If they don't give me proper credit I just walk away

6. Executive Office
Emirates Towers
11:42 a.m.

At least for now, I have to speak somewhat in code not only because I need to show the CIA that I can keep my career a secret, but also because either I take myself too seriously, or I don't want to be fired for talking to Rachel, Susie and Cara (WHASSUP?! SHOUT OUT!! BIOTCHESS! YEAAHHH) about confidential meetings.

That said, I think beneath the surface of Dubai, or at least what I thought was the surface, the values are there, the motives are admirable and it is not all about glitz and glam (even though I don't know a commercial art world where this doesn't seem to be half the point; is art the ultimate evidence of an evolved society? or evidence that people are struggling and need to express that struggle some how?).

The advisor we met with, who was stroking his dishdasha like a mane of luxurious hair and batting his eyelashes like his prince had finally appeared, is eager to build a city that in his words is more "phil collins than madonna."

Although I must have expected the leaders to be thinking this way given my task at hand (though I don't know quite what Phil Collins song expresses a material-less utopia), I was still very moved by the conversation.

I do constantly wonder who we're talking about here:

- the Yalumbaites! seem entertained enough.

- the taxi drivers work 7 days/week, 12 hours/day, 11 months/year and some how do not actually seem to be going insane (maybe they are all secretly painting in their one room, ten bed apartments)

- the locals...I don't yet know.

why should I subject my values on others?

A Palomino dashboard and duel muffler twins

5. Bubbly Thursday's at Yalumba! [their exclamation, not mine]
Le Méridien Dubai
9:42 p.m.

"The culture and society of the UAE are a blend of traditional and modern elements. The religion of Islam and the heritage of a traditional, tribal society form the basis of a stable and essentially conservative social structure. There is, however, a decidedly tolerant and cosmopolitan atmosphere—most notable in the emirate of Dubai—that gives resident non-Emiris opportunities to enjoy their own cultural and religious organizations." [Infocentre Dubai, dubai.alloexpat.com]

I can't quite shake the image of the pasty-with-a-hint-of-burn-chunky-british woman screeching along to greased lightning, dancin' dirty next to the dessert buffet and spilling out of her lacy 80s top, which she grew out of twenty some odd years ago. If she's a real pussy wagon, I'm hoping we'll run of oil soon because i ceratinly don't want a ride. (er. metaphor better if we were talking about a hint-of-burn-chunky man - he was at Yalumba! too).

I am doing my best not to judge (for I was having a bubbly thursday too) but Dubai is not the melting pot it calls itself, nor is it a mixed salad (thank you mrs. gougoutas, or mr. lucker? when did i learn about the evolution of America's tagline?). It is separate meals in different restaurants, next door to one another, though never the twain shall meet (except in the office, which is a different post altogether).

It's raining sweat, halleluyah

4. Dubai, UAE
24 hours/day

"Sweat is our interior coolant, part of a uniquely human biologic machine. The machine drips and occasionally stalls: long waits on torpid platforms can inspire glum reflections on how it will hold up as the planet heats up. But experts counsel optimism: the system is sturdy, adjustable and even reproducible by engineers working to make our future sweaty selves more comfortable." (Sweatology, Abigail Zuger, The New York Times, August 14, 2007)

There's not really more to say except that My Machine Drips. The thud of my sweat on the Dubayan pavements (guaranteed if I am outside for more than eight seconds) is audible and visible - one might think it is raining if they looked at the ground around my feet.

Rich Parker told me men sweat, women glow. Let's pretend this is true.