the other gap

All music teachers make me feel very sad. They are so earnest in their expression, no matter where in the world they are. (why does earnestness earnesty earnestnism make me sad? Maybe because I am Rachel's sister).

I was disgusted however to learn that one of the musicians in the Jordan Symphony Orchestra was a member of the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra for a few years (playing with the jews will lead to peace). (that part doesn't disgust me, obv). (WEDO was founded by Edward Said and Daniel Barenboim in 1999).

The JSO had the opportunity to bring in an Israeli bassist to perform in the orchestra and work at the school (there is a bassist-gap) (so mind it). The one member of staff that actively lobbied against having him join was the one member of staff that had been in the WEDO (non official name), trying to bridge the DIVIDE for JESUS CHRIST'S (jew's) Sake. I feel like vomiting. I think this is a news story in the making, though I love the JSO and the WEDO (even though I don't know them) and don't want them to get a bad rap. It just shows that even roses stank. As does yo shit. Bitches be crazy. (I watched Heartbreak something or other with Ben Stiller and his pops. His pops kept saying things like that non-secuiter).

The King of Jordan appointed the mayor and the mayor appointed me, by the way. The mayor also appointed Mohammad, who drove us around (or rather, sat next to the driver and spoke to us in broken english). He reminded me of a combination between Borat and Alexander Perchov ("My legal name is Alexander Perchov. But all of my friends dub me Alex, because that is a more flaccid-to-utter version of my legal name. Mother dubs me Alexi-stop-spleening-me!, because I am always spleening her") - but i suppose when you travel any one who is male and a vague engish speaker reminds you of Borat and Alexander Perchov's love child.

I think he asked me to marry him, but I am not sure. The customs official definitely asked for my hand, and I did have a moment of fear as I looked around the airport and realized that he was the most official person in the room. He had a gap between his front teeth, which we were both pleased by. He said, Do you have a husband?  Do you have a friend? Do you wish to marry me?

I said I had a friend. I do have friends.

i am back from amman.  (did we know i even went to amman?)


The jordanian men are verrrrrryy handsome. It was wentworth miller all over the place, except the gay part.

the national symphony orchestra and the national music conservatory break my heart. like all arts orgnanisations (it seems), they care so much and work so hard,  yet constantly have to make the (economic) case for culture. i wonder if skateboarding shops (rando example) think this way...how to convert the unconverted.

amoeba (which i now think i got from the sketchiest indian food restaurant ever in dubai) is still lurking...acupuncture, weird christina aguilera pills, disgusting tea and shisha (hookah) ( i thnk everyone in jordan thoght i was saying "hooker". it is not the word for HUBBLE BUBBLE! there) have not killed the lurker.

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.

Up on cripple creek

3. Deira Dubai
8:55 p.m.

"The creek divides Dubai into two parts - Deira Dubai and Bur Dubai. The creek is 14 Kms long. It now has eight wharfages each capable of catering to 31 ships of capacity of up to 800 tonnes. Around 720,000 tonnes of cargo pass through the creek each year. Only wooden ships are allowed to enter the creek to keep its traditional feature.

An imaginative way of seeing Dubai is to take a tour of the creek by traditional wooden dhow or cabin cruiser. Most of the major landmarks can be seen from the waterway. Daytime or evening cruises are available with food and beverages on board." [Datadubai, the Dubai guide resource]

I'm not quite sure that seeing Dubai from the Creek is "an imaginative way" of experiencing the city, although you can tell yourself that if it makes you feel "adventurous". Nonetheless, one evening, post work and spice-souk bargaining, I found myself fully suited and seated on a surprisingly sturdy dhow. I had (embarrassingly) thought that toting my $800 Longchamp bag (courtsey of Cousin Wendy, Longchamp employee) to Dubai would be appropriate for this town, momentarily ignoring my own style (or lackthereof) and the fact that I am not a $800 bag kind of girl. My packing errors made themselves known when I climbed aboard the dhow in my heels and designer (fine, Macy's) suit. I sat down on the wooden seat next to an Indian man, probably my age, playing pool on his cell phone. The rest of the dhow was filled with workers who probably make $800 combined in one year. The ride was pleasant, pool games were won, the city looked beautiful, fellow boaters looked exhausted, and then a cockroach fell in my longchamp bag. I pretended this was completely normal. Then I paid my ten cents fare (mas or menos), alighted (british) the dhow and got in a mercedes taxi for my return journey to the novotel.

The guilt and confusion of these mis-matched worlds is with me all of the time and I don't know how to reconcile them.

Epilogue: I think the cockroach (Feivel) realized longchamp was not his style either; although I liked the idea (just the idea) that Feivel could experience the Novotel

Consolations of Philosophy

2. 8:07 a.m.
Shaikh Zayed Road
Taxi to the Novotel

I learned that my first taxi driver - female, Lebanese, fully robed and wearing Paris Hilton sunglasses - has been in Dubai since the day when just one building barely scraped the sky. (It's not clear to me who she was driving around in those days; I've subsequently met several taxi drivers who have been there since the beginning of the skyscraper explosion - maybe they were driving each other to work?).

Our conversation:

FLFRWPHS Taxi Driver - So, are there this many Indians where you come from?

Me - er, um [not yet sure where this line of questioning is going, but aware that she is expecting the correct answer] - yes, I live in a very diverse city

FLFRWPHS TD - They are every where. And they are awful. Just look [I looked around; she was indeed correct that our fellow road-mates were Indian, as were the dozens (hundreds?) of men filing the construction sites]. There are too many of them

Me - er, um [now aware of what she wanted to hear, also aware that we were cruising along what is considered the most dangerous highway in the world, or at least Dubai's world*]

Shaikh Zayed Road still most dangerous
By Alia Al Theeb, Staff Reporter

Dubai: Shaikh Zayed Road continues to be the most dangerous road for motorists with 14 deaths in 61 accidents in the first five months of the year.

Emirates Road followed with 11 deaths from 40 accidents.

According to statistics, this year there have been 144 deaths in road accidents in the emirate, while police reported 107 deaths during the first five months of last year.

FLFRWPHS TD - They should just go home.

Not willing to engage in this line of conversation, though not knowing exactly how to escape ["In conversations, my priority was to be liked, rather than to speak the truth. A desire to please led me to laugh at modest jokes like a parent on the opening night of a school play. With strangers, I adopted the srvile manner of a concierge greeting wealthy clients in a hotel - alival enthusiasm born of a morbid indiscriminate desire for affection. I did not publcily doubt ideas to which the majority was committed." Consolation for Unpopularity, Alain de Botton]

In this case, there was no majority - but there was a racist someone in the driver's seat, so, fully executing my rights as a british passport holder, i asked her to tell me about the weather in Dubai.

back again

First trip to Dubai
Monday, August 13, 2007

1. 7:22 a.m.
Dubai International Airport
Baggage Claim

Plans to be recruited for the CIA on location fell through when I inadvertently left my notebook on the airport cart while I wandered off to the bathroom (a la the Mr. T and the A-Team sweatshirt left in an airport cart in Newark International Airport in 1984, never to be seen again). The notebook, at least, was there upon the return, waiting patiently, arousing no suspicion (which disappointed me a bit).

who do you who do you who do you think you are

http://kevan.org/johari?name=jbsalumclasso2004becky