whom asked me to leave the UAE. And the other two probably looking for naked pictures of Satine.

Pathways to Adventure

2006-10-27T20:43:00.000-07:00

A reminder to all those Mirdiff-tractor owners out there that cars can do more than take you on expeditions to the mall.

Another Little Tick On Life's Checklist

2006-10-27T02:33:00.000-07:00

Finally, something worthwhile about living in Australia.

The Perils of Photography

2006-10-25T10:44:00.000-07:00

Or, good from far, but far from good.

To whit: in 2003, I was first smitten with Anna Umemiya. I don't quite know why, but it's a picture that stayed with me. Although one doesn't have to look too hard for more, ahem, extensive (and NSFW) photography involving the lovely Anna.

I'll settle for the pic above. Simple, honest, and yet somehow sexy.

But now.....

Gone. Everything is gone. Sob.
All it took was one closeup to turn her into a tranny.

Ramadan and the Free Zones

2006-10-22T17:33:00.000-07:00

My father runs a (very) small shipping company in Jebel Ali. The shipments we process are meant to only have a brief stopover in Dubai before being disseminated through the CIS. Timing is crucial; delayed shipments mean furious customers, delayed payments and reduced orders.

Unfortunately, Ramadan has thrown a hefty spanner into the mix.

Coming on the back of a dry summer, for 30 days we've had to contend with customs officers who seem barely able to lift their stamps. Their painful sloth has held up every shipment we've done, causing delays of not hours but weeks. Not just us: anyone who does anything with cargo has to get that damn stamp, and Customs randomly packs up during the day to go have a kip somewhere, it leaves all of us (who are fasting as well) with nothing to do but wait for them to come back.

My solution? Either put into place overtime incentives, or employs customs in shifts, so that fresh staff continously arrive. Shipping is a round the clock, round the year job.

It leads to my other point - the impact of Ramadan on businesses. Sure, it's nice to say we can all get a month off, but from the point of view of an employer it's utterly disastrous for productivity. Listless workers who do jack shit in the morning and are too stuffed post iftar to do more than waddle to the loo occasionally. Rinse and repeat for thirty days.

The problem is, the world doesn't fast. If you deal exclusively with the local market, it doesn't affect you in the least, but we have to process orders from all over the globe and they dont give a rats ass if you've eaten or not. Our commitment to global trade ensures we pay a double penalty for adhering to local custom.

This is, in any case, the worst time of year. With GITEX winging its way in and global demand starting to pick up, we're going to fall behind even further. Is Ramadan incompatible with the modern business world? Quite possibly.

Utterly Brilliant Toyota Commercial

2006-10-21T04:25:00.000-07:00

Toyotas are generally considered the apex of 'white-goods' cars, automobiles without the slightest hint of passion outside of utility. Well, here's an ad, entitled simply 'Human Touch' that will perhaps change that perception. It may even make you smile a little.

Major props to the boys at Glassworks who designed and conceived it.

Innovations

2006-10-06T03:22:00.000-07:00

So VW has come up with a self driving GTI. Those zany Germans have even named it the '53+1' - in homage to that other famous self-motivated German.

The concept is quite straightforward: the steering, brakes and DSG gearbox are linked to a central electronic brain, while sensors on the outer edge 'read' the surroundings and look for obstacles (kerbs, road markings, etc.). It can't exactly zip out onto the highway and start chasing down bad guys ala Knight Industries' finest: presently, the car can only work on predefined routes without other traffic to bother it.

It really is quite a sight to see: the car first 'sniffs' out the road, travelling at very low speeds studying the course. Once it's figured out where it's going - all hell breaks loose. The onboard system can then implement the fastest line around the track while wringing the bejesus out of the potent 150mph Golf. It's probably faster than most human drivers can manage: while we have insides to keep from venturing out for a looksee, the cold blooded automaton can drive on its doorhandles, pulling absurdly high gs.

Here's where Dubai comes in. When you mention 'traffic accident' here, most people's eyes glaze over, haunted by that matt black Range hanging an inch off their bumper trying to give them a proctology exam. In reality, most of the day-to-day accidents are of the non fatal variety, caused by tired and/or distracted drivers failing to provide that last second of attention before the almighty shunt. These are the accidents which cause innumerable traffic snarlups and waste the time of millions, while keeping our doctors happy dispensing blood pressure pills.

Now doesn't the Golf seem a good idea? Before the enthusiasts start decrying Big Brother - let's think about it rationally for a second. Who really enjoys driving on the highways? Or the cities, for that matter? Wouldn't it be great if all the cars were able to communicate with each other, traffic flowing along in perfect lock-step? Want to change a lane, dip your indicator: the adjacent car would slow down right smartly and let you in, because a computer doesn't have ego. Tap your destination into your sat nav, kick back with your Buddha Bar CD and chat on your cellphone to your heart's content: everything's being taken care of.

Of course, the big part about owning a car is the personal freedom it affords you. Most people will grumble about being denied the liberty to choose the best possible route, or the simple joy of driving. I'm an enthusiast, but most people simply aren't interesting in driving ecstasy - they want to get from A to B, where sometimes A & B aren't reachable by public transport. So this solution would work for most people - get in - engage drive - get there - get out. If you live for the fiddly joy of piloting your cruise missile, have a killswitch which returns control, or designate certain roads human driver only. Somehow, I have a feeling there won't be that much demand for the latter.

This is Automotive Enlightenment, and it's coming faster than we think. The sooner drivers get on board and start intelligently engaging the issues which trap us in hours of traffic daily, the sooner we'll all have less to complain about.

Short Cuts - Wings Hauser Edition

2006-10-05T21:32:00.000-07:00

Superman Returns: If there's one thing Bryan Singer knows, it's how to nail those iconic shots, those poses and camera angles when Superman rises beyond his 4-colour origins and assumes almost-mythical proportions. The rising score envelopes you in a tide of warmth, you join the fictional public in the film in laying tribute to what is a truly a God among men.
And for whom, unfortunately, feet of clay come standard. Cripes, could this have been any longer? And what's with Emo Super Jesus? Either he's hovering over earth, in his ready-crucifix mode, or he's moping around stalking Lois (the new, impossibly young edition). For a film ostensibly about the mother of all heroes, everybody sure seems depressed.
Let's not talk about Kevin 'Gene Hackman wasn't campy enough, but let me add this pinch of sadism' Spacey. Or the fact that 'Super'man's almighty power seems to consist of nothing more than lifting progressively heavier objects.

Crank: My head hurts after watching this film. Amy Smart, call me.

My Super Ex Girlfriend: Uma, call me first. Clingy sounds good.

Grosse Point Blank: Nostalgia never sounded so good. Weary, cynical listless GenXers, recognise John Cusack is your messiah.

The Infuriator, Issue 1:
Exhibit #1:
Looks like any hotel in Europe, right, with the local richboys parking their whips outside? Wrong. This is a collection of college-age UAE guys who spend every summer touring through Europe, taking their Dubai cars with them. And as you can see, they're a far cry from rentals.

I can't even begin to imagine how rich these people are. Nor can I imagine what a colossal waste of money this is. I know travel's supposed to be about the journey, but this....this is beyond ludicrous. While there'll always be people who say rich folks are free to do whatever with their money, the fact is there's no way in hell these kids earned the right to do any of this. While they sashay through Europe without a care in the world (and probably a thought in their heads) we're all in Dubai working our digits to the bone to pay for these brats to live the way they do.

It isn't fate, it isn't luck. It's us, foolishly accepting the way things are and refusing to do anything about it.

An ode to Bjorn

2006-09-27T19:38:00.000-07:00

August, 1994. My family had completed our latest move from Abu Dhabi to Dubai (we ping ponged back and forth since 1980). To be honest, I was not sad to leave AD; it was a quiet, sleepy place, good for growing up in a Wonder Years kind of way. But the powerboat blitzkrieg of adolescence was fast approaching, dumping unceremoniously the sweet haze of childhood in its wake.

And Dubai seemed to be the perfect place. It was alive in motion, restless with possibility. Unfortunately, we didn't move to Dubai; instead we lived in Sharjah and did the commute. I honestly don't know if that was better or worse. After a 2 hour trip in no A/C school buses, Sharjah was a great place to come home and rest. You'd better like rest though, because there was absolutely nothing else to do. Going out to Dubai was just as impossible then as it is now, endless traffic et al. So in lieu of any other avenue for socialising, school naturally became the center of my universe.

But what a school. My old one was Islamia English in AD; the guys in terrorist training camps in Afghanistan probably have it better. It's definitely a full post in itself. The new one - St. Mary's Catholic - was loads better. Honestly, it was like Neo waking up in the cocoon and seeing the world as it was really was. Loads of new people, proper teachers, and a laid back atmosphere. It wasn't school, it was a holiday camp.

So many new faces, so many new cultures. There didn't seem to be enough hours in the day to meet people. Unlike the kids today who have all their cells and IM contacts, most of that generation has scattered all over the globe, out of reach. I do remember this one kid, though. Bjorn, his name was.

Why do I remember him? I don't rightly know. I don't even know his last name. Met him some time after I entered St.Mary's; he was one of the few Christians in our class, a Catholic. His colour suggested Indian, the facial features otherwise. Average build, average height. Average guy. Stunningly average. On occasion, I talked to him. A nice bloke, shy, inoffensive. We had the sort of conversations about nothing that occupied hours on the playground, but I'd be lying if I say I considered him a close friend. Or even an acquainance. Truthfully, I still don't know anything about the guy, except that he seemed a good chap. Boring even, but nice.

So why is he important? He isn't. None of the classmates I've run into have ever asked about him. He didn't seem to have any close friends. Just another nice guy in a sea of nice guys. About the only noteworthy thing I can remember him doing was in that same year, during one of our maths classes. We were listening to the teacher drone on about graph thingies when out of the blue, a nokia ringtone started belting out. The teacher was frozen in shock. You have to remember, it was '94. Most of the our dads didn't own mobiles yet and most of us hadn't seen one either.

Of course, it was Bjorn's. He seemed stunned, but picked up anyway. The teacher got over her surprise and marched over to this table. By this point, the class was cloaked in all enveloping silence as we waited to see what would become of him. But Bjorn just kept talking away, while the teacher waited next to his desk, steam flooding her ears. The call was from his mother, one of those 'are you okay' things. Nothing life and death. He politely finished his call and turned to face the beast.

And then the levees broke. We winced as we listened to the tirade spewing. Bjorn seemed oddly reticent, unwilling or unable to explain himself. Without fuss, he was dispatched to the Principal's office. And that was that.

A minor incident in a minor day. He was a celebrity for all of ten minutes and then life carried on. I was midly curious about why the need for a phone, but he said his mother worried about him, and this was easier than sneaking out to a payphone. His mother's a bit odd, I thought, but none of my business.

After that nothing. Three years passed and I don't think I ever spoke to him again, although I saw him around, of course. We graduated and the unity of school and social life was sundered, to be replaced with endless college application forms. I certainly wasn't thinking about Bjorn.

In 2000, I got another call from my buddy, Free Mind who went to India right after St. Mary's. All the usual pleasantries. Ten minutes of catching up. Then he asks about me about Bjorn. Do you know, he asks. Know what? Bjorn who, I reply. Bjorn, that quiet guy from school. He died last year.

Bjorn died in 1999 of liver failure. He had been having problems all through his life, which is why his mother gave him a cell phone in case he needed to call an ambulance. The doctors could do no more. When Free Mind (who didn't know him any better than me)called his mother up, she told him, through the tears, that he was the only person who called. Didn't he have any friends, she asked. Did other boys not like him? Were you a good friend of his?

Of course, replied Free Mind. I'm sure loads of people will call, they just haven't heard about it. I'll spread the news, he offered. But no one else called, and Bjorn went into the ground in August that year, in a service attended by only his mother.

Who was Bjorn? I wish i knew. I wish I knew more - anything really - about him. Knew what man he might have become. I wish I had talked to him a little more, tried to get him to open up. Anyone can be fascinating if you find the right combination of words to unlock their personality, but I'm just as guilty as the rest of my class of not trying and being caught up in our precious adolescent world. I didn't call his mother either. What would I have said? Should have at least offered my condolences, but I was scared that his mother might ask if I was his friend. And what would I say then? Could I lie, like Free mind, to soothe a grieving mother?

There are millions of Bjorns out there. People who live and walk like shadows in this world, fading in and out of the ether. While most people are obsessed with how other people perceive them, and eventually, what their legacy will be, what becomes of people like Bjorn, who were real life invisible men? People who we ignore, call nobodies, are too busy to return calls to, bump into and never apologise. People like me remember them as wisps of memory, but that does little justice to what was once a real, living human being.

I think Bjorn must have been an atheist. No loving God would put a person on Earth to be alone.

La paille finale?

2006-09-26T22:44:00.001-07:00

If the buzz on UAE Community is to believed, they've gone and blocked my beloved Torrentspy. The source of literally all my entertainment, my gateway to a world of film and TV beyond Dubai's pathetic Virgin Megastore-sized offerings.

And now it's gone.

Sigh. It's not like I have any other vices to fill my time - I don't smoke, drink, or party. Books are nice but a tad wearing after a long day at the office, so to my everlasting shame I don't read much anymore. Heck, the last book I really sat down and read is the last Harry Potter. My formerly voracious appetite is largely satisfied by the Internet now.

Films, my abiding passion, are kept in check by Dubai's rotten release quality (I'm looking at you, VideoScope, purveyors of badly photoshopped posters and guilty of quoting 'Scene Selection' as a feature on the back) and my inability to afford to continuously import from overseas.

And in any case, quite a few of the films I watch don't show up on places like Amazon so looking for a torrent of a Region 3 release is sometimes my only avenue. How else would I watched something like Brokeback Mountain, which will likely never be released here? Or worse yet, something which gets a release but is sashimeed to smithereens by our thoughtful censors.

Plus, it must be noted, TV has really caught up these days. Good shows like Prison Break and House (er, sorry Lost...you're wearing a wee bit thin) need to be watched as soon as they come out to avoid that forbidden fruit of online spoilers. While I understand people who like to wait for season boxsets, it means that you have to wait six to seven months for it. I'm sorry, I'm from the culture of instant gratification. I don't want my MTV, but I sure want my TV.

Wait till it comes out on satellite? More waiting. Nice. Plus, we don't get to see it in widescreen and I'm an OAR whore. To crown it, all these so-called 'entertainment channels' want to do is show off J.Timberlake's new cylon love song or 'direct from the US!' American idol. Not to mention Nancy. Freakin. Ajram. All. The. Time.

What a corker of a homecoming gift from Etisalat. So either I: a) find a great job that takes up all my time b) find some friends (fat chance) or c) find a straight razor and an open vein.

Ah, Irony, you Rascal

2006-09-22T01:16:00.000-07:00

Walking down the street today. At the chinatown crosswalk, waiting for the lights to change. Lights go green. First car out the gate is a real larrikin aussie, crawling up past in a beatup VL Commodore. I could smell his sweat - and the beer on his breath - from three meters away.

Next up, a burly bloke, the traditional white van driver, with a huge ladder mounted on his roof rack. Must be making more money than my entire company.

Uni girl in a beat-to-shit old Corolla. Books, CDs, Kit Kat wrappers, and er - hot pink 'Extra Large Durex' packet in the back seat. That must be, umm, nice.

And finally, two chinese kids zoom in a brand new BMW 5-series. P-plates (which mean they're under 21). The car costs at least $120k (Dh333k). Neither one speaks a word in English. They look at the three Australiasns with an identical mixture of contempt and utter, snivelling disgust that speaks volumes. Then the passenger remark in Chinese (which my friend translates) that the Australians can't afford even a little bit of water to bathe and that even their maid drives a better car. Fat, uneducated, cultureless slobs, the driver agrees.

Fucking immigrants, I say. How dare they come into this country and then have the arrogance to try and tell the locals how to behave. If they had it so good where they came from, why did they leave? They couldn't afford to drive this car back in wherever-the-fuck-they-came-from, where the import tax would something like 150%. Anyway, their parents are the ones who spoilt them with such toys. In any case, their modern culture - unlike their ancient one - hasn't produced anything worthwhile, I conclude. Fucking immigrants.

Then I stop and think for a second. And slap myself loudly and conclusively on the forehead.

Priorities

2006-09-21T06:20:00.000-07:00

And right now, there are none. Absolutely nothing at all. Nothing in the world that matters more than the life of this man hanging in the balanc e.

Don't quit on us, Hamster.

The Madness of Me

2006-09-16T17:27:00.000-07:00

Here, staring me right now in the face, is a chance to get out. To never come back to Dubai. To stay in Australia forever.

To never be stuck in immovable traffic again. To never be segregated in queues according to nationality. To never be paid differently because of the colour of my skin. To never be refused entry. To never have prostitutes propositioning outside my window. To never despair of ever spiralling rents. To never wonder when I will be thrown out through no fault of my own.

While here in Australia, I can buy a house. A drink. I can receive a letter and know that customs hasn't opened it. I can walk down a street and ask a policeman for directions. I can buy a tram ticket and it'll work on every other form of public transport. I can prosecute if someone discriminates against me - in any context - on the basis of race. I can be a labourer, if i want to, or drive a van, and still earn a handsome wage while receiving respect from society. I can use competitively priced, unfiltered Internet to watch anything, from anywhere. I can choose who will represent me at every level, from the Prime Minister to my local council. I can form a club or society and not have to worry that it meets any preset morality. I can drive too fast and be prosecuted for my negligence. And I can travel anywhere I want in the world with an absolutely bullet proof passport. And know that if I get in trouble overseas, my embassy will move heaven and earth to bail me out.

I can be free.

So why won't I take it?

Oy vei

2006-09-16T15:46:00.000-07:00

So the Pope won't be the first person on Earth to praise Muslims. Wow, that's a shocker.

Two things.

First, it was a QUOTE he was using to illustrate the futility of violence, from a long dead byzantine Emperor. Not a direct address to the Muslim nation. The example was certainly ill advised, but I doubt he knew what the effects would be.

Second. Even if he did know that his remarks would knowingly offend, what's it to Muslims? You guys are like a cancerous cat with a big fluffy ball of string: easily distracted. Heck, the Pope doesn't even represent all Christians, just the Catholic Church. Granted, that's the largest Church in the world. And granted, it's probable that most Christians privately agree with the Pope in the belief that Islam started and will end with the sword.

It doesn't mean that you have to get up in arms about it though. By gathering up your saucepans and banging away at them as usual, you're just playing into their hands. Look at them, the Christians will say. Our Pope was parodied in a Genesis video. These guys can't take an insult from a man dead many centuries ago. They are as predictable as porridge.

So while I have no doubts that this will snowball into another endless round of protests and violence, I will still kindly request the Muslim Ummah to grow the fuck up.

On Bravery

2006-08-30T06:26:00.000-07:00

What does it mean to be truly brave?

I had this thought recently and no answer seems to fit. It seems to be standing up against a superior opponent and holding your ground, even if you know you're going to lose. When somebody strong stands against a weak foe, nobody seems to applaud him, even if the strong is in the right. It appears to be the expected thing, that the strong should overturn the weak.

The thing is, how many of us are actually that strong? We all like to think we are. And when we tell the story later, our words carry more punch, our actions speak lwith the report of a thousand rifles.

Not, however, at the time. When in a pressure situation, with everything on the line, what actually happens? I think most people are scared. Not a little bit, but a whole damn lot. Their every action, their whole facade revolves around masking this fear. But it's there, biding its time and gnawing away at your resolve. While in the meantime, you keep talking, keep adjusting, negotiating without words to avoid the confrontation which your fear will use to tear free.

We live in a country where machismo and chutzpah rule our everyday interactions. To not be brave here is a terrible thing. It is unthinkable. People would rather die than be seen to be the 'c-word' - a coward. It's easy to die, to switch yourself off like a light. A coward though - you can't come back from that. Once you fall down, down, down, no one will look you in the eye again. It is the worst fate. No one feels for a coward, there is no redemption. The word itself is disgusting, atrocious, distasteful. The only thing a coward can do is go where no one knows that he is one and hope to start again.

I think most people would say, "Then don't be one." If only it were that easy. To be not a coward, you need some kind of inner strength, some cement to hold you together when that first shot strikes. But what if you don't have it? What if you can't find it? Maybe you don't have what it takes. After all, not everyone can be a hero, which is by definition, an exceptional person. If everyone was brave, the coward would be king. (Actually, I wonder how far that is from reality.)

So what happens to the 99.99% of us who are not brave? We live our lives in gentle fear and hope that one day, we leave without incident.

Road To The West

2006-08-28T05:32:00.000-07:00

You are the poetic loner. You're the footsteps echoing in an empty hallway, the tendency to stare out of the window when it's raining, the streets of the city at night. A dreamer at heart, you're too driven by emotion for some, but you couldn't exist any other way.

Happy Days are Here Again

2006-08-21T23:17:00.000-07:00

Why? Because Mohamed AR Galadari says so!
Oh lordy, lord. This is simply too good to pass up, mainly because the man is clearly deranged, probably from spending too long exploring the deepest recesses of his rectum. Well, here's Marwan to poke him in the eye with a no.2 HB pencil and not offer him any cotton wool.
Let's get stuck in, shall we?

DUBAI now inspires awe. And Dubai charms all. This is not the Dubai that we saw some 30 years ago and not even the Dubai that we had moved around some 10 years ago.

Whose awe? What monument to human creation has Dubai produced? The Burj Al Arab? Product of foreign engineeers and planners? Anything in science? Sport? Heaven forbid, the Arts.
And for sure it's got charm. Like a lounge lizard with a gold medallion and a slicked back hairdo. You'd love to turn your daughter over to that guy.
Btw, MARG (or Marge, you don't mind if I call you that, do you? Always did love the Simpsons) This sure isn't the Dubai we saw 10 years ago. 10 years ago we could move around. Thank you, lousy traffic conditions!

And, today’s Dubai will not be tomorrow’s Dubai. When dreams turn into reality, and they do, Dubai will one day shape itself to be the centre of the world, as the slogan goes.

I bloody well hope todays Dubai isn't tomorrows. Or, to quote the angel Gabriel from Constantine, '...we're fucked.' Incidentally, I've mentioned this before, but I've had a recurring dream of being Batman. However, it is with great sadness that Marwan must report he has not become a wealthy playboy, with a shadowy tortured crimefighting existence. Nor will he be much cop at Bataranging around the city with his advanced vertigo. Still, dreams become reality! Because Marge Said So.
And Oh Marge! How you love to play the prophet! Surely Dubai will be the center of the world, when that 9.5 earthquake hits Iran and tears the Persian Gulf apart. Maybe Dubai will simply rise on a bed of rock, broadband connections intact, above the geological cataclysm, till it comes to rest a mile in the sky. Naturally, the Indians must live below in the wastelands. We'll give them an elevator so they can come shopping occasionally and clean our loos.

Dear readers

I'm sorry, Marge, but FUCK YOU very much, I'm not your dear anything. The day you earn the right to condescendingly leer me on my morning paper is the day I tie a noose around my genitals and attempt to use them as the base for a bungee cord.

, we are already living in the midst of many of the world’s ‘first’, ‘largest’ and ‘tallest’ monuments built by the sheer strength of an inner dynamism that drives the growth of this city. More are in the making. And, Dubai is already claiming to possess the world’s best standards of living — better than the West and better than the best.

You should open a 24 hour Burger King, Marge, because you're rustling up some fine Double Whoppers there. Dubai's ozymandian monuments to itself are nothing more than empty phallic addenda, literal castles in the sky that perform no useful function except to titillate the architects who built them and blind the motorists who drive past with their shiny reflective exteriors. They aren't built by your 'dynamism', they're the result of the systematic exploitation of a poor, defenceless underclass, a dark faceless mass of slaves who toil unendingly to make your shiny baubles. The 'growth' of your city is driven by exploitation, corruption, collusion and profiteering off the rising cost of a rapidly diminishing natural resource.

By the way, it must truly take Titanic-sized testicles to claim Dubai has one of the best standards of living in the world. Tell that the middle class whose bellies have been ripped out by the impossible inflation. Tell that to the teaboys and office workers who are forced to sleep on roofs, because their building doesn't receive running electricity. Tell that to the foreign women who are forced into prostitution on the alleyways and corners of Dubai. Tell that to the thousands of children who have been born and raised in Dubai but have no more right to citizenship than a stray alley cat rummaging in the bins. Tell it to the thousands who have died in secret for infractions that wouldn't lift an eyebrow in the 'barbaric' West. Tell it to the untold numbers of foetuses aborted in your supposedly 'Muslim' country so that your unable-to-keep-it-in-their-pants natives could keep their flimsy veil of honour.
Let me sum it up very easy for your shot-glass sized cerebrum: In the West, I can say what I want. As McDonald's won't say about Dubai, "I'm lovin it."

We have the best roads, best residential areas, best civic and tourism infrastructure, and the best hotels and shopping malls. Above all, we have the best of the best systems of administration. So much so, Dubai is now planning to market its “systems and governance” to the outside world.

Wow, I actually agree with you there, Marge. You have the best roads. Roads so good that the public treats it like a racetrack, taking my beautiful automobile hobby and tainting it with their crass attempts to emulate the very real skill of driving. Great 'civic and tourism infrastructure'. It's so good that they've eradicated racism from the face of the earth! By pretending it doesn't exist. See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil-or-I'll-cut-your-fucking-throat-out is their mantra. And let's have a hear, hear for your shopping malls, all of which are beautifully standardised with precisely the same shops and stores in each bloody one, leaving absolutely no room for creativity! Because obviously, when I go shopping, what I want is another fucking McDonald's Every 20m!
Lord help us if Dubai is planning to sell its ideas worldwide. That's great, I can now be deported from Paris for adultery! Or get a meaningless slap on the wrist fine for repeatedly raping my Javanese houseboy!

We may have a grievance or two. Who doesn’t? Yet, who is not fascinated by this growth that benefits us all in so many ways? And who isn’t thankful to all those who have made this progress possible the hundreds of thousands of hands that worked in unison, guided as they were with proper planning, direction and above all, an excellent and exemplary leadership. Dubai, in many ways, has made the impossible possible.

Talk about understatement. Grievance or two? Take a look at your own Letters page, Marge! They're filled with people who can't stop talking about how WELL and FAIRLY Dubai is treating them! We also get lovely couplets every day from folks whose rent hasn't gone up every six months, praising their landlords to high heaven!
Boy oh boy, am I thankful. Thankful for the planning and direction that sees Dubai attempting a rail system a century after the rest of the world has, while creating a road network only equalled by treacherous Peruvian single lane tracks in its caring for users. Dubai sure has made the impossible possible - look how many Ferraris there are! They've succesfully made the world's premier automobile look like the most mundane piece of steel since the Corolla. Don't forget other parts of the impossible - making the Palm so cramped with houses that we can soon expect lawsuits for unintended voyeurs.

Dubai’s greatness is also that it has not built castles in the air. It has built them on solid ground, all the more reason why our progress is sustainable and why there is hope for the future. That’s why we have proved sceptics wrong. By all indications, Dubai today is unstoppable.

We get it already, Dubai is unstoppable. Unstoppably sliding into a feudal system of serfery and 'divine' rule. They haven't built castles in the air; just ludicrous ones on the ground that are a monument to the nadir of human taste and wastefulness. The sceptics are silenced because everytime there is a failure, the voice that pronounces it is silenced by a bullet.

Dubai is currently stepping into a renewed, more energetic phase of development, with works apace for the world’s largest airport, the region’s first rail network and the world’s tallest building complex, not to mention the new world class residential areas that are springing up in exotic locales.

More profit for contractors and crane renters! The world's largest airport in the most unstable region on planet Earth. The first rail network, to first serve the richest and already most accessible parts of the city, rather than the existing areas buckling under traffic. The world's tallest building complex, to house even more tastless millionaires with their trophy wives and expat brats. Which, by the way, no local worth his salt would live in because they only live in houses (aka mansions) which they build themselves. On money provided by the gubment. Which they never pay back.
Pray tell, where are these exotic locales? Last time I checked, this country is sitting on a giant sand depot. You bulldozed the coral reefs to make way for another Palm (because one simply wasn't enough). You covered every inch of available beach with property so that it now looks more like a tourist trap than the prostitute-infested Pattaya Beach. Incidentally, Dubai will also Love-You-Long-Time, more than anyone else.

Dubai as a city already stands tall among the cities around the world. When its name is mentioned, it is mentioned with pride.

Let's take a straw p0ll. Whenever I'd mention it to anyone in Australia, I'd be met with blank stares. "Dubai? Where's that?" I think maybe one person - out of literally thousands of people I've met in four years - has heard of it, and only of the Burj Al Arab. Much as I hate to admit it, at least that's something unique. The rest of Dubai is nothing more than crowded copies of architecture from all around the World. New York has culture, history. It's been written and filmed for as long as the medium. Ditto for London, LA and Paris. If Dubai is so famous, how come no one wants to feature it in popular culture? Answer: because it has no soul, no spark of originality. It is Everyplace, Everycity. All brochures describe it as a "tax haven, cheap shopping", etc. You know what other city is described like that? Bangkok.

As the premier English language newspaper in the region, Khaleej Times would like to give a standing ovation to the pace that Dubai, our city, has set for its progress. As you all know, in the past three decades, Khaleej Times has had a unique and privileged role to play in this growth, as it recorded events for posterity and acted as a link between those who pushed the engines of this growth and the various segments of the society that worked hand — in — hand to turn the city’s dreams into realities. In the process, we helped develop a cosmopolitan character to the city.

Cosmopolitan character? *Snort*. They've turned a half decent, at-least-respected paper into a tabloid rag, bottom of the barrel in every journalistic standard with an oblivious, ludicrous father figure who treats his business like his own private fiefdom. It's not a link from people to power - it's a organ of the state, a town crier to report the prononcements of His Majesty. Except that they've lost that too, to the newly established King's Paper.

This is time for celebration. Khaleej Times, your favourite daily, wants to say a big Thank You to the city that made a big difference in all our lives and urge all its readers to join it in a month — long patriotic campaign, styled, “I Love My Dubai”, starting today, to demonstrate all our love and respect for this beautiful city. Dubai deserves it.

Phew! Finally, we reach the end. This city sure has made 'a big difference in all our lives' - I've never felt lower, like my quality of life is scraping the absolute bottom of the barrel.
You know, KT, if people really felt like saying "I Love Dubai", don't you think they would have said it? Do they really need to wave banners and wear forced grins, while you stand behind with a shark prod? Here's a clue: the ONLY people in Dubai who think it's great, who think that there's no other place like, are either born here (and so have no choice in the matter) are the ones who stand a top. And that island haven is shrinking every day.

PS: This was originally a lot more caustic and witty. The more I thought about it, though, the less amusing it became.

JATs

2006-08-16T19:11:00.000-07:00

Aka, Jumped-Up Asian Tyrants.

Everytime my happiness is fucked these days, its an Asian behind it. Petty positions of power totally appeal to the Asian - he/she are monomuentally frustrated individuals so the chance to turn that shit right back is never passed.

Three separate incidents:

Melbourne. Slight tootache, my GP is booked out till the following week so I rock up to the local hospital. All i want is for a dentist to look at it, for pete's sake, but no, I have to go through all the registration rigmarole. Indian lady looks at my ID quizzically. "You don't have an address?" Eh? What? "You don't have a card with an address on it?" Who the hell has one of those? All the IDs I've ever seen, you're lucky if you have your name on it. But no. She absolutely refuses to accept any ID without my address on it and becomes increasingly belligerent/condescending. At one point, she asks to see my wallet. Fuck you, lady. I started two companies with no cash by the age of 20. I can fucking well tell you whats in my wallet without you taking it. Eventually, the Aussie lady next to her turns around and says, "It's got his PICTURE on it, what more ID do you need?" Hoorah for common fucking sense.

Melbourne. Got a train ticket that needs cancelling. Walk up to the station close to my house. The Indian doesnt seem trained in the art of speech, she opens the window and shouts "what is it?" Train Ticket. "We don't do that here, go to Spencer Street." Window shut. Spencer street is 20 blocks away. You could fucking ease the pain of that walk by being a little nice, you twat.

Dubai. Paying a DEWA bill, in the satwa office. Two cashiers, a row of seats leading to each. I'm a big fan of order and this is quite to my liking. Each person pays, then everyone moves up a seat. I take my place, a middle aged local man behind me. When my turn comes, the Pakistani man behind the counter takes my bills. I start explaining some of the specifics when he motions me to sit down. Then he calls the local man behind me and pays his bills instead. I don't blame the local man. He didn't ask for the preferential treatment. The Pakistani, on the other hand, is a tool of the first order. Maybe it's because I don't look Muslim? Or my skin colour is not white enough? Or I'm not a lady?

Every day sucks being Asian. You get ignored, spat on and laughed at by everyone on the planet. Self esteem is jolly hard to have when it's constantly being taken away from you. You know how when you buy something, if the server takes that little bit of effort to smile at you and make a little joke, it takes some of the sting out of life? Asians will never do that. Once they get into a position of power - no matter how insignificant - they will take that hate and return it tenfold.

The trouble is, they only do it to other Asians. Not to the people who genuinely oppress them. They do it to the people who already face a thousand tiny injustices every day, because it's easy and requires no courage. Just the other day, I saw some Sindhi punk pushing around a bunch of guys drying his 450k Porsche. He was every inch the five-foot general, shouting at them to be careful and 'mind the leather'. This, despite the fact that he can climb into that Porsche, flick on the bacteria-free climate control to 'Lo' and roar away in V8, air-suspended luxury, while these guys have to sit out inside in the insane heat, day in day out, probably for the rest of their lives.

So yeah, Asians. Stop taking the easy way out. Feel for your fellow man. And find some fucking balls to stand up to people.

Epiphany

2006-08-16T18:56:00.000-07:00

You know what, Middle East? The world cares about you only as much as they have to. It's like feeding a tiger with a piece of meat on the end of a javelin.

Nobody cares about your dead.
Nobody cares about your problems.
Nobody cares about your fucking refugees.
Nobody cares about your ignorance.

They care about your oil and while they have to extract it, they'll do the bare minimum necessary to keep the peace. It's your region, you deal with the nitty gritty.

Rather than deal with your fucked-up region, the world would very much like to pay off your leaders and not worry about things (just ask Africa). That strategy's still working, btw.
Why should they bother? The history's too complex. The occupants are violent and support murdering everyone else in the world. Beside the oil, there's nothing terribly cultural coming out of here to be lost. And the religion which powers all this is widely perceived as a relic of a byone era.

The world will move on one day. Then who will listen to your whingeing? Who will cry for the dead you failed to protect? I for one will be glad when I can finally close the newspaper, turn off the radio, put on my comfortable slippers and never have to hear about your infernal fucking problems ever again.

Call me for the barbeque, Israel - I'll bring the marshmallows

2006-08-13T06:52:00.000-07:00

Fuck these fucking terrorists.

Do they have any idea what they've done? DO THEY?

They've damned every Muslim who walks this earth to undergo a lifetime of humiliating security checks because they couldn't keep their big hearted affections for their "suffering Arab brothers" to themselves.

They make every white person look twice at a person of brown skin walking past them. As if brown people weren't already the world's trash collectors, the human refuse of the world.

They've made it more difficult for any brown person to get a job.

They have made Pakistan syonymous with Terrorism. Great job guys! Big fat bonus for underlining the Muslim=terrorist label too! For your next Jeopardy question, what is: The religion associated with giving the world nothing but body bags?

Why the hell did they have to do this? Was there some yawning gap in their lives by not being DEAD? Does killing 4000 innocent travellers solve a single one of the world's problems? Does it even solve YOUR fucking problems?

No, it doesn't. News flash, Muslims. The world doesn't care about you, because all they see is you killing people every day. No one wants to touch a rabid dog, foaming at the teeth and that's what you look like right now. You want to be taken seriously, clean your shit up, cut off your goddamn beards and put on a dark suit.
Then start talking some sense, not this shit about pushing all the Israelis into the sea. You may dream it, but you sure as hell can't achieve it, so stop thinking you can. Hell, I dream I'm Batman every night, but that don't mean I crouch on top of Emirates Towers in a cape and tights.

Next, find a fucking compromise. You heard me, c-o-m-p-r-o-m-i-s-e. It's letting something go in exchange for something. Let me give you some nice examples!

1) You want you religious freedoms? Let people make fun of you, just like you've been making fun of them and enjoying those Christian-hating British sitcoms all these years.
2) You want peace in the Holy Land? Give Something Up. That means stopping bombing Israelis. Throwing away all those damn AKs. And stop teaching your kids that Jews are the spawn of the devil.

I'd think of more but my brain hurts. Oh, and one more thing. All these Pakistanis who are so wiling to die for Arabs - I'd like to introduce them to the Gulf. Where if the Arab is richer than you (not a difficult proposition to swallow) you Pakistanis will be cleaning sand from between their toes. That's all Arabs, whatever nationality.

So think about that next time you decide to fuck us in the ass.

I wish to announce the death of Al Futtaim Motors

2006-08-09T04:48:00.000-07:00

Because it's me who's going to kill them.

I've bought two cars recently and both have been Toyotas. Cars being cars, at some point, they require some mechanical TLC. So it's off to garage for a service.

Just where are your garages? Why, that's another fun game for owners to play! You get two maps in the dashboard, one to Shk Zayed and one to Rashidya.

The Rashidiya one used to be easy to find, but good luck now with that assignment now that Festival City has sprung and turned the area upside down.

Walking in, there's a huge garage area, and smaller 'Express' one to the side. Knowing it was a minor service, I happily dropped it off in Express, unfolded my paper and waited.

An hour passes.

I can see the car being serviced outside, so it would be unkind to hassle the staff. Ok, now it's done, disappearing into the bowels of the garage for a wash.

Does anyone call me? No.

Another 30 min gone.

Ok, now it's time to hassle them. After poking the grumpy filipino assistant a few times, he hands my paperwork and points me to the main garage to pay.

That all done, just the car to collect right?

Wrong.

I wait and wait and no sign of the car coming out of the garage. I ask the security guard. "We don't know where it is, sir." So heartening.
I offer to go inside and look. "Only Al Futtaim staff allowed inside, sir." But I've already paid! And everything's done!
"No sir. If it's lost someone will find it."
Why don't YOU find it?
"I can't leave this room sir."

30 mins.

For peter's sake, don't they know where it is? Cars are coming out every second, but not one is mine. Who's looking for it?
"Someone, sir. It's very hard to find because all the cars look the same."
Why don't you take the remote and flash around till you find it?
"Because we keep the hazards on while washing the cars, sir."

GRRR.

45 minutes later, standing outside in 45deg heat, it emerges, hardly washed. Let's just say there'll be no tips today.

When I get home, there are scratches on the front and back, like someone bumped it into a wall.

Al Futtaim, go rot in hell. This is probably the best story I've had from them, others have been far worse. Losing it is probably the least harm they could do. Sometimes, they'll just dump your car outside in the sand like so much unwanted garbage, or refuse to do the work that you paid them to do.
And their sales/service staff! Unhelpful, unfriendly, content in their belief that they sell the most popular cars in the Gulf so they don't have to try. Buy it if you want or piss off. Information? Pah! That's for 'troublesome' people. If you want to know about the car you're buying, well you should have come prepared then. Test drive? The cheek! Phone them up and getting a price is like extracting teeth. Want a different colour? You wish. This is what they import and that's that. No wonder I have a white car.

That same attitude extends to every other part of their automotive empire and frankly I've had enough of it and enough of buying Toyotas. Whatever my next car, it won't be from Majid and his gang of crooks.

PS: I should add, like the good hatemonger I am, that certain communites have no problem whatsoever with their Al Futtaim experience.

Psyche!

2006-08-09T04:09:00.000-07:00

Or not.

Maybe a mix of driving and lunacy. Lunatic driving, perhaps?

Writing about driving all the time transmutes my hobby into work. I'd rather it continue to be the middle east version of "Ruminations on a Twenty something life".

Than try to compete with the big boys like Gawker. Especially considering the state of one's bank account.

Relaunch 3.0!

Geeky things!

Gadgets!

Insanity!

Girls!

No girls!

Boredom!

Visa cancellations!

Rivetting sponsor drama!

And some other stuff.

Ah fudge, cars it is.

2006-08-09T03:22:00.000-07:00

Hell, go with what ya know.

Beside, everything else here bores me and if I start airing my real views, I'd get shot.

On then, to the vee-hick-les!

Relaunch Soon.

A Tale Of Woe

2006-08-07T07:12:00.000-07:00

So this local comes into my shop. While he's buying something, he strikes up a converation with my mum. And as it does, the topic eventually turned to inflation and the suffering everyone knows and bears.

My mum hasn't had a holiday in more than ten years. Apart from working night and day shifts, she has housework as well, plus paying for two kids in uni. Rents are going up and she doesn't know how we will make ends meet.

Our local friend says he's suffering too. He doesn't collect rent, so that's one source of income right out the window. Worse, after he's paid his car loan, and his wife's car loan, that's all their disposable income gone too. Despite having free electricity, water and lodging. Can you believe it, his wife has only housemaids, to cope with the entire house!
And the crowning glory? Imagine, he hasn't been able to take his family to Europe for five years!

I'm still young enough to get rattled by this sort of crap. Wake up, Local Man. This isn't how people are supposed to live. You didn't earn any of this. Every kickback you're getting is the result of the sweat of a subcon somewhere out there. Did you ever stop to think about them? The thousands of people who came out here in search of a better life? The people who live here and have fuck all to show for it? The men who crave their families and every night fight their demons alone, trapped in a bunkbed with ten strangers. The women who can't play with their kids because there's no room in the apartment and every patch of spare ground has been converted into a construction site. Don't you think that when a Indian officeboy watches a dance scene in a Bollywood film set in Geneva, he dreams of one day picking up a handful of snow? Of climbing to the top of a mountain and watching summer lightning making its way down the valley?

But he can't have that holiday, that hope. Everything he, and everyone else out in the Real World (TM) in Dubs does is toward subsistence, mindless, droning, monotony, aimed at keeping at bay the dreaded day when one must go home, cap in hand.

Don't we deserve that chance to dream? To be free of complaining, to not live in perpetual fear, to watch the corks pop on New Years and not think that this year might be the final straw?

Don't we deserve to be human again?

Addenda

2006-08-07T06:59:00.000-07:00

Looking at my previous post, I've just noticed how naive it is. There is a giant car culture out here; the problem is that I'm not clued into it. And never can be, for obvious reasons.
It chafes though. Some absolutely amazing feats have been achieved with automobiles out here, but there's no one to record it. Everything relies on the grapevine, oral history. Not good enough.

Meanwhile, we (the UAE) continue to consume new cars at a fantastic rate, more than any other Gulf country, putting further pressure on our overloaded roads and services. Yet there's no push for economy or lower emissions, or most importantly, better driving standards. Since no one cares enough - or thinks they will stay long enough - the snowball just keeps coming down the mountain.

I have to admit a twinge of conscience here. As much as I love cars - absolutely, positively, unrepentantly adore them - there is "too much" out here. The most expensive, desirable cars in the world, as common as a five year old diesel hatchback in Europe. And it is not meant to be this way. These cars, these super-cars, should lift your spirit when they pass by, fill you with dreams and wonder. When they are this common, it all ceases to have any meaning at all. And nobody - and I mean nobody - has earned the right to drive them.

Who am I? I'm just a poor man.

Here In My Car, I Feel Safest Of All

2006-08-03T05:49:00.000-07:00

Considering that we spend most of our 'life' in Dubs in our cars, it's no wonder that we are intimately familiar with them. With no public transport solution in sight either, the future still looks car-shaped, even if petrol prices have tempered our love affair somewhat.

It also means that most people are quite familiar with most of the popular vehicles in Dubai. I'll wager the brands Corolla, Camry, Sunny and Land Cruiser have absolutely phenomenal brand recognition among us (the last one because it's usually been embedded into your back bumper once or twice) .

That's just regular people, driving regular cars. Enthusiasts are well catered for too, by the absolutely INSANE amount of flash metal on display here. Chances are, if you've read about a fast, drool worthy car, you've seen it on Diyafah - the equivalent of the Paris, Geneva and Tokyo motorshow bundled into an orgiastic frenzy of automotive pornography, availabe for viewing every Thursday night.

So for goodness sake, if people love their cars so much, why isn't there more of a car culture here? Print, online, whatever? Most of the good magazines - okay, all - come from the UK or the States. Car has opened a Dubai branch, selling a cut down version of the UK monthly (Dh50) with some local content for a bargain Dh10. Is it any good? To put it bluntly, no. Oh, the UK stuff is fab, no question, but everything local is hopeless. What was their latest group test? Four of the most expensive SUVs on the market. Very handy, for the person who buys Dh10 car magazines.
There's also Wheels and the weekly columns in the weekend glossies. The latter are just hopeless - crappy, sugar coated reprints of the brochures, mostly. Shamefully, I haven't read Wheels yet, but one is reminded of the cardinal rule in Dubai when dealing with car companies - Face.

Lose it, and you'll never review one of their cars again. Childish, but then what did you expect, anyway? Still, I'll love to see Wheel's sales figures. Obviously, they are selling enough to keep going. Print journalism may well be out these days - 30 days is just too long

What the heck am I getting at, anyway? Simple. I'd like to open a proper car blog - news, reviews, opinion. News about the global car market, about the UAE, about every damn thing I can get my greedy paws on. Reviews - honest, honest, honest, willing to slam if necessary. And opinion - the hardest thing to do, possibly, in a place where no one speaks their mind.

Am I out of my gourd?

Tell me!

The World Wide Web

2006-08-02T10:16:00.000-07:00

It's time for a midnight snack, so I jump in the car and motor off to my local Burger King (which is called Hungry Jack's - apparently, someone else had the name trademarked). Here's some random observations.

No middle aged man flipping burgers here, everyone's a uni student or a part time high schooler. Consequently, standards are a bit lax but at least there's some youthful enthusiasm. Unlike Dubai, where the staff seem perplexed by their own products.
Aaand of course, most of those burger flippers are Indian. These are the ones who haven't graduated to driving cabs yet. Ambition, thy hunger be forever unfulfilled.
It's a bit of tradition, for clubbers and barhoppers to stop before/after a session for a 'Jack Attack' (so called because the greasy burgers are utterly satiating and form the perfect absorptive base for alcohol). Wednesday night and it's almost full, at nearly 1AM.
Not so different from Dubai, which is also open all hours? Ok, the two Aussie girls in front are in clubber dresses, but absolutely covered in dirt. One can only guess they had a bad fall moments early. They're also pissed, but I just can't get over how filthy they are.
Behind them is what can only be termed the 'Chinese nerd couple'. Nerdy girl and her shorter bespactled, attache-carrying boyfriend, whom she keeps pestering to choose the food. The man doesn't seem to be able to speak, smothered as he is in luurve.
To my right, three emo kids/skate punks, in full gear. They've got the ear spikes and the studded belts and the hair so charcoal black you could use their heads as pencils. They stand out as much as circus clowns would on Shk Zayed Rd.
Head of the line? Irate Americans, specifying the exact DNA of their burgers, from lettuce leaves to number of tomatoes.
Back of the line? Sudani taxi driver, nipping in for a quick grilled chicken with fries.
And to complete the set, in walks a man dressed in nothing more than a bathrobe and slippers. Apparently, he's come from a pajama party.

This is a relatively normal night. But you never really know what to expect at Jacks. Sometimes people bring the boozing right in with them. There's the occasional fight. Lovers occasionally finish their arguments and break up here. Quite a bit of flirtation, and definitely some hanky panky in the washroom. Mind you, only in Australia would they ban access to the washroom "because of finding too many needles/people humping there". I kid you not, if you need to use the loo, you'll first have to get a chaperone from the staff.

It almost seems to be some sort of ritual meeting ground for the youth of today, like town halls of yesteryear. As night falls, they are drawn here, in their poorly fitting clothes and their doof-doof cars. Youth, that congregate inside a soulless multinational food chain and turn it to a bawdy pub with their antics. Almost functions as some sort of reclamation, or repackaging to create a group culture.

Damn sight better than Dubai, where the dominant form is sitting outside to breathe in a glorious, heady mix of concrete dust and diesel. And even the people sitting outside are all much of a muchness. At least here, people look quite different from each other, even if it's not socially acceptable. You'll experience a complete spread of humanity, simply by buying a burger.

Rather makes a mockery of Dubai's claim of being a 'melting pot'. Conformity is our watchword.

The Way We Were

2006-08-01T10:22:00.000-07:00

Slow news day today.

In lieu of any rants/random ideas, here's a little memento from when I first got net access, back in '96.

Peace in our time

2006-07-31T09:55:00.000-07:00

Late today, stuck in admin no-man's land. Back on track though.

Today's post is inspired by a good friend of mine, who before I left, professed:

"I don't like Jewish people."

Ok, why exactly? It's the usual litany of reasons...Jews control the world...Lebanon blah...dead people blah...

But does he actually know any Jewish people? Has he ever met any? Nope. Never interacted once with them, never shook their hands. But he's been trained to hate them, by his family, by the media, by the general consensus of his people.

What do you say to that? How can you change something that's been so ingrained into someone? A Jew is not a species. It is not a race. It is a religion. A choice made by a person. It is not like a colour, or personality, or a sexuality, it is something placed upon you at a young age, a hole drilled into your head and the cement of dogma poured to set.

It is something fluid, something that can be and should be open to discussion. People blather endlessly about their faith and defending it, but in truth one must understand every aspect of it to do so. And if you don't, then I don't see how you can stand behind it. If there's even one part where you go, "God..oh eck..erm..mysterious ways!", then the whole thing falls apart. That's because humanity has been given Reason. I don't believe in Divine Providence, don't believe that God works to help us in ways which we can't see.

I'm getting at something here, of course. Like my friend, I was a staunch Muslim. That's meaningless, though. I was staunch because I was supposed to be, because that's what you should answer when people ask. When I actually delved into it, I was confronted by inconsistencies and paradoxes, ideas which could not be resolved. Ironically, it wasn't the West, wasn't pop culture. It was having the courage to speak up to myself and question my beliefs, to accept that no cow is sacred unless we make it so.

And these problems aren't the sole purview of Islam, they're common to all the major religions. One has to ask why exactly someone who had a clue would put the holy places of the three major religions on planet earth in exactly the same place, if He/She/It didn't want their followers to tear each other to pieces. Oh, but that's easy, right? The 'Right' religion will win out in the end.

No, I don't think so. If Israel wanted to win, they could fire one of their nukes into every neighbouring country, or use their muscle to literally shove the Palestinians into the sea. They don't because even they have a line, something which their humanity clings to. Similarly, Hezbollah has failed to incite the Arabs of the region to open revolt because their people won't sacrifice their lives willingly. The only lives they're throwing away now are of the innocent.

This war will not bring peace. The only way, in my humble opinion, is for everyone, my friend included, to realise that Jews and Arabs are all people at the end of the day. Break down your walls, cast aside your hate. Meet and mingle and you'll probably find much in the common at the end of the day. Maybe there's a Jewish chick who likes 80s music and rocks out to Falco when no one's watching, peppy and goofy in all the wrong ways. Perhaps there's an Arab guy who's kinda shy, kinda dopey, casting sideways glances at you and thinks of rainy days by the window sill, holding your hand.

But you'll never know, because you hate Jewish people.

On the Seventh Day God Rested

2006-07-29T11:15:00.000-07:00

And so shall I. It's Sunday!

More inaneness to come. Before I enjoy the Sabbath however, here's something I never knew: Thomas Dolby did half the soundtrack to Howard The Duck. There was even a music video. Featuring the entire cast.

Ok, that song is a total guilty pleasure. As is the film, which was a Friday staple on on Ch33 for the longest time. It still has great special effects, ya know, and the fact I first saw it in black and white (thanks ch33!) made it a weird film noir for me.

One thing which didnt show up on the CH33 version was duck boob.

Probably for the better.

If you doubt me, there's proof. But I ain't going to soil my blog with it.

Ok, I'm outta here! Regular programming resumes on Monday.

Monopoly: Or Sometimes These Freaking Things Just Write Themselves

2006-07-28T07:25:00.000-07:00

Ah, how it takes, back, lazy summer days, spent tossing the dice over a rosewood table with friends and family, clip clopping our little pewter representatives around the periphery of that classic Parker Brothers's game.

What's this? Why, it seems Dubai is getting it's very own edition! Capital! Wouldn't that be such fun, to play that childhood favourite, thoroughly updated with some of our very own regional flavour! Wouldn't you jump for joy?

Would I, bollocks.

Okay, first off, who here actually admits to playing Monopoly? I must have played maybe two complete games of it in my entire life and that's only because a proper rules game takes like three weeks to finish, multiplied by the number of people playing. Heaven forbid if you had that kid who didn't know the rules and just joined because he 'wanted the race car'. Edmund Hillary went up and down Everest (with time for a photo op) faster than the average game of Monopoly. I still have two, unopened, original Monopoly boxes at home, which have been that way for the last fifteen years. Thank you, friends-who-let-their-parents-choose-the-birthday-present. When I really wanted this instead. Oh lord, who wouldn't I have sacrificed on the altar of nerd nirvana if I could have that.

But I digress.

So it isn't the quickest game. It isn't exactly the most interesting, either. I remember getting a damn sight more jizzed about reading the thick manual that came with it rather than playing (I'm er...funny... that way). I remember a whole lot of guff about auctions and interest, all of which made no sense, soI quietly went back to Ludo. I'm guessing it won't hold a whole lotta interest for the average local, who gets bored with his mobile - the pinnacle of modern communciations engineeering - approximately 20 nanoseconds after leaving Axiom, whereupon he promptly turns around and returns inside to get 'some games' installed. And a loud, grating ringtone, no doubt.

But wait!

Toys'R'Us store manager in Deira, Jokesh Mehra...said: "It's the best selling board game at Christmas ... I think we should have one in dirhams ... it's a game that represents Dubai very well because of the property boom and the high prices."

Evidently I spoke too soon. Who the hell is buying this damn thing and inflicting untold pain on future generations?
His second line got me thinking though. Monopoly does represent Dubai! Why, just think about it:

The Bankers control everything.
You can go to jail by accidently being in the wrong place at the wrong time!
(This applies only to locals) If you hang around the place for a cyclical revolution, you get free money! (To other expatriates: You receive the Do Not Collect 200 card.)
Some players can own a Get Out Of Jail Free Card!
Before you know it, all your income can get taken away by rent.
Suddenly, there's no longer any free space left to live!
You never manage to land on Free Parking.
Money doesn't seem to have any value beyond seeing who has the most Right Now:it's all about the title deeds, baby!
More hotels and houses than we know what to do with!
And in the end, everything comes down to the luck of the dice! Except that some players started with a sports car and you started with an old boot.

According to GN, the 'Dubai-exclusive' edition will have some of our current landmarks. Ok, some are pretty obvious, Burj, Emirates Towers, etc. After that though, it gets tricky. Jumeirah Beach Hotel? Jumeirah Towers? Jumeirah Beach Residences? Ski Dubai, with or without Mall 'o the Emirates?

In closing, I say, let's add some real landmarks. Concrete, terra firma, buildings that Dubai came up with, which may not have been the best, or the biggest or whatever, but all of which stood for something once upon a time.

The good old Clock Tower. For most of the my youth, the real symbol of Dubai, sadly sidelined by all this glitzy nonsense coming up now.
Ditto for the Trade Centre, for so long the pinnacle of buildings in Dubai. I don't give two shits about any other building in Dubai (Burj including) but the Trade Centre has real sentimental value for us oldtimers.
The humble Toyota Corolla/Nissan Sunny: the real engine of commerce in the middle east. Without these steady Japanese workhorses, no one would have lived through the tough early years.
The bus station/abra stands. Now these really deserve some plaudits; if only every tourist/New Dubai resident got the chance to tour the city and waterways, they'd understand what Dubai used to be really all about. And they'd probably also meet all the people who really built this place, who really created something out of nothing in this desert inferno and who are now being ingloriously turfed out, clutching their battered suitcases and worn passports, traipsing back home twenty years later with nothing to show for it.

Next: Why can't we all just be friends?

Love And Marriage, go together like pastrami and chutney

2006-07-28T06:53:00.000-07:00

"Marriage is our last, best chance to grow up." - Joseph Barth

So at last, that time has come, that glorious time in a man's life, when he must put away the playthings of youth and turn to more serious matters, of life, love, and progeny. Where he sallies forth into the great unknown, his faithful partner at his side, eager to experience all of life's travails and silent blisses.

Sod That.

Years of Maturity:2. Marriage Proposals: 1.

What utter freaking joy. To be paraded around family members like a well done piece of sirloin. All the while, everything that is your self worth is boiled down to an endless list of statistics and bullet point achievements. It doesn't matter what kind of person you are or how compatible the two of you are, everything comes down to the thickness and texture of your CV. Of which mine is roughly equivalent to a Wrigley's wrapper.

Asian families make it even more fun because half the time, all the so called 'rules' get tossed out the window and the decision is made long before you even wake up the morning. So there you are, all chirpy(ish) and eager to face the new day sun and all that, and all of a sudden you get the dreaded call - that so-and-so's parents are coming to check you out. By you, of course, they mean your parents. Because Lord only knows, the most important thing is that the in-laws get along.

So you say you're sick of All That? That you're aNew Age man, ready to forge his own path into the ether and drag back his own mate by himself, thankyouverymuch? Silly you. Ok, if you insist. You can meet the girl first.

And after that ordeal concludes, you'd wish you just closed your eyes and reopened them sixty years later as they lower you into the casket. What exactly are you supposed to say when you meet this woman? Hi? Nice, looking at your, er, CV? And why do you get a nagging feelling that she resembles nothing so much as a cowpat?

Oh, but your friends don't help either. As they get knocked up one by one, no matter how you proclaim your bachelorhood, the heat is on, baby and you'd better know it. What's worse, everyone, arranged or otherwise, seems to be getting these gorgeous birds. Which leaves me with a whole lot of photos of girls from the dreaded 'middle' of class which is the black hole of obscurity/mediocrity.

What about girlfriends, you say? Nothin' but trouble. Something's always 'wrong'. Wrong age. Wrong colour. Wrong country. Wrong religion (my personal favourite). You're reduced to being a man seeking solace in the arms of lovers but not wives. Oh, just pick one, you say, and weather the storm. This isn't the least bit original, Marwan. Anyhoo, aren't you a New Age man, open and all?

Sure, I am. The 'rents, not so much. For the moment, they're still the ones (gnash) in control.

Gnash.

Next: The 'other' Monopoly in the Middle East.

The Importance of Being Earnest

2006-07-26T09:24:00.000-07:00

Read this guy. Print out his preamble.

Then take a pen. Or a marker. It's ok, I'll wait.

Then take every instance where the author refers to 'Thai' and replace it with, 'local'.

And bingo, you've understood the nature of culture in South East Asian and the Middle East.

This whole lack of confrontation malarkey has been stretched like week old chewing gum in the UAE. Nobody, anywhere, anytime, is willing to call bullshit on something, for fear of upsetting someone 'higher up'. Eventually, that means that we start to self censor outside the office even in the street.

I'll walk down the road and if someone from a certain community is nearby, I'll instantly start talking in the most forced nonchalant manner, because I think that I'll somehow get in trouble for speaking my mind and anyway, I want to avoid the confrontation.

But this isn't my attitude. It's been given to me, by my parents and their parents before me, to not call whooey on anything or speak my mind assertively for fearing of upsetting folks. Try as they might, though, it still isn't my attitude.

I'm western educated, open minded, my whole life spent outside my so-called 'home country'. People who know me well will say I have more in common with Bertie Wooster than any kind of Asian person, so if I'm outspoken and a bit crass sometimes, well that's just who I turned out to be. No amount of shushing and dressing downs is going to change that now.

So what exactly am I supposed to do when I see people trying to paper over the cracks of discontent? What can I do when I see injustice everyday and people treated like dirt? Am I supposed to bow my head and move on, not even point it out?

Isn't that what we are all doing?

Next: Of Marriage Proposals and Men; and How Taking out the trash can be hazardous for your health.

'Small' Arms

2006-07-25T22:14:00.000-07:00

The always interesting Tim Newman here.

It's a great point he makes, that so-called small arms like AK-47s are in fact to blame for much of the death in the world today. Watch Lord Of War, when Nicholas Cage's corrupt arms dealer lovingly caresses an AK, pontificating on its durability, ease of use and plentiful supply of ammunition in virtually any conflict zone in the modern world. It is these guns which fuel the modern conflict, these guns which find themselves in the arms of children and wartime rapists and psychopaths.

You give a man a gun, you give him a means to defend himself. You also give him a one shot solution to the slightest grievance. And while he may agonise over taking that first life, the second one doesn't hurt so much. Even less so the third. By which time, the gun has become an applicance, like a toaster. Once someone's moral compass is broken, it can't be fixed, can't be patched up with duct tape.

But of course, those lives don't matter, because they are being snuffed out in faraway Africa. While American 'smart bombs' grab all the headlines, it's not like they can be deployed by any Tom, Dick or Harry, so they can be in effect only utilized properly in nation-to-nation conflicts. They can cause untold suffering in a single instant, but they atomize their targets. Meanwhile, that Russian or chinese made AK just keeps plugging away, reliable, safe, and convenient, being passed from the hands of one dead owner to another, good as gold.

But those lives don't matter. The only ones that do are of people who look like us. And african children, minds irreparably warped, tiny fingers clinging to their hand guns and AKs, simply don't look as photogenic as those loads of adorable lebanese children lying lifeless amid the rubble. You want to pick up those lifeless bundles, caress their dusty hair and scream impotent epithets against the heartless fiends that snuffed them out.

Those Africans kids, though, now they're a bit scary, innit? Those eyes don't exactly scream give me a hug, the torn clothes make them look awfully low class. And where are their parents?! Why aren't they around to show them what they are doing is wrong, to take them home and fatten them up a bit?

Nah. That conflict's a bit old hat, innit? We sent money for all those Aid thingies, so surely they must have sorted it out now. It's not like someone would make the same mistake twice and keep selling guns to Africans, would they?

Newsflash - Sri Lanka to its citizens in Lebanon - "Tough"

2006-07-25T21:33:00.000-07:00

Read this.

"Labour relations minister Athauda Senevirathne said most Sri Lankans in Lebanon wanted to remain, and urged relatives not to press them to leave."

Oh yes, I do just love the smell of napalm in the morning. Obviously, their citizens have no wish to leave a bombed out warzone. Which is nothing at all like home. No, the Sri Lanka government quite clearly thinks that their citizens should be ruddy used to it by now and if not, well, now is the perfect time to level up their 'Dodge' skill.

90k civilians and no one wants to get them out? Including the freaking Labour Relations minister? For goodness sake, even the Indians have got their people largely out by now, but the Sri Lankans drag their feet, humming and hawwing. Without even being able to contact most of the concerned individuals, the government has decided they don't want to be rescued and instead blame the relatives?! The people, who, uh, don't want their family pounded into dust?

And it's sickeningly obvious why. These low income workers represent a significant source of foreign remittance to the economy (when you're as tiny as Sri Lanka, 90k is a lot of people). The government doesn't see people, they see dollar signs. With the homeland currently on a war footing, it would cost the gubment a packet to send ships and planes to repatriate them, and another packet to send them back when hostilities cease. So they have coldly gambled that enough will survive the conflict to resume sending fistfuls of blood soaked cash (of which various corrupt gubment types will take a tidy bite) to those relatives.

As always, it's good to be any colour besides brown.

The End of All Things: Lebanon Edition

2006-07-19T04:32:00.000-07:00

I don't normally comment on issues of politics or the region, because I'm far from well versed in these matters. One needs an element of cross eyed-ness to penetrate the wheels within wheels which underpin the Middle East. Remember the old adage, "a water pipe breaks in Damascus, which must be the fault of Israel"? Probably, but add that the semtex to blow up the pipe was most likely supplied by Iran.

Anyway, you know what?

I'm tired.

Fed up. Had it up to here.

Not. Interested.

In this war in Lebanon.

I'm sick of seeing dead children on the front page of the paper. And in the middle. They're rather a good way to break one's joie de vivre.

Because I don't care. Really, really don't. Feel no pain when I see dead children, or dead civilians, or destroyed, blasted, burnt out shells. Because I come from a place where I've been seeing this all my life, where every day brings forth new casualties. So if Lebanese people are dying in their hundreds, it makes no difference to moi. Because they didn't start petitions when my people were dying, they didn't send delegations to the security council. Because my skin colour doesn't entitle me to be alive.

In fact, I'm prepared to say that in some ways, I almost admire Israel. They care so strongly about their people - or at least about projecting the image that they do - that they are willing to journey to the darkest edges of insanity, raining biblical amounts of fire and brimstone upon unblemished innocents - for the sake of just two men.

And it's because those two men matter. Not because of their families or of public pressure, but the country values their lives.

Hezbollah doesn't value the lives of their countrymen. Why else would they be prepared to engage in a dangerous game of chicken with the most fearsome regional power? When all is said and done, they will withdraw from Lebanon back to their strongholds in Syria and Iran, while people are left to pick up the pieces and rebuild.

Should the US intervene? Why?
This region has clamoring for all out war with the infidels since I was a child. Well, now they've got it, so let's see what you're made of. Oh wait, looks like you ain't hard enough. Smacks of all manner of irony that they're asking the people they despise and behead to save them. So what if the Americans supplied them? Ask your 'good buddies' in the region to step in - God will do the 'needful'.

Oh dear, it looks like God has forsaken you.

New Dubai

2006-07-11T08:28:00.000-07:00

Bur Dubai is not quite as spiffy as the posters. Ah, the quality of life.

A phenomenon I've noticed recently - the dust has become so thick it's impossible to keep it away. Used to be you could wash your car bimonthly - lucky if you can get away with three days now.

And the dust is really weird - this greyish, powdery, kind of thing that reminds me an awful lot of concrete dust. Lord only knows what it's doing to our lungs, but hey, if we don't like it, we can leave right? Or stop breathing.

Nectar of the Gods

2006-07-07T08:46:00.000-07:00

From the menu of a rather famous place on Diyafah road (a trifle to guess).

Spot the difference between the sharwarmas. I couldn't and I've eaten the damn things. (Seems like varying levels of ketchup/chili, FYI.)

Ah, the drinks menu. I'm personally enamored of "dayablo", although I'm thinking of a rather different version that an rather adventurous bartender cooked up for me - and that was called "El Diablo".
And er...is it really wise to be drinking something that means literally, 'the Devil'? Doesn't that technically make it firewater?

Kidny plate. Because the extra 'e' was overbudget, but the kids were still pretty cheap.

Award Makes More Confident

2006-07-06T10:05:00.000-07:00

And all your base are belong to us, etc.

Not sure what creeps me out more: the aryan in the vest next to the sign, or the creepy prepubescent boy in underwear on the back window (which I couldn't get in frame, sadly).

The world is funny and all that

2006-07-05T09:03:00.000-07:00

This might well become a photography blog - I see enough loopy shit on a daily basis. There's sloppy advertising and then there's Dubai advertising - which often seems like three blind men, a monkey, three random Indians, King Gyananendra and the producers of New York Minute were locked in a cage and the bloody victors allowed to submit the final proposal.

For example:

Taken opposite the Deira Abra station. Nothing special? Look closer at that street sign.

??!?!

One can almost hear the plaintive first strings of Gustavo Santaolalla's score. Or perhaps I should replace that with the tender musings of one Nancy Ajram. Either way...erm...let's just say it was hard to keep eyes on the road (and Deira is one place you really want to)...

And this is notable not for the spelling mistake, but that the writer took the care to correct it for version 2.0.

And introduce a completely different one. Maybe if I rub it, Robin Williams will pop out...?

Exactly what I think of the mascot of the Dubai Shopping Experience

2006-06-30T01:23:00.000-07:00

Modhesh. Ribbed for her pleasure.

Car washes and the Infinite Sadness

2006-06-28T14:40:00.000-07:00

Lazy Days, as Enya would say.

And what shall become my trademark drink:

Elephants and Acrobats

2006-06-01T08:36:00.000-07:00

Coming home soon.

Not the place to be.

This isn't either.

This is worse.

At home, you're too busy to think.

Here, all you do is stink.

Think of how you could have, or you couldn't. Would if you could, but can't so you won't.

Empty days and fair weather.

Pretentious writing styles and preposterous blather.

The poetry of unoriginality. A diary unkept.

A life scribbled in the margins, while taking the L Train to 8th Avenue.

A brief rundown, foolishly uttered.

A mental pygmy, among Atlases.

A love of things but not people. What happens when there are no more things to love?

So long, it's been good to know yuh.

Damn You Blogger

2006-03-17T05:39:00.000-08:00

You no good, 403-forbidden piece of shit.

Photoblogging

2006-03-14T05:44:00.000-08:00

Not a damn thing to write about in boring Melbourne so its time to clear out the scrapbook. And torment my largely silent congregation with crappy trips from my past.
Sri Lanka's only golf course. Looks like shit, doesn't it? Like God got set loose with a copy of SimCity's terrain Editor. The Desert Classic isn't losing any sleep. Yes, that boat in the bottom left is for retrieving lost balls. And yes, it's a rowboat.

Bur Dubai is so classy yes? There's a Chinese prostitute who stands below that AC and I swear, every day she gives it an evil look when it drips on her top. Good business is all location, location.

Australia's not-so-Great Ocean Road. Oh, no question it's scenic and all that, and unquestionably one of the great driving roads. But utterly ruined by the police berks who stick speed cameras all over it while refusing to signpost where the hell you are. Still, it's not all that bad. The seaside town of Lorne had the best fish n chips I ever had. Ok, the only fish n chips I've ever had.
Yes, I'm positive that sign has prevented many deaths in Wadi Wuraiyyah. Health and Safety would have an aneurysm if they came to Dubai.

Enough already. Time to go watch paint dry. (Really.)

Australia

2006-03-12T07:04:00.000-08:00

Random photography. Shiny No-Prize for anyone who can be bothered to guess where it is.

Just a few days before the Commonwealth games open and the city has almost completed its transformation. Public transport is all geared up and ready - in fact, most of the venues don't have any form of parking, so it's trams/trains or bust. On the roads, special lanes have been designated for team buses. Games tickets double as public transport tickets. Security forces out and about to prevent any mishaps. And for those pre-game jittery nerves, most local brothels are expecting record business.

Fascinating to think how Dubai would have handled this. Given how they handled Shopping festivals for the last ten years, I am inclined to think they would have fluffed it. The visa work alone probably would have led to the creation of some kind of 'Immigration & Naturalization City.' Of course, modern, first world Australia has two of those - Nauru and Woomera.

It's all a bit academic, really, given that Dubs seems unlikely to be hosting any sporting events in the near future, in light of recent events. Thank goodness anyway - I can't stand any kind of pro sports. Would rather wash my (filthy) truck in the height of summer dressed like Johnny Cash. And Germany 2006, that means you too.

Song of the moment - Julieta Venegas - Fe

Updates - Short Cuts

2006-03-05T06:15:00.000-08:00

Presently in Australia enjoying the sweltering heat of late summer as it starts to cross fade into winter.

Watching American Idol; oddly, first time I've ever really sat down with it and y'know, it's not actually that bad. The live results seem a little crooked, mind, and human nature doesn't always agree with the judges, but it really comes as a surprise to find it compelling television.

Mind you, this isn't because I skipped over it somehow in my smorgasbord of regular watching. Cinema has always come first, but after a lackluster 04 and 05, it seemed time to check out what's playing on the small screen.
{
And how far it has come:
- Nostalgia may paint old comedies as timeless, but surely no one has ever worked harder for chuckles than the cast of Arrested Development.
"I held distinctions in two fields simultaneously, as an analyst AND a therapist. I was, in fact, the world's first analrapist." - Dr. Tobias Funke, MD

- Rest in Peace, Star Trek. Battlestar Galactica has your measure. A scintillating mix of compelling drama, pressing issues and the triumphant return of the gritty, wheezy unreliable space ships of my youth. Oh, and some corking dialogue, too.
"Do you know how useless prayer is? Chanting, and singing, and mucking about with old half-remembered lines of bad poetry? And you know what it gets you? Exactly nothing." - Brother Cavill

- Just when it seems to be spinning its wheels, Season 2 of Lost comes back into the game. If you haven't seen an episode of it by now, for shame. Drop everything, go the videostore and roll up your sleeve for a injection of heroiny goodness.

- Guess it's too late now to hop on now, but for five years, The Shield has been perhaps the most intense - if sometimes unbelievable - drama on television. Watch the very first episode from '02 down to the last scene. And if that last heart-stopping moment doesn't hit you in the chest like a sledgehammer, perhaps you deserve to read KT press releases for five years as punishment.
}

Still into travel, but time and money do not often permit. Perhaps a road trip to Sydney, before it gets too cold.

My old school, St.Mary's Catholic, has an alumni meeting the day I leave. It would figure. It also figures that my classmates who went were the oldest alumni in attendance. We always were the dead generation - and now we have become the scattered ones.

All the good women are married. Soon I will be too old to join the club. Searing thought: are moderate mental illnesses worth revealing to a potential wife? Heck, I haven't even told my parents I have OCD/bipolar. The question of whether I should continues to haunt me.

Thinking of leaving Dubai soon - depends if I want to take up employment in its nascent media. But long term plans are out. And after living there for nearly twenty six years, it feels dashed odd to want to leave. Perhaps one day, if i can gather my thoughts I will write a nice retrospective, warts and all. The scars are really only from the last ten years - before that, before all this sound of fake progress, it was far more idyllic. For now, consolidating my exit gains are primary concerns.

Addendum

2006-03-01T15:20:00.000-08:00

After the last slightly alcohol fuelled post...here's a slightly amended version...gets to the point better...

Looking for single women in Dubai....non-prostitutes or previously working as such. Have money/car/watch but not interested in spending any on potentials so parsimony appreciated...preference given to tall, US/UK educated (ie no arabs, filipinos, indians, pakis, banglas, sri lankans, locals, jordanians, syrians, egyptians, kuwaitis, bahrainis, qataris, saudis - iranis ok because some of them are right fit innit) candidates with minimum five years xp in matrimonial/affairs, knowledge of MS Word/Excel and must be willing to shag afterwards despite enduring my three hour lectures about the appalling state of affairs of expatriates in the UAE.

kthnx

Motherfucking Valentines Day

2006-02-14T16:00:00.000-08:00

I hate you, Valentines Day. Or VD, as that is what you shall now be known as. You certainly feel like an uncomfortable boil on a sensitive area.

I hate you VD, because you are everyone who looked on smugly from their tables in Irish Village at the poor single guy walking around. I hate you because you are every couple at the club who flicked away from the nervous single guy standing in corner who didn't know how to dance. You are every group of single women who huddled together when they saw the nerd with glasses whenever he ran into them. You are every woman who judges a man in this godforsaken place by the clothes they wear, the watch he wears and the car he drives.

I hate you because you are every teenager prancing around with a little fitty fil heart shaped monstrosity handing out to random girls and I sure as hell don't remember getting one back in the day.

I hate you because you are every girl who wouldn't give me the time of day. You were the nice girl who wanted better, the pretty girl who was slumming, the popular girl who wasn't sure.

I hate you VD, because I can't find a woman here. As in literally, there are no women left. And the ones that are, know they can do better so they wait.

I hate you, Valentines Day, because you are A Lie.

Saturday In The Park

2006-02-12T14:34:00.000-08:00

Today I saw:

A nice spot to park my car in Deira, under a spread tree. If you have been to the Salemiyah Tower in Maktoum street, you'll know where I'm talking about. Having concluded my appointments, lunch beckoned. But the dusty windshield had been bugging me all day (I have OCD) so it was time to whip out the feather duster and give the old girl a quick once over before starting for home.

The dust was fairly flying, when a middle aged kandoura clad local walked past. He glanced at me, did a double take, then came back. He seemed to be sizing me up.

"Your car?"he asked finally.

Yes, I nodded.

This seemed to take him aback somehow. He continued on his way to the meter to get a ticket. What a peculiar question, I thought.

On the return journey to his vehicle, he again questioned me.
"Sure this is your car?"

Uh, yes, definitely. I tugged the keys at my waist to emphasise the point.

He then began to apologise. "I'm sorry..when I saw you, I thought you were a cleaner...I was going to ask you to clean my car...sorry, ah?"

It's ok, I shrugged. As he walked away, I put the duster down. Didn't really feel like it any more.

Today I learned.
That some things never change. And perhaps I should dress better.

A Tale Of two Echoes

2006-02-12T14:22:00.000-08:00

oday I saw:

On Khalid Bin Walid Street, a Toyota Echo driven by an Asian man of clearly South Indian descent. He had double parked on the main road, blocking a busy exit lane, while attempting to receive his goods from the roadside computer shop. Preoccupied on his mobile phone, a police patrol car came alongside and stopped beside him. Blasting their airhorn furiously, the two officers gestured for him to move along, while themselves blocking the road. The man took on a pleading expression, and though I could not hear him or the police officers, the exchange seemed to indicate he was danger of receiving a ticket if he tarried a moment longer. Hazards off, the driver and his Echo were away like he had been shot.

On Khalid Bin Walid Street, a Toyota Echo driven by an Arab man of clearly Omani descent. He had double parked on the main road, blocking a busy exit lane, while attempting to receive his goods from the roadside computer shop. Preoccupied on his mobile phone, a police patrol car came alongside. The two officers at first looked at the licence plate, then gestured for him to move along, while themselves blocking the road. The driver, young and sharply dressed in a local manner, began speaking to the officers calmly, and though I could not hear either of them, the exchange seemed to indicate he met with their disapproval. Concluding their exchange, the police car pulled away, while the young man waited in his car for a space to open up.

Today I learned:
A little more about people.

Hilarious Gas Explosions

2005-11-05T21:31:00.000-08:00

Anyone remember when the gas companies used to deal in cylinders without the safety heads? And the guy would check for gas leaks with A LIGHTED MATCH? I recall one flaming out and singing his eyebrows.
Thank goodness for progress.

DAPping

2005-11-01T06:21:00.000-08:00

iPod love or hate? Every major city in the world is filled with the blessed things, but Dubai remains an Apple free zone? Is it the price? Maybe it's because the style thing is not that important? Or maybe that we all travel in cars and have radios and things...

The people who could really use an iPod - bus travellers - can't of course afford them.

Smiths night

2005-10-27T02:08:00.000-07:00

One of the most honest songs I've ever heard about depression. In a small way, it also speaks to me about life here.

This is another fine mess you've gotten us into

2005-10-18T20:39:00.000-07:00

Looks like I've derailed the 'nationality' debate at Emirati's blog with my maudlin 'I love UAE..why can't we just get along' speech.

Can't help it. I don't know what drives me to love this place, but I do know what drives me crazy is when Emiratis tell us our loyalties are divided. They're not.

PS: i'm talking about the guys who grew up here. Not these new arrivals who are stinking up the joint (all nationalities) with their greed and fame-chasing. They just want to suck this place dry and move on to the next Hong Kong or Singapore where they can live the life of Riley while pissing on the natives.

Even you, SecretDubai - you've only been here a relatively short while, you weren't here for the really good stuff. Those who grew up here could tell you it used to be absolutely wonderful and there was so little COMPLAINING. Ramadan was really a time of joy, for all religions. Now fasting has become utterly weary and it's hard to feel God in your heart anymore.

PPS: This isn't a slam on SD - at least she is trying to give the people a voice.

The Conversation

2005-10-16T05:35:00.000-07:00

For your reading pleasure, I present an exchange i had the other day with a 'friend' of mine, in it's unadulterated, nutball glory. You will be tested later, so try to identify the points when I:
a) listened attentively
b) tried to help
c) got pissed
d) didnt care any more.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

my mum n sis went crazy n they are taking out everything on the clueless me

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

they claim its cos im a disgrace n they dun want me anymore...

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

......

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

apparently i haf a "white bf" n they've enuf of my shit

Marwan says:

really

Marwan says:

wow

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

wow

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

Marwan says:

isnt their position pretty tenous really also

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

..........

Marwan says:

wow as in wht the hell

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

yeah but they keep assuming all the wrong things n being unfair....if they dun pay for my nxt 2 semesters im fucked...im gonna haf to beg.......for accomodation i can afford myself.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i'll write to the sporean papers if i haf to.

Marwan says:

what are they assuming

Marwan says:

and why wont they pay

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

they r assuming im all havoc n im just like my dad...so they dun want to do anything with me

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

n they think i haf some white trash bf..

Marwan says:

well then you have to drop him

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

im 20 n i dun see y my mums trippin out on me

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i didnt even say he was "white"....i accidently told my sis....who's been a multiple stabber.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

n he's got nothin to do with them...i think i shud haf the freedom...if they still trip out then its them tat need help dun u think

Marwan says:

yes but at the moment you still need them

Marwan says:

so sacrifices have to be made sometimes

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

wat diff would it make is the thing

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

the worst thing is they cant get me at night...n they think im partyin...but i actually work all night like a slave....but i cant tell em...cos they wont approve either..

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

ah....enuf of my fucked up life

Marwan says:

so what do you want to do

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

im gonna just move.

Marwan says:

and what about parents

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

then i'll ask my dad directly...only for the remainin sem fees...tts wat im plannin...no need for expenses

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

they dun want me seriously...

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

the "ur just havoc' thing is an excuse for them to get rid of one burden

Marwan says:

based on previous evidence, do you think your father will help

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

50% chance he might pay for my remaining semester.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

if not im gonna haf to work n then defer my studies.

Marwan says:

and what will that achieve?

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i can never get enuf to pay for the intl student rate really....

Marwan says:

exactly

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

nothing to achieve...just haf to find a way...im sick of knowing not wat to do

Marwan says:

ok simple solution

Marwan says:

do what you parents want you to do

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

then i will finish my fuckin edu when i haf enuf....

Marwan says:

not worth it

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

u dun understand....even if i do they wont believe cos tts their excuse to push me off

Marwan says:

what do you want me to say

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

my dad doesnt care...he said he wont waste $ on my stupid degree....its not abt if he thinks im what im not

Marwan says:

either way nothing will work so you might as well jump off crown bridge

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

maybe..

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

im just tellin u...i know there's no solution

Marwan says:

there is always a solution

Marwan says:

sometimes it involves compromise

Marwan says:

which people dont like

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

my prob is that if i compromise with em im stuck with em

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i really want out....im miserable when im with em..

Marwan says:

well no choice at present

Marwan says:

they hold the money

Marwan says:

so you have to do what they want

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

true.

Marwan says:

you are protesting but in the end you are powerless

Marwan says:

so no point wasting time on it

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i dunno wat the protest is abt...becos if they're so against me havin a lil peace of mind fr all of their shit.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

u dunno how unhappy i am at home with em

Marwan says:

thats because it has become a situation

Marwan says:

someone needs to de-escalate

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

yeah maybe

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

fr wat.

Marwan says:

the situation

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

everyone's trippin out on me...this yr ive been quiet n mature n i get more shit.

Marwan says:

mature is not how you are dealing with it

Marwan says:

your mum and dad are going through a very stressful time right now and the best thing you can do is keep your head down

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i did...my sis is the one whos back stabbing n tellin my mum things

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i didnt do anything.

Marwan says:

well then tell them the truth

Marwan says:

tell them about your bf and your job

Marwan says:

and if they dont like it, drop both

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

cannot....becos if i do tt theyd deport me bk immediately.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i rather stay here than go bk to that darkness

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

theyd defer my studies n then send me for some weird pep talk

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

scary.

Marwan says:

the truth cant be hidden

Marwan says:

then drop both and tell them everythings fine

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

they r bastards they wont give me $

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

u dun understand....

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

im not gonna drop anything

Marwan says:

you cant have it every way

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

the bf is a lamest excuse for my sis to try to push me out...n

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

the job is for me to haf money cos they dun give me

Marwan says:

well drop the bf he is not essential

Marwan says:

what do you need money for

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

he helps me.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

even if my evil sis didnt know abt tt which i blurted out like a crazy idiot....they still wont give money

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

cos they see me as unwanted

Marwan says:

no parent will refuse their daughter money

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

mine do..

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

aiyo no one will believe me..

Marwan says:

you're right

Marwan says:

i dont either

Marwan says:

what do you want

Marwan says:

seriously

Marwan says:

you want a bf but you cant handle the heat that comes with it

Marwan says:

you want money but your parents wont give it and even earning it seems to be a problem

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

its not the bf...i dun even tell anyone details abt the person

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

so how can they hate or say anything

Marwan says:

its because hes white

Marwan says:

i know where they are coming from

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

its abt the money tts all....my personal life does not concern them

Marwan says:

it does concern them because you are their daughter

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i didnt even say what race...they assume n they're mad

Marwan says:

wait a minute

Marwan says:

you said they knew what he was white

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

y is it tt they only concern themselves with all this n not other things...

Marwan says:

what other things should they be concerned about

Marwan says:

the fact that you tend bar at a club

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i said they dunno anything abt the person...

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

nothing at all n they assume...so it shows tt they just find something to kick me off...tts wat hurts me

Marwan says:

why dont you TELL THEM

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

tt is the highest paying part time job

Marwan says:

but it is not *respectable*

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

taking in mind that not everyone gets that job btw....n the reason i haf to do it is also THEM n them fucking up MY life by being idiots

Marwan says:

find a different one

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

fuck respectable....that is one thing they cant comment on now

Marwan says:

it doesnt matter you are INDIAN not australian

Marwan says:

you need their money so you have to follow their rules, its that simple

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

this is very high iM...i can earn $1500 a month

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

if i did more shifts

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

n only 3 days a week..

Marwan says:

that will barely cover rent

Marwan says:

not enough to live on

Marwan says:

what about food school fees

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i know i do....but then they dun wanna give me $ for my expenses.

Marwan says:

then fucking grovel till they give you some money

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i know

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

the pt is i haf to beg.

Marwan says:

because you dont have a choice

Marwan says:

everyone has to beg

Marwan says:

i worked my ass off to start a business and still i am 2nd class citizen

Marwan says:

so you do what you have to do

Marwan says:

fuck the pride

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

cos its not like there are rules tt i disobeyed....even if i meditated at home all day

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

id haf the same prob...my dad's doing this cos im the most timid at home...n im the first target.

Marwan says:

it doesnt matter

Marwan says:

you are an adult now so start acting like one and confront them like one

Marwan says:

otherwise be condemned to bitch forever

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

yeah i haf no pride...i stoop to doing manual stuff just for the $...n no one would believe my bkground if i told them

Marwan says:

or go marry this fellow and do whatever you want with your life

Marwan says:

stoop?

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

yeah i wont bitch

Marwan says:

so sorry la...i guess my box carrying must offend you

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

u know u haf to do alot of work...esp at 6am when the place closes.

Marwan says:

let me say this AGAIN

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i do that too

Marwan says:

either give up the job or leave your parents

Marwan says:

either give the bf or leave your parents

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

carry large trays of glasses...i haf bruises all over n i dun mind.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

they shud admire this

Marwan says:

they didnt ask you to do it why should they admire it

Marwan says:

i wouldnt want my daughter to work as a waiter

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

they did....becos they didnt give me $.....my sis is coming up with stories abt me going off with a druggie bf...the pt is he doesnt even smoke or drink.

Marwan says:

they didnt give you money you can find some other profession

Marwan says:

work in a restaurant or somethin

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

if u dun give ur daughter money n u treat her badly she'd do it

Marwan says:

the point is

Marwan says:

are you starving

Marwan says:

are you beggin on the road

Marwan says:

if not, you dont need to do this

Marwan says:

are you honestly trying to tell me you parents send the rent and nothing else?

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

im not given $ n u still dun believe

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

yes

Marwan says:

no i dont

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

n the rent isnt here btw.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

so they plan to pack me off..

Marwan says:

ok even simpler choices

Marwan says:

go back to singapore

Marwan says:

or elope with this nutter here

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

y shud i succumb to them deferring me while my fuckwit sis gets to live in gucci luxury n do her pst grad n never worked ever

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

tt means one child gets everything n the other nothing.

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

the pt is i know tt they r finding excuses to send me bk...n i wont go bk....tts y im gonna move out n not tell em where i am.

Marwan says:

you are not exactly suffering yet

Marwan says:

oh thats a very mature way to deal with it

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i might haf to go with this boy....my life's all screwed.

Marwan says:

your life is screwed because you are making foolish decisions

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i haf 2 choices.....

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

stay here or go bk/get deferred/be miserable

Marwan says:

well pick one godamnnit

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

im staying....

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

what would u do

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

go bk n get deferred

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

either way if i go bk its short lived cos my dad will leave real soon n they're gonna be fucked as well.

Marwan says:

if you have to go back, you have to go back

Marwan says:

if i followed your logic

Marwan says:

in 2001 i would have stayed in america

Marwan says:

married the druggie chick

Marwan says:

probably be working as a waiter or a cook and still trying to get a degree, five years later

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

lol

Marwan says:

i am being serious

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

but u had something to go bk to....my whole house is shattered.

Marwan says:

not really

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

its miserable for me to go bk....i'd go insane.

Marwan says:

well tough man

Marwan says:

sometimes life is fucking miserable

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

the boy im with is not wild...im the bad one who's straightened up more.

Marwan says:

he really is crazy

Marwan says:

because i'd never in a milliion years go out with you

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

yeah, i feel happy with this person, n i dun see y i shud go bk for something worse for my mind

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

he likes me i guess.....

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

n im better off with this than a miserable family pickin on me

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i didnt ask u to go out with me lol

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

u dunno the real me...

Marwan says:

thank goodness

Marwan says:

i'd prefer not to know the fake you

Marwan says:

or any you, for that matter

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

so mean...but the pt is tts my rationale.

Marwan says:

your rationale is insane

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

u'd give up a better peaceful life for tumultous home

Marwan says:

every home is tumultous

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

mine's shockingly rude.

Marwan says:

you think mine is any different?

Marwan says:

there is no such thing as an ideal peaceful family

Marwan says:

i dont believe that there is some girl out there who will solve all my problems

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

aiyo mine is violent ....crying everyday...

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

going to investigators everyday

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

mad shit

Marwan says:

*everyone* cries and everyone has crazy things happening

Marwan says:

in my short life you wont believe the things that happend to me or the stuff i put my folks through sometimes...and vice versa

Marwan says:

you just have to carry on regardless

Marwan says:

and keep the peace

Marwan says:

cant just take off at the first sign of troulbe

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

too many signs....if u were me u would...trust me..

Marwan says:

the sign of a strong person is that they can withstand it all

Marwan says:

man forget it

Marwan says:

i'm wasting my time here

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i know what u mean

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i want to be happy... i dun think anyone will realise how depressin tt home is

Marwan says:

nobody else will...telling me doesnt help in any way..so you have to sort out your own problems

Marwan says:

where the fuck is your bf right now...what use is he if he can't help

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

he is helping alot...he will move with me...he helps even with $

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

im just tellin u all this....i wont tell other frens cos they dun give a shit or wont believe

Marwan says:

if he is any kind of man he would have called your parents by now

Marwan says:

instead of leaving it all to you

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

he does everything else...the moving the jobs the $...but he doesnt wanna haf anything to do with em...n i dun want to cos if i involve this then im gonna get into shit...dun u think

Marwan says:

no i dont think

Marwan says:

if he doesnt have the balls to talk to your parents then all the money in the world aint shit in my reckoning

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

the issue is not concerning him n he knows its abt the family prob...

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

its obvious its not abt tt.....how cz would it be if ur parents fuck u up for somethin they haf no evidence of...right

Marwan says:

evidence doesnt matter because it is true

Marwan says:

once its out its too late

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

i didnt know my sis would fuck me up

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

lucky i didnt tell the details....i'd be fucked up more

Marwan says:

it doesnt matter now

Marwan says:

you wont get any freedom if you dont fight for it

Marwan says:

and it starts by telling the truth warts and all

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

sigh........

·°• J à | ª p É Ñ ø •°· says:

wats new with u anyway

On Chinese

2005-08-21T01:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wish I could be sorrydubai and just go nuts in the post...cos there doesn't appear to be anyone else heeerrreee...

Anyways, for my non-existent audience, here's something from my murky past...

At one point, briefly, I had a thing for Chinese women in a big way and dated quite a few of them. It never panned out, usually because the racial thing was just too big to overcome. Not for me - for them. From what I've observed, Chinese are raised to believe that they are racially superior to all other races. In *every* way. Westerners who marry Chinese are looked down upon and the girl even more so because she dares to defy tradition and 'soil" herself. (Note that there are almost no Chinese guys who marry foreign women - that should tell you something right there.) The girl usually does it because the money is good and this is not a bad thing, according to the Chinese social circle. If a girl marries money, it's perfectly acceptable, apparently. But the husband will never be truly made welcome. And she should never forget that by blood, she is better. Forget about Indians or Africans or any other race; those are like vermin.

Trust me, I could write a book on these guys...spent a long time observing them. But getting back to the point, I was at uni one day (loong long ago) and I had just been dumped by yet another Chinese girl. As luck would have it, I was the only guy in a class full of Chinese girls and the tutor's question was : "Have you ever dated someone of another ethnicity and if no, would you ever do it?"

Again, as the question went round the class, fortune had placed me right at the end. And I just couldn't believe my ears. Not a single girl, from nearly every region - China, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesis - had ever dated someone not Chinese and they wouldn't do so either. Listening to those responses one after the other just turned my stomach. And because of this so called PCness, nobody wanted to actually admit being racist but by gum, were they having trouble. And of course, when it came to my turn, I looked like a right fool.

Listen all. you poor bachelors in Dubai seeking solace in the arms of that Chinese hooker - you would run screaming into the night if you only knew what they thought of you. I'm not kidding when I say that their skin crawls at the very sight of you. They would rather have a 65 yr old English leper with half a dozen STDs than sleep with your Asian ass. Same goes for the locals, sorry guys if you thought you were any better. But thank goodness for the almighty dirham, because that is the great equaliser. As in all things in life, money will sort out your qualms.

About that smile...

2005-08-10T23:32:00.000-07:00

In the vein of man bites dog,
Man fined for swearing.

Another day, another pointless argument. People could learn a thing or two from Mean Girls and stop with the softcore public insults, and start treating each other with a litte respect. If you think of the other person as a human being, you might not be so quick to dish out the four letter words and start belittling them. Or maybe it is because this new modern society we live in means that courtesy is old fashioned? One of the things that used to be great about living here was that everybody played nice and understood each other's problems.

Are we as a society destined towards savagery? I'm no wine-sipping gallery owner, but aren't we supposed to climb out on the pit, not roll backwards?

Inaugural blowhard post...

2005-08-10T11:00:00.000-07:00

Sharjah has a sign that says, "Smile, you are in Sharjah." It is written in flowers.

Dubai needs something like that.

Of course, mighty Dubai doesn't need a sign like that - we have all these wonderful (and they truly are) architetural monoliths to show everyone Dubai is the place to be, if you wanna be someone. This is a young, vibrant city, the kind that's fresh out of university and eager to take on the world and show the folks that all that money didn't go to waste. No one can give you the time of day here because their watch is set to tomorrow. We will soon have a ski slope in the desert. We have our own Grand Prix series, the world's richest horse race and engineering masterpieces like the Palm and the Burj.

Thing is, we're just too busy to put up a sign like that. Who has time to smile anyway? What is a smile? Can I spend it? Everyone's trying to change - this country is like the world's largest self help group. Everyone rushing from A to B, clinging to pillar C while shoving the next guy offa D. Hey, I'm not complaining: change is good. Without change, this remarkable environment (and you Shk Z - we miss ya) the lives of myself and millions of others might well have been different in another country, working against the odds to survive. But no one is ever satisfied The government keeps pushing for improvements, the workforce wants more salaries and the rich - well, they just want to get richer (but I'm pretty sure they are happy.) Maybe it's modern consumerist society - grab that brass ring now! Are we satisfied? Ask the average person and they'll say "Sure...but here's my laundry list of changes for the UAE that will make my life better.." - in other words, missing the point of the question.

Forget it people. Think you are content because of that car/watch/mobile? You will never be as long as you make that brass ring real. Sometimes, you just have to smile. Just forget it all and think, "all things considered, this place ain't that bad. In fact, I may just like it. But you didn't hear it from me."

Our real problem is those Sharjah guys.