Baby's First Sandstorm

The world outside looks like it's been immersed in a giant tan-colored cloud, or like my life has been gently sepia-stained.

The Emiratization of an Eva

For some reason, the girls in my office have latched on to the idea that I would look great in local dress. Maybe they're tired of looking at my un-ironed button-down shirts... maybe they just thought my face would be improved by an inch of make-up... maybe they were hoping it would make me speak more Arabic so they could laugh at my accent (apparently I sound like giddy little "baby")...

In any case they convinced me be hijab for a little photo shoot the other day. I was hoping it would come with a free Cavalli handbag, but no such luck!

Bored in Kuwait, thinking about balls

This one goes out to my darlingest wittle bwother who is being subjected to long, long days of welding and concrete and is getting delusional under the Gulf sun. He regressed to singing the jingles of decades-old children’s games and, somewhere, from the dim dusty corner of his attic of memories, he found this gem with the dirtiest jingle I’ve ever heard… Lyrics below, or you can watch the commercial on http://youtube.com/watch?v=73CeugDTQjA

That's right, I'm Mr. Bucket!
I'm Mr. Bucket toss your balls in my top
I'm Mr. Bucket out of my mouth they will pop
I'm Mr. Bucket!
We're all gonna run!
I'm Mr. Bucket! Buckets of fun!
Announcer: The game's Mr. Bucket! The first to get their balls into Mr. Bucket wins! But look out, the balls will pop out of his mouth!

I'm Mr. Bucket, balls pop out of my mouth
I'm Mr. Bucket, a ball is what I'm about
I'm Mr. Bucket!
We're all gonna run!
I'm Mr. Bucket! Buckets of fun!
Kid: I win!

Buckets of fun!
Announcer: Mr. Bucket, from Milton Bradley

YOU WIN, METRO!!

In celebration of cerebra

Here's to happy, healthy brains!

How do you say “OUCH” in Thai?

Today was a sad day for Dubai. We bid adeiu to Thiwa, the Thai masseuse / sadist par excellence. Goodbye, Thiwa! I will miss your iron-capped elbows and brutal thumbs…

I’ve been paying Thiwa to hurt me on a near-weekly basis since I moved here and I fear my trips to the Bliss Relaxology dungeon of excruciation and involuntary yelps will never be quite the same. I’ve been kneaded by the other masseuses and, though their sweet giggles mask no small measure of cruel delight in their ability to dig fingers in non-existant crevices between muscle and bone, none have quite the effect of Thiwa. He pulls me apart limb from limb then pats me back in shape. Kind of like a pulled pork bbq sandwich. Or like a potato in the utter joy it feels upon metamorphising into a delicious mound of mashed potatoes. Mmmm…. pulled pork bbq sandwich and mashed potatoes…

Eek, did I just catch myself being nostalgic for North Carolina?!

I love MP Galloway!

This is hands-down the most fabulously articulate political commentary I've ever seen on an english-speaking media channel. Please watch it!

http://news.sky.com/skynews/video/videoplayer/0,,31200-galloway_060806,00.html

My First Khaleeji Wedding

Tonight I crashed a local wedding with my friend Hissa. “How is that different from a western wedding” you ask? Well, for one thing the prevailing opinion is that adequate decorations require a team of set constructors; in this case, they were going for a lavish high school production of Mid-Summer Night’s Dream look (you know, all whimsical trees and flowery bowers). The other main difference is that they’re segregated by gender. I’d like to imagine that the men have epic limbo contests or something but I really don’t know what they do. However, I do now know what the women do… they jiggle around in preposterously awesome dresses.

Seriously, these things are a wonder. I’ve never seen anything like them in the west. It’s as if every dress must have 5 dresses’ worth of stuff on it. Lace? Check. Satin? Check? Rhinestones? Check. Emroidery? Appliques? Sequins? Check, check, and extra-check (the more sequins the better). Velvet? Mesh? Pearls? Attached 3-quarter lengths sleaves? At least 3 conflicting neon colors and an asymmetrical neckline? Check! More than anything else, they resemble figure skating costumes made into full length ballgowns.
These are some extremely restrained examples:





Adding to the peculiarity of it is that, whilst all the women are dressed like this, not all of them will show it. Some are sashaying their magenta be-ribboned asses around, cleavage everywhere and eyes so heavily made-up that they sink to slits. Others wear the abeya (floor length black gown) but with their perfect coifs uncovered. Others keep the head scarf and the abeya on. Others, usually only a few older women, wear the headpiece that extends over the nose and covers the mouth with a triange of metal (the shape of these always reminds me of a beak and so when I see their wrinkled faces with pointed metal beaks I see some sort of half-hag / half-hawk creature of Greek mythology). Anyway, all this is in the same room, so as you look around, you see a lot of black, a few bird monsters, and pockets of intense color and cleavage.

I wish I could share pictures, but of course cameras are forbidden because no man can see them dressed that way unless he’s the hubby. Sorry! Girls only!

Disproportionate is hardly the word

This is a picture taken Monday of Israeli girls signing shells to be fired into Lebanon.
What kind of world is this? These girls should be scribbling cutsy flirtations in ballpoint pen on the soles of boys' converse all-stars. Instead, they're drafting messages of hate on notepaper that does this:

and this:

These are innocent civilians, and they're being killed by the hundreds. The Israeli girls' "notes" are supplemented by internationally prohibited chemical weapons (a fact that seems curiously absent from the american news coverage).

More pictures, petitions, donations links etc. on www.fromisraeltolebanon.info

Speechless

What does one say to someone whose hometown is under attack? I don’t know, and feel a lesser girlfriend for it.

I’m scared by the recent activity in Lebanon and Israel and don't know what to do about it. Life here in Dubai is just the same as normal, spinning by at a pace I can’t afford to step away from. But an airport runway I’ve actually landed on now lays in smoking ruins and a suburb I’ve driven through is about to be flattened by Israeli tanks. It’s surreal and terrifying, and that's just the reaction of a girl who's visited once.

I can scarcely imagine how people in Beirut are reacting. When I was there, I was struck by the prominence of the scars left on the public psyche by the civil wars. Years of relative peace have ticked by, but still “in the war” “during the war” “because of the war” is in every sentence and on every brick in the city. It didn’t seem to me to be a negative preoccupation, just an acknowledgment of the centrality of the war in their city identity. I even felt something positive in it, in that there seemed to be a palpable sense of relief, still, in the termination of that danger and chaos. My heart goes out to them now – it must feel like relapsing into a nightmare.

What Lebanonsense!

Beirut recently dislodged Sevilla as my favourite city I’ve never lived in.

Gorgeous, gregarious, bursting at the seams with charm.

Crimson cabs.

Bullet-bruised buildings.

Beiruti balcony bliss.