Fun things to do after you've had a bad date...

Fun things to do after you've had a bad date...

So, I've been known to do the odd impulsive thing - packing off to Paris and then coming back from Paris five months early, getting a tatoo in a roadside cafe in Cambodia and deciding to study Arabic all come to mind - and when better to do something impulsive than after you've had a really bad date.

WARNING: Some of you are going to be horrified and some of you will be thrilled by the following.

Me before a bad date:











And...

Me the day after a bad date:



I couldn't help myself. Even in Egypt, where the thought of trying to get a trim in a hair salon is like trying to order something that's not word for word on the menu in a restaurant; you will get a lot of yeses and vigorous head nods and then you will get precisely not what you asked for. In the same vein, the haircut was not quite what I wanted (I was thinking I'd ease my way in with a short-ish bob), but it's not so bad. And it cost me $15 including tip, so I can't complain so much. What do you guys think?

How I spent my August vacation: thoughts on not running in Cairo and other miscellanea...

How I spent my August vacation: thoughts on not running in Cairo and other miscellanea...

Lately, I look in the mirror and I think, “Hmm. Looking a bit…haggard.”

That’s just not good. When did I cross over from being young and cute to…haggard? Nobody like haggard. Sounds too much like haggis. And nobody likes haggis (no offense to any Scots or Scots-enthusiasts out there).

As many of you know, I have become, over the course of the past nearly ten years, a bit of a runner. Not because I like running, but because I find it so punishing that when running, I must fully concentrate all my faculties on putting one foot in front of the other and making sure to continue breathing in such a fashion that I do not collapse and die. The upside? I absolutely, positively cannot think about anything else other than running while running. It’s simply a way to escape the rest of life with the added benefit of burning off a few of those ill-thought Krispie Kremes.

I’m not a particularly disciplined runner, nor am I anything approaching “quick.” But I enjoy the challenge of pushing my body to do punishing things like running ten miles around Central Park in single digit temperatures (“What’s that fuzzy-looking white stuff all over your head? Oh, that’s frost…”). I also associate running with the change of seasons, which can be so remarkable on the east coast, particularly in New England. There’s no better way to discern the seasonal shift than stepping out for a run where you necessarily breathe the changing air in deep droughts. That brisk, spicy scent of fall. The clear, crisp whiteness of winter air. The sweet, earthy odor of early spring. The choking wet-blanket humidity of summer that tells me that it’s time to stop running for a few months.

Running outdoors is not really an option in Cairo. I mean, I remember thinking back in 1997 that running outdoors in Paris was absolutely, positively déclassé (“What does that stupid American think she is doing? Puh. Garçon! Another croissant!”), but that’s not even the issue in Cairo; it’s just physically impossible. The heat, humidity, pollution, death traffic and improbable masses of people would make mincemeat out of you within, I’d conservatively estimate, 1/8 of a mile.

So, instead, I languish here in my apartment, sitting in front of my laptop for 10-12 hours a day, picking at the internet, harassing my friends who have real jobs over IM and occasionally contemplating my directionless future. Every few hours, I turn on the television and imagine myself into one of the DIY shows on BBC, making idle chatter with elfin muscle-boy carpenters with spiky hair-do’s while I sew new bed cushions out of hideously rose-patterned curtain material. Because it’s just too fucking hot to venture out for real groceries, I rotate through the three or four restaurants who deliver in my neighborhood; they all know me now and seem continuously amused by my odd housebound bachelorette state (My neighbor came over last night, beer in hand, proclaiming, “What are you doing sitting around here? Don’t you have a boyfriend or something?” Something presumably meaning friends…).

Classes start again in two and a half weeks and I’m really not sure I will make it to September 6th with my sanity intact.

Wise words from "an unemployable sperm donor"...

Wise words from "an unemployable sperm donor"...

Further proof that women really should be running the world and that there remain plenty of cretenous mutton-headed males out there: BBC World newsreader Michael Buerk has been whining that "the shift in the balance of power between the sexes" has gone too far and that "life is now lived in accordance with women's rules." That Buerk has the nerve to claim that women are snatching up all the high-level jobs in the world, brutally forcing the less-gentle sex to conform to their standards and - this one's my favorite - are ultimately forcing men out of the evolutionary food chain is just mindblowing. If there's been any shift in the balance of power (because clearly the relationship between the sexes is a contentious battlefield), it has maybe been to allow women a voice in the public sphere that is maybe 50% adequately representative of the population. God forbid, women have a say in dictating the way corporations, media and government are run in the twenty-first century!

I can only laugh when Buerk concludes that men are becoming more like women, while "the traits that have traditionally been associated with men - reticence, stoicism, single-mindedness - have been marginalised." Is this really such a bad thing??? Does Buerk really consider man's position in human society so precarious that he should fear women's greater representation in the workforce? Shame on BBC for employing such a moron.

I Heart Wust El Balad...

I Heart Wust El Balad...

So last night/tonight I dragged myself out to a place called After 8 for a friend's last hurrah on the town before she returns to the states (it's that time of year...all the goodbyes are making me rather maudlin). After 8 resembles a cozy dinner club most of the evening, but around 11pm or so the most famous local band in Egypt, Wust El Balad ("Downtown"), performs five nights a week.

To hear Wust El Balad play at After 8 is to immediately fall in love with these six fabulous musicians (seven if you include their sound engineer/roadie/occasional tambourine man)...they play a crowd-pleasing mix of Arabic and Spanish pop music (think if the Gipsy Kings were a touch more poppy, Arab and less inbred) that is catchy without being vapid. As far as anyone knows, they've never recorded any of their music (at least not for public consumption), so the only way to hear them is to go to one of the two venues they play live every night of the week. To be honest, I don't know that I'd ever want to hear them on a CD...part of the thrill is to see them perform, for they are great performers who immediately endear themselves to anyone who comes within earshot.

The atmosphere at After 8 is something not to be missed, either. For starters, the band performs in, essentially, a little room with a big hole in the wall facing out onto the dining room/dance floor. Behind the band, there's a wall lined with footlockers; to their right, an exposed brick wall; and overhead, a rickety wooden slat ceiling that's seen better days. It's like watching life-size budget puppet theater...although the first thing I thought of, actually, was the Muppet Show (I challenge any of you to come see them and tell me I'm wrong). The dance floor becomes packed with bougie young socialites, bougie middle-aged socialites, giddy young tourists and, oh, the occasional odd handful of ex-pats and academic-types letting their hair down. The energy is so feel-good it's absolutely infectious; I couldn't bear to tear myself away until 2am when the band finished their last set and the crappy DJ began spinning a canned mix of techno beats that sounded like they came out of the nearest muscle gym soundtrack.

I have a feeling getting up in the morning (oh wait! It's morning *already*...) is going to be a bear, but it was worth it. Besides, I figure I should start getting used to this as I have a feeling Wust El Balad is going to become an addictive staple of my Cairo diet...