Last night I dreamed that I was in the antarctic studying great white sharks. I kept thinking that I wouldn't see any sharks because it was too cold. I was in a submarine under this huge shelf of ice and I saw some great whites. I was like "what are you guys doing here? what are you eating?" One of the great whites tossed a dead seal towards the submarine, and I started laughing, even though I felt bad for the poor seal. I was like "but don't you get cold?" and one of the great whites swam by the front of the submarine and made his extensible jaw teeth chatter. I started laughing. Great whites have the best sense of humor in my dreams.
Then I decided I needed to go home, and somehow as the submarine was surfacing I ended up in the swimming pool at the meridien, except that it had an island in the middle of it, and all these dolphins swimming around. I wanted to get into the water with the dolphins, but I was wearing normal clothes, and it was my only outfit, so I took this yellow inflatable kayak from the submarine to the edge of the pool. The dolphins were bouncing around the boat and they were like "come in the water and play with us!" and I was like "dudes, I have to change first, this is my only outfit and I can't get it dirty". Then I got to the edge of the pool and stepped out of the kayak, and the dolphins popped it and dragged it way down underwater. One of the dolphins was like "you have to come get your boat!"
So I went to this hallway that had bleachers in it to change into my diving suit. I was standing there in a 3mm dive suit when I looked down the hallway and realized Paul McCartney and his daughter were walking towards me. I was really embarrassed for some reason, I guess because I was standing there in my dive suit. Paul came up to me and shook my hand and said "I know you from somewhere. Did we meet when we invaded the moon?" which I guess was a reference to my diving suit. I realized his daughter was a kid I had always played with in the pool without knowing who she was. I asked if he wanted to bring his daughter to the pool so we could dive with dolphins but Paul said they had a plane to catch and walked away.
I went back to the pool and jumped in. All these dolphins came up to me and said "we just bit the shit out of your boat and it's totally sunk, do you want to dive to the bottom of the pool with us to go get it?" I looked into the water and it was very murky. I realized it was night and only the top part of the pool was lit up and it was so deep I couldn't see the bottom. I was like "I'm not sure that would be safe" and the dolphins said "don't worry, we'll stay with you". They surrounded me in this dolphin pod and we started swimming towards the bottom of the pool.
Then I woke up.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
local talk
Yesterday I had my first conversation with a local emirati woman.
I was at this lebanese pizza place getting pizza for dinner. I'd never been there on the weekend, and usually go there pretty late in the evening (I rarely start thinking about dinner until around 8 pm). The place was packed with locals.
I placed my order and then tried to find somewhere out of the way to stand while I waited. There are two benches in the front of the restaurant but they were both full. Then an emirati couple vacated one of the benches and went to look at the buffet (they serve a buffet of Lebanese food in addition to making pizza). After a few minutes of them looking at the buffet food I assumed that they were going to sit at a table so I took a seat on their bench.
I started reading my book, and an egyptian woman came over and sat practically in my lap (she wasn't small) and pulled her daughter up on the bench too. She said excuse me in French because I guess she assumed I was french. They figured out their order and got up. Then the emirati woman came over and sat back down on the bench. Her husband was making a fuss about something, I assumed because I was sitting in his seat. He was not being quiet about whatever it was he was bitching about, even though the emirati woman kept telling him to calm down.
I put my book mark in my book, and indicated to her that I would go stand somewhere so her husband could have his seat back. She put her hand on my forearm, which was shocking because no one ever touches you here, and then said "No, he can stand. You stay here and read your book." Most of the locals I run into are not polite in the western sense, partially because of the culture, and partially because they resent westerners doing stupid stuff in their country. I was touched in a way that is hard to explain that she did that.
Then, even more surprising, she said "What is this book you are reading?" I showed her the cover, which is dark except for a lighted arch with a robed monk standing in the middle of the arch. "It's called Ananthem" I said. "Oh, it's a very nice book" she responded, even though I'm thinking Neal Stephenson doesn't sell many books here.
"It's about math" I said, lest she think I was reading some kind of weird subversive religious literature. "Events that happen in the book are used to illustrate mathematical principles and the solving of equations". I showed here the calcas, as the math problems are called in the book. The first one is about how to cut a square into 8 pieces that are of equal size given that the square is measured by a spatula that you have to use to make the cuts. The first iteration, you can cut the square into four even pieces (the square is two pieces long by two pieces wide). The second iteration, you can cut the square into 16 even pieces (each of the four pieces in the previous example is cut again into four pieces, squaring the square, with 4 squared equalling 16). So that's why the 8 piece problem is hard. The solution is to cut the square into triangles, if you were wondering.
Anyway, it was hard to tell what she made of my book, though she did seem to be listening to my explanation about the squares. I could only see her eyes, but not even much of those because she would look down every time I made eye contact with her. Then her order was ready and she wished me a good evening and left.
I wonder what she was thinking on the car ride home. Probably "note to self: never talk to westerners reading books".
I was at this lebanese pizza place getting pizza for dinner. I'd never been there on the weekend, and usually go there pretty late in the evening (I rarely start thinking about dinner until around 8 pm). The place was packed with locals.
I placed my order and then tried to find somewhere out of the way to stand while I waited. There are two benches in the front of the restaurant but they were both full. Then an emirati couple vacated one of the benches and went to look at the buffet (they serve a buffet of Lebanese food in addition to making pizza). After a few minutes of them looking at the buffet food I assumed that they were going to sit at a table so I took a seat on their bench.
I started reading my book, and an egyptian woman came over and sat practically in my lap (she wasn't small) and pulled her daughter up on the bench too. She said excuse me in French because I guess she assumed I was french. They figured out their order and got up. Then the emirati woman came over and sat back down on the bench. Her husband was making a fuss about something, I assumed because I was sitting in his seat. He was not being quiet about whatever it was he was bitching about, even though the emirati woman kept telling him to calm down.
I put my book mark in my book, and indicated to her that I would go stand somewhere so her husband could have his seat back. She put her hand on my forearm, which was shocking because no one ever touches you here, and then said "No, he can stand. You stay here and read your book." Most of the locals I run into are not polite in the western sense, partially because of the culture, and partially because they resent westerners doing stupid stuff in their country. I was touched in a way that is hard to explain that she did that.
Then, even more surprising, she said "What is this book you are reading?" I showed her the cover, which is dark except for a lighted arch with a robed monk standing in the middle of the arch. "It's called Ananthem" I said. "Oh, it's a very nice book" she responded, even though I'm thinking Neal Stephenson doesn't sell many books here.
"It's about math" I said, lest she think I was reading some kind of weird subversive religious literature. "Events that happen in the book are used to illustrate mathematical principles and the solving of equations". I showed here the calcas, as the math problems are called in the book. The first one is about how to cut a square into 8 pieces that are of equal size given that the square is measured by a spatula that you have to use to make the cuts. The first iteration, you can cut the square into four even pieces (the square is two pieces long by two pieces wide). The second iteration, you can cut the square into 16 even pieces (each of the four pieces in the previous example is cut again into four pieces, squaring the square, with 4 squared equalling 16). So that's why the 8 piece problem is hard. The solution is to cut the square into triangles, if you were wondering.
Anyway, it was hard to tell what she made of my book, though she did seem to be listening to my explanation about the squares. I could only see her eyes, but not even much of those because she would look down every time I made eye contact with her. Then her order was ready and she wished me a good evening and left.
I wonder what she was thinking on the car ride home. Probably "note to self: never talk to westerners reading books".
Friday, December 25, 2009
a christmas cleaning calamity
This morning I woke up early, with the thought that I would do my laundry in Ireland's apartment, eat some eggs that M gave to Ireland before she went back to France, and then, after I hung my laundry up, go to the beach. Seemed like a nice way to spend Christmas.
Except.
I got to Ireland's apartment after getting a bit lost (last time I walked there it was dark and I could see the bank sign on her building from a mile away because it was lit up) and put my laundry in the washing machine. I was confronted with an array of buttons that weren't labeled. I couldn't remember which one I was supposed to press to turn the machine on. So, I kept pressing different buttons until the thing started making noise.
Figuring I had an hour to kill, I wandered into the kitchen and took out the eggs. I got a pan out, and tried to figure out how to turn on the gas stove. I could smell the gas coming out as I twisted the different knobs, but I couldn't get a burner to light. Giving up on that, I made the incredibly stupid decision, since I had already broken two eggs open, to cook them in the microwave. Explosion. Chaos. Bad smells. No breakfast.
I settled in on the sofa, hungry, figuring I would read my book Ananthem until my clothes were done. An hour later I was still reading. Two hours later, the washing machine seemed to have stopped. I went to pull out my clothes so I could go to the beach, but the door wouldn't open. I tried pressing buttons. Nothing. I unplugged the thing. Still nothing. I sent a text message to the Texas Kid that said "Say, do you know anything about washing machines?" I smoked a few cigarettes, checking the machine every few minutes. It was definitely stopped, and the door was definitely not opening.
F this, I thought to myself, copying down the model number. I decided to go back to the hotel, a 45 minute walk, run some errands, look up directions for the washer on line, and then walk back to Ireland's.
When I got back to the hotel, Texas Kid had called. He ridiculed me for my ineptness and said that it explained why I'm still single. He tried to find a manual for the washer online, but couldn't. He made fun of me to his wife, who was sitting next to him, and I could hear her laughing. I was like dude, are you telling the whole world my clothes are stuck in Ireland's washer? Ech.
A few hours later, errands complete, I headed back to Ireland's. I was sure some christmas miracle would have occurred, and that my clothes would be free. It was an unfortunate choice I had made to put all my normal, non-work clothes in the washer. If I couldn't get them out, I'd have nothing to wear until Ireland got home. I imagined my running clothes as a moldy mess since she won't be back for at least 7 days.
When I arrived back at the apartment, I sang a little song in the elevator about the washing machine opening. It didn't. I got pissed. I poked buttons. I spun the dial. I cursed and yanked on the door with all my strength.
Suddenly the door opened. I couldn't remember what combination of buttons I had pressed, though. I started taking my clothes out, but they were soaking wet. Water was getting all over the marble tiled floor, causing me to slide and almost fall over the washing machine plug. My white shirts had turned grey. There were weird spots on everything.
Against my better judgment, I closed the door again after I had removed half my clothes, to see if I could get the water to drain. I spun the dial, pressed some buttons, and the machine started again. I hung all my sopping wet stuff I had taken out already on the drying rack.
M called me from France. I told her what had happened. She laughed and said I should have taken up her offer to come home with her for the holidays (south of France, million dollar chateau, yeah, why DIDN'T I do that???). She said I needed someone to take care of me, and that she would be back to Abu Dhabi soon and make me something nice to eat that wasn't an egg in the microwave.
By the time we rang off, the washing machine had stopped again. I was able to open the door, and the clothes were in a state of more dryness than the previous batch. I hung them up too, and decided the best course of action would be not to watch a movie on Ireland's dvd (at that point, I was afraid to try to do anything else in that apartment), as previously planned, but to return to the hotel and not think about my laundry until Sunday morning when I would hopefully return to Ireland's apartment to find my laundry dry.
And not dirty from sand blowing on it since I had to leave it out on the balcony because it was so wet I was afraid it would never dry otherwise.
On a positive note, the hotel gave me a huge chocolate christmas tree to eat. It has weird blobs at the base of it, which may be children opening presents, or may be panda bears trying to eat the tree.
I need a glass of wine. And, maybe room service...I don't think I should leave my hotel room again for the rest of the night, and not just because I have nothing to wear.
Except.
I got to Ireland's apartment after getting a bit lost (last time I walked there it was dark and I could see the bank sign on her building from a mile away because it was lit up) and put my laundry in the washing machine. I was confronted with an array of buttons that weren't labeled. I couldn't remember which one I was supposed to press to turn the machine on. So, I kept pressing different buttons until the thing started making noise.
Figuring I had an hour to kill, I wandered into the kitchen and took out the eggs. I got a pan out, and tried to figure out how to turn on the gas stove. I could smell the gas coming out as I twisted the different knobs, but I couldn't get a burner to light. Giving up on that, I made the incredibly stupid decision, since I had already broken two eggs open, to cook them in the microwave. Explosion. Chaos. Bad smells. No breakfast.
I settled in on the sofa, hungry, figuring I would read my book Ananthem until my clothes were done. An hour later I was still reading. Two hours later, the washing machine seemed to have stopped. I went to pull out my clothes so I could go to the beach, but the door wouldn't open. I tried pressing buttons. Nothing. I unplugged the thing. Still nothing. I sent a text message to the Texas Kid that said "Say, do you know anything about washing machines?" I smoked a few cigarettes, checking the machine every few minutes. It was definitely stopped, and the door was definitely not opening.
F this, I thought to myself, copying down the model number. I decided to go back to the hotel, a 45 minute walk, run some errands, look up directions for the washer on line, and then walk back to Ireland's.
When I got back to the hotel, Texas Kid had called. He ridiculed me for my ineptness and said that it explained why I'm still single. He tried to find a manual for the washer online, but couldn't. He made fun of me to his wife, who was sitting next to him, and I could hear her laughing. I was like dude, are you telling the whole world my clothes are stuck in Ireland's washer? Ech.
A few hours later, errands complete, I headed back to Ireland's. I was sure some christmas miracle would have occurred, and that my clothes would be free. It was an unfortunate choice I had made to put all my normal, non-work clothes in the washer. If I couldn't get them out, I'd have nothing to wear until Ireland got home. I imagined my running clothes as a moldy mess since she won't be back for at least 7 days.
When I arrived back at the apartment, I sang a little song in the elevator about the washing machine opening. It didn't. I got pissed. I poked buttons. I spun the dial. I cursed and yanked on the door with all my strength.
Suddenly the door opened. I couldn't remember what combination of buttons I had pressed, though. I started taking my clothes out, but they were soaking wet. Water was getting all over the marble tiled floor, causing me to slide and almost fall over the washing machine plug. My white shirts had turned grey. There were weird spots on everything.
Against my better judgment, I closed the door again after I had removed half my clothes, to see if I could get the water to drain. I spun the dial, pressed some buttons, and the machine started again. I hung all my sopping wet stuff I had taken out already on the drying rack.
M called me from France. I told her what had happened. She laughed and said I should have taken up her offer to come home with her for the holidays (south of France, million dollar chateau, yeah, why DIDN'T I do that???). She said I needed someone to take care of me, and that she would be back to Abu Dhabi soon and make me something nice to eat that wasn't an egg in the microwave.
By the time we rang off, the washing machine had stopped again. I was able to open the door, and the clothes were in a state of more dryness than the previous batch. I hung them up too, and decided the best course of action would be not to watch a movie on Ireland's dvd (at that point, I was afraid to try to do anything else in that apartment), as previously planned, but to return to the hotel and not think about my laundry until Sunday morning when I would hopefully return to Ireland's apartment to find my laundry dry.
And not dirty from sand blowing on it since I had to leave it out on the balcony because it was so wet I was afraid it would never dry otherwise.
On a positive note, the hotel gave me a huge chocolate christmas tree to eat. It has weird blobs at the base of it, which may be children opening presents, or may be panda bears trying to eat the tree.
I need a glass of wine. And, maybe room service...I don't think I should leave my hotel room again for the rest of the night, and not just because I have nothing to wear.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
macavity
Since Lancelot seems to have disappeared, I've adopted a new cat, Macavity. He's super friendly and much more tame than Lance. I am pretty sure he was abandoned after being some one's pet (happens here a lot - nice job ex pats!).
Cav has bad fighting skills, doesn't like food that isn't cat food, and he can't really take care of himself. His little ear is all beat up from this other cat that is twice his size. I don't like that other cat at all.
I missed feeding Cav the other night because I had dinner with Ireland and M (both left for holidays so it was a going away thing). Then when I got home yesterday, and went out on my balcony, I heard this little meow. I looked out on the roof and saw Cav's head poking up so just his ears were showing.
I was like "Dude, what are you doing? Come here!" Cav came running over to the building but he was a floor below me.
I threw him some cheese, since I was out of cat food, but he didn't want it (unlike Lance, he's not a fan of laughing cow). I told him I would get him some food and be right back. He started crying, and then running around trying to find a way to climb up to my balcony. It was so cute, but made me feel bad (in this pic you can barely see his little body and tail as he tried to climb up a pipe).
I got him some food but by the time I got back from the co-op (15 minutes, I was running) he was gone. I didn't get to see him because I had to go over to Ireland's house to pick up my shoes.
I decided this morning that I have to find Cav a home. I emailed feline friends, and organization here that rescues abandoned animals. Here's the response I got:
"Thanks for your email.
Does that cat have a V cut in one of his ears? If so, it might be a cat we have already sterilised. There was a whole little black and white colony there, that we sterilised.
I cannot really tell from the pic.
Please call me on my personal mobile [] after the 26th of Dec. as I will be away from the 24th to the 26th.HOping to hear from you after the 26th of Dec."
So maybe, hopefully, I'll be able to get Cav into a nice home or shelter. I wish I could sneak him into my room, but if I get caught they're definitely going to throw me out of the hotel...
Sunday, December 20, 2009
security sneak
Today I went to a government base to do a briefing for some high level government people. I'm always paranoid that something will happen to my presentation, so I normally copy it on to two USBs (no single point of failure).
But today Dr. T decided I should also bring my laptop as a back up. I was like, hm, secure facility, that seems like a really bad idea, but he insisted.
We got half way to the building where Dr. T thought we were doing the presentation. It turned out, we were expected in a different building half way across town. We got to the base in a rush, and Dr. T attempted to drive right in. Another bad idea. Three guys with machine guns got very excited. Then, to make matters worse, Dr. T opened his car door (his electrical system isn't working and he can't roll down the windows). More yelling. We made a U turn and parked outside the base, then went in to get our badges. As we were leaving the guy noticed my computer bag and asked if I had a computer. I pretended I had no idea what was going on, as first my colleagues tried to pretend I didn't have a computer. But I was busted.
Meanwhile, the presentation was supposed to start in 10 minutes, and we were not even close to being able to get on the base. We were detained at the gate while they tried to figure out what to do with my laptop. I offered to give the bag to the guard, but that agitated him to the point that he stood right outside my car window with the barrel of his gun pointing in my direction. I noticed the safety was off. I wanted to slide out of the way, but I was trapped by children's car seats.
Finally our gov sponsor came out of the base in his car, accompanied by two other high ranking officers. We made a U turn again, drove down to the end of the street, pulled over, and I gave them my computer bag. Then we all went back to the base. This time, because we were following high ranking officers, they let us through the gate. We noticed a car of 4 american military guys who had been sitting at the base check point for over a half hour. They didn't look happy at all. As we drove by them Dr. T said "are you trying to bring a lap top in?" I don't think they found that funny.
The presentation went well, and after it was over we again followed the officers off the base, to the end of the street, and they gave my laptop bag back. The one who had taken it made a joke that he hoped nothing was missing (no one ever steals anything in this country, even if it's something valuable that you leave out in public, like a wallet). And I was happy that almost all of the officers shook my hand as we were leaving.
But next time, I'm going to tell Dr. T to take his computer.
But today Dr. T decided I should also bring my laptop as a back up. I was like, hm, secure facility, that seems like a really bad idea, but he insisted.
We got half way to the building where Dr. T thought we were doing the presentation. It turned out, we were expected in a different building half way across town. We got to the base in a rush, and Dr. T attempted to drive right in. Another bad idea. Three guys with machine guns got very excited. Then, to make matters worse, Dr. T opened his car door (his electrical system isn't working and he can't roll down the windows). More yelling. We made a U turn and parked outside the base, then went in to get our badges. As we were leaving the guy noticed my computer bag and asked if I had a computer. I pretended I had no idea what was going on, as first my colleagues tried to pretend I didn't have a computer. But I was busted.
Meanwhile, the presentation was supposed to start in 10 minutes, and we were not even close to being able to get on the base. We were detained at the gate while they tried to figure out what to do with my laptop. I offered to give the bag to the guard, but that agitated him to the point that he stood right outside my car window with the barrel of his gun pointing in my direction. I noticed the safety was off. I wanted to slide out of the way, but I was trapped by children's car seats.
Finally our gov sponsor came out of the base in his car, accompanied by two other high ranking officers. We made a U turn again, drove down to the end of the street, pulled over, and I gave them my computer bag. Then we all went back to the base. This time, because we were following high ranking officers, they let us through the gate. We noticed a car of 4 american military guys who had been sitting at the base check point for over a half hour. They didn't look happy at all. As we drove by them Dr. T said "are you trying to bring a lap top in?" I don't think they found that funny.
The presentation went well, and after it was over we again followed the officers off the base, to the end of the street, and they gave my laptop bag back. The one who had taken it made a joke that he hoped nothing was missing (no one ever steals anything in this country, even if it's something valuable that you leave out in public, like a wallet). And I was happy that almost all of the officers shook my hand as we were leaving.
But next time, I'm going to tell Dr. T to take his computer.
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