Sunday, May 29, 2011

Names and Tags

His name is Mohammed and they want him to change it.  Consequently, he decided to sue their butts.

Did you hear about that one? He's working at the New York Waldorf-Astoria so apparently Mohammed is a very scary name for the very delicate W-A clientele.  He represents the T-word.  They wouldn't be able to finish their caviar salad if they'd known his name was Mohammed, right?  Of course


Mohammed has been working as a waiter at the Fox-News-behaving hotel since 1984 and is disgruntled because he was given a name tag that had "edgar" written on it.  I wonder about two things when I read this:

1)  Why is he STILL a waiter since 1984, and 2)  Edgar, seriously??  Like Edgar Allen Poe?  Have you READ his poems and stories! If that's not terrorism right there I don't know what is.

Moroccan-born Mohammed has been working under the name John for the longest time before they decided Edgar would be more appropriate.  I wonder why they bothered to change the name.  Maybe there's a deadline on being a fake John.

Surely there's a deadline on being a fake anything.  The media, though, hasn't recognized that yet.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Pass Words and Things for the Memory

Sick of it. Sicksicksick of it. This whole password business.  How many passwords is one supposed to memorize in a given lifetime?  And they, whoever they are, people who use passwords apparently, suggest to have only one.  A hacker's dream dontyathink?!

There are about 700 million social media networks to join.  Something close to that number I AM SURE. I am also very irritated right now because each time I try to log into a damn social media venue I've (forced myself to) joined I find myself having already forgotten the damn password.

Am I missing something?  How does one remain on top of it? Ok, I'm gonna stop talking in the third or fourth person.  How do I stay on top of this?

And while we're discussing overwhelming situations, how does one listen to Jose Gonzalez without feeling like suicide is the only way to get over the feeling his sad sad voice brings of a world quietly collapsing?

Monday, May 23, 2011

Dubai Episode(s)

I once murdered a bird. Without meaning to of course. This crime took place last summer. No I was not hunting thankyouverymuch. The poor soul was trying to fly from one side of the road to the other, it's actually from one tree to the, well, some other tree somewhere across the highway... It was august and inhumanely blistering hot, as it usually is in the deserts of the earth, and I was leaving the office to go back home.  An hour or so away, mind you.  (This Dubai resident worked in Abu Dhabi once upon a time you see.)

I could see the bird ahead of me, as it tried to gain momentum and height, and I was gaining momentum, along with a dumb sort of belief that the little thing would actually be able to fly over my passing vehicle just in time to escape what happened next.  Of course that dream was never realized and Tweety noisily bashed into the side of my car with a loud and unbearable thud. Into its quiet and unbearable death.  Naturally I was traumatized the whole way back home.  I was inconsolable for a good while after and wasn't carpooling that particular day so there was no shoulder to weep on so to speak.  I was ready to drive my guilty self to the police station, announce my misfortune and willingly suffer the punishment I deserved.

Speaking of the police, I was stopped a couple of days ago, thinking it was about the bird I killed a summer back and my moment has finally come to pay the price!  Ok, not really.  I thought the dude saw me talking on the phone (I was) and was going to give me a few black points along with a hefty ticket to pay. He didn't.  He just saw me driving too slowly and nervously on a road that was causing the people behind to honk and wring their wrists, while they angrily passed me by.  Thing is I was lost, and I was on the phone with a very dependable individual who was giving me directions but I was too frightened from the confusion to drive properly.  The bored police gentleman told me I was being a hazard to the road and that he needed to see my license and papers and kindly (and foolishly) suggested I CALL someone to give me directions the next time I'm in this pickle.  He did of course also suggest to park on the side of the road. I said OF COURSE you are absolutely right sir! Calling someone never occurred to me and I SHALL do that pronto, please excuse my irresponsible driving and thank GOD no one was hurt or injured from my recklessness.  What a thought! Calling someone for directions! Thank you so very much sir.

I nodded quite a few times while he spit the pumpkin seed shells he was eating, looked around him a couple of times, and decided my cleavage wasn't exposed enough to linger on and stare at any longer and so he let me on my way, after explaining ever so firmly where I should be headed as the building I was looking for was merely a right turn away.


I suppose integrity is not my strongest quality when it comes to guilt and confession, as I had once thought.

(Kindly do NOT feel free to agree with me on this).

Surely I'm not PROUD of my misdemeanors and tiny murders, they do keep me up at night, but isn't mental suffering worse than any tangible punishment?


Fine. I'm not sure I'm ever going to be able to get used to this non-flying birds syndrome.  I'm still trying to get over last summer, and it almost happened again this morning, while I was driving to a random coffee shop (i.e. my pseudo office) to work on some freelance thingamajiggees.  Obviously I'm not working, I'm writing this instead. At home, it's impossible to work.  Who works from home truly? There's so much going on even in the quietest and most bland of homes.

(Ah, we are dangerously getting too used to this notion.)

Birds are supposed to be able to fly, that's what they do if nothing else, right?  Sadly it's not their habitat. Yet they are brought in swarms from their true homes to expatriate themselves here and suffer the alienation.

They crash into other expatriates, unexpectedly, not knowing, unprepared, and these collisions continue to happen day after day after day, our attempts at flight never ceasing, the damages inevitable.


 A Brad-Pitt look-a-like just walked by.