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 |  My second blog. Enter at your own peril. |
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This is my second blog on writing.com and I thank my loyal legion of fans (thanks mom) for leading me to this. Enjoy the banter, join in when needed, and send all the people who need a little abnormal dose of reality my way. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| It just dawned on me, partly because I've been busy but mostly because I'm an idiot, that I've been on writing.com for 2 years now. I have no idea where the time goes when you're having fun meeting people from all over the world. And not just meeting them, but growing to respect them as people and as writers. I keep getting notices to renew my account, I have until the end of this month to do so, and the main reason I'd do it is to keep in contact with the great people who read and comment on my blog. Of course, you all let me read and comment on your writing as well and that draws me closer to each and every one of you. For that, I am very happy. So, what have I managed to do in the two years since I've been on this site, you ask? Well, just after I signed on to this site 2 years ago my only publishing credit, the book Weird Alberta Places hit the shelves in limited release in my province back home. My family and friends are more proud of that book than I am for some reason. I'm sorta embarrassed by it, and I don't know why. Maybe I just don't deserve to be a published writer with that as my only credit? But I won't lie. It is cool seeing it on bookshelves, no matter how small press it is. I managed to finish my first children's novel, Aaric, including edits and an ending change, and believe it is ready to face rejection from one or more publishers and agents. With your help, I have done a synopsis for it, and will take the plunge and send it off to the first of, probably, many publishers. What's life without a little rejection and pain huh? Besides, it won't be read by anyone just sitting on my computer. I think there are kids who would want to read it. Now, just to find a publisher who shares the same views that I do. Last year, in November to be precise, I took part in my first NaNo and came through it successfully. Well, I finished the targeted 50,000 word book that they requested. I wrote, on a dare from one of the authors on this site, a dating advice book. If any of my new readers haven't read any of my blog topics where I give my unusual views on dating life you best not read my advice book. I wrote, arguably, the most over-the-top, tongue-in-cheek advice book you may have the mispleasure of reading. How can a book entitled Macaroni and Cheese Won't Get You Laid be anything but comical? Having said that though, I do give some good advice from my many years in the dating world. Personally, I think it was some of the funniest stuff I have written, said, or came up with. But, I don't want to blow my own too much. I will be doing an edit on that with the intent on self-publishing. I figure I know enough people who would throw me a bone and purchase a copy so I wouldn't lose too much money on it. I'm not sure what kind of market there is for something like this but I think if you know anybody who is perpertually sad or down in the dumps then this book could help solve that. And I have no idea what is in store for the next year. I've been keeping notes about my time here in Saudi Arabia. I write about the things that annoy me, everyday life, and things I find amazing. I am refusing to write about most of what goes on here because that little old adage that says, "don't rock the boat..." is particularly prophetic out here. Another person I know was given lashes a few back. He was caught under the influence of alcohol and that is frowned upon. If you know you're drinking... why take your own vehicle? Idiots I say. So, I'll probably sign up for another year. It would be a shame to stop the second blog only 10 entries into excellence, nay, garbage. So, I look forward to hanging around and annoying you with my meaningless comments (unless I actually leave a good one which can happen). Thank you all for a great two years. Where does it go hey? Cheers, Geraint |
| How much of life is timing? How much of life is destiny? How much of life is pre-arranged for you by some sort of higher power? Recently, I’ve been thinking about these concepts a lot. I know what you’re thinking, “where is the Penguin who thinks about sex and trivial things?” Well, he’s still here, it’s just that even some times I have to show my maturity. I am not a religious man. I have been inside a church probably a dozen times my whole life, which includes weddings and the christening of my niece and nephew. I have gone to a couple of Midnight Masses at Christmas time for the sake of someone else, but ultimately, I would say I am an agnostic person. Maybe. I really don’t know how I would describe myself. I don’t practice, that is a given, and there are days I don’t even believe in a higher power. As far as I’m concerned, Heaven and Hell are what you make them. But, I digress. I work with a few Muslims in my department. One of them, an Egyptian, is a charming little guy who represents everything that is good about Islam. He’s patient, calm, understanding, and tolerant. His English skills are getting better (he thanks me for teaching him when his teachers can’t) and he has a pretty dry sense of humor. Anyways, yesterday at lunch he asked me about religion. Normally, I back away from these kinds of conversations because my views usually upset people (blindly following organized religion has killed more people around the world than another thing), and since I don’t practice I feel I don’t have the right to comment. It’s sorta like if you don’t vote you can’t bitch about your president. When we were done, he tells me I would make the best Muslim he’d ever meet because of my argument. You see, my friends, he believes that everything he does, or is going to do tomorrow, the next day, or 30 years down the road has been chosen already by his God. He believes that he has no choices of his own to make because it is already presented to him and decided. And then I told him he was wrong. Haha. Okay, I didn’t tell him he was wrong but I said maybe he should consider this point of view before devoting himself to wasting his brain matter. I said it is all very well and likely that his God, whom he strongly covets, has chosen his entire path for him. But, I said, perhaps he’s only chosen the destination. I said that his God has probably mapped out his path from the time he was born, growing up, getting married, having his two boys, seeing his two boys prosper, growing old, and finally finding a better place after death. Then, and here’s where I think I outdid myself with my logic and consideration, I told him that “your God has also given you gifts – your health, your heart, your mind – and these gifts that he bestowed upon you are meant to be used so you could live your life, for him, in your way, making choices to honor what he has given you.” He nods in semi-agreement. “But how can I have a choice if he’s already planned my life?” “Simple. He has given you a road map on how to live your life. He says you need nourishment to sustain yourself, but doesn’t tell you when or what to eat. Those are your choices to help you fulfill his path for you. He asks that you pray 5 times a day, but the choice is yours whether you do or not, and if you pray at the times that everyone else does. You are following the path he has given you, but you are using the gifts that he has chosen for you to make his journey for you your journey for you.” And I’m not even sure I believe half the shit I shovel on a daily basis. I believe that all things happen for a reason. There is neither rhyme nor reason behind some decisions and why things have occurred. I also believe that I am in control of the choices I make. Is there a grand plan for me? I don’t know. I don’t have what you would call enough faith for me to possibly pretend to tell you that my life has been mapped out. I’m just living day to day, constantly juggling the decisions I am forced to make, and hopefully, more times than not, I make the least painful decision. I don’t think I make wrong or right decisions either. Every choice I make, whether (in hindsight) good or bad, was the right decision at the time I made it. I try not to get hung up on “ifs”, “what would haves” and the like as that only cements doubt and obscures you from making the natural choices you are supposed to make (in my humble opinion). My decision to come out to Saudi Arabia may not have been the best one, when I look back, but when it was made I wanted to do it. I’m glad I came out here. I’ve grown. I’ve meet people I normally would never have met. And when I leave here I will miss them. But is there a destiny that everyone talks about? Is there something we are destined to do, or someone we are destined to meet? A big part of me says “yes” there is. Maybe it’s the hopeless romantic in me though. I am the guy that believes in love at first sight, that a single smile can break down years of barriers. There is someone for everyone, we just don’t know when that someone will come along. You might have to kiss a lot of toads before you find your prince or princess. Or you might luck out and find him or her early and live your happily ever after. And yes, there is a happily ever after in the sometimes cynical world of the Penguin. And so I will be off in November, to Finland to see some friends, and then I shall splurge and try and find a flight from Helsinki to London, to spend another few days with family. If I didn’t have non-refundable tickets to Finland I would just tell my friends I wouldn’t be coming. But, a week in each place wouldn’t be the worst thing for me. In fact, the final week in England is shaping up to be pretty damn special. You’ve got to love when timing appears to be finally on your side. Cheers, The Penguin |
| It’s Thanksgiving Day back home in Canada today. I know my family will all be gathered around my sister’s house snacking on turkey, stuffing, roast potatoes, and various other big foods and little foods. I shall be having no such feast this year. I didn’t have that kind of a feast last year either. I did go out for Christmas dinner last year and have some turkey (sub-standard fare if I recall), but big feasts with family and friends aren’t the norm for me. Having said that though, I will be going to a birthday party this Wednesday with good friends and good food. And on Thursday night, on one of the compounds here I’ll be going to an Oktoberfest Festival – complete with unlimited beer steins and a live band. I much prefer a live band to a dead one. So, what do I have to give thanks for this year? Well, it has been a year in which I have made some new friends, in Saudi and around the world, and that can never be a bad thing. I met some wonderful people on my trip to Africa, and while we talk maybe every month or so, the contact is still there and that can’t be bad. And I’ve got to see parts of the world and experience things I never thought I’d be able to experience some of the things I’ve been able to do this year. The two weeks I spent in Namibia were two of the best weeks of my life. That country is truly amazing and I would go back again without a second thought. I have been to Qatar and the United Arab Emirates as well – two places that wouldn’t have registered on my go to list of places. I’m glad I have experienced them though. Although still in the Middle East, they are so different from Saudi Arabia that they bring to light everything I miss about the Western world. I have managed to complain a lot again this year too. And when I look back I don’t think I have the right to. Sure, my current work situation isn’t what I would like it to be, but you know what, so be it. Work is usually going to be the thorn in the side of any life. If it was meant to be a barrel of monkeys they wouldn’t call it work. And even if it has been a little unfulfilling, the people I have met because I am out here far outweigh the lack of respect I feel my department gets from others at the hospital. This has been another year in the maturation process for me. Sure, I’m still that guy who volunteers his services to chat up girls using some seedy chat up lines, but I’m also the guy who has a year and a half of international work experience behind him. I have learned that it is okay to keep my mouth shut. I have learned to value the little things at home that I took for granted. I have learned that when a man insists his wife walk three steps behind him it isn’t because he’s walking ahead of her to protect her. I sent my parents a photo of me from the wedding I attended this past weekend and my mom commented that I look different every time I send a photo home. She says I look more mature, even more than I did in Africa only months ago. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m going grey or getting wrinkles. I was wearing sunglasses so my mom couldn’t see how heavy my eyes look these days (through lack of sleep). I ensure you all that they are still shining, still blue, still hoping to see some new sights, and some familiar ones again. I am healthy and relatively happy. I still have my passion to write and be heard. I still have a select number of people who mean the world to me that still read what I decide to share with them (which is pretty much everything I feel like writing). I am, in many ways, blessed. If I put things in perspective I should value what I have at this moment. I am young, single, independent, and taking chances that others my age can’t take. I have been fortunate enough to meet people that have left and indelible impression on me. I am thankful that this is the life that I am living. And in the immortal words of Tolkien, “all we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us.” I have a few very good ideas about how I will be spending my time. Cheers, The Penguin |
| Does anyone else out there get as pissed off as I do about activists? And I don’t mean all of them. I suppose I really mean the ones who just go a bit above and beyond the normal boundaries of activism and passion. I’m all for having beliefs and having a cause; but I’m also for having brains and tolerance. The funny thing about that last statement is that I’m living in Saudi Arabia, ruled by Islam, supposedly the most tolerant religion in the world, and yet here, there is very little tolerance shown whatsoever. But, I’m not here to talk about religion. Most animal rights people piss me off. I don’t need someone preaching to me about cruelty to animals. I think it is wrong and people who torture animals should be tortured themselves. And drowning kittens and puppies is akin to drowning babies. I know there are sick individuals who will derive pleasure in seeing anything suffer and to those people I wish a slow and deliberate and painful demise. But some people do get carried away. I have been chastised before for eating steak. The girl sat across from me, eating her salad, telling me how much the cow suffered so I could enjoy a nice piece of sirloin steak. I took her abuse, and although her argument was well-formulated and articulated in a better manner than I thought a girl with tits like her and a skirt that short could deliver, I couldn’t believe her argument. When she was done, and she finished off her argument with, “but that’s just my opinion and no one cares about what I think” (said in a way that it made me feel she said it as if men don’t listen to women), I had a simple retort for her – “maybe it was the same cow that was used to make those leather shoes of yours.” This leads to another problem I have with this whole thing though. Most activists are only advocating the protection of certain kinds of animals. You never hear about rallies to save a herd of dairy cows or pigs. Sheep are slaughtered daily and we don’t bat much of an eye. However, if you were to tell me that otter was the next delicacy to take the world by storm I bet you’d get a ton of people up in arms about the possible destruction of these wonderful little critters. Clearly, this is some kind of animal prejudice. Because an otter can lie on its back floating down a river and do cute little human things with his hands we consider him special. The tiger is a vision of grace and beauty, the ultimate in feline masculinity and prowess, and therefore special. Even the standard housecat, with its own personality and temperament are cherished and valued. We have a greater affinity to these animals as we see these as something special. Or perhaps it’s because we see them as something other than food. Hmmm, I wonder if this is the case. Hey, baby cows are cute, but I wouldn’t let one snuggle on my lap and purr. But baby cows also make veal and veal is good too. I wouldn’t let a chunk of veal snuggle in my lap and purr either though. Cows and pigs can be cute. But cows and pigs do end up on my dinner or breakfast plates which counter acts their cute factor. And maybe this is where the prejudices start. Ducks, geese, chicken, pheasant, grouse – they can all end up on your dinner plate. The ostrich might even make an appearance if you have the hankering and the money. But you wouldn’t think of eating a snowy owl or a falcon. And if any of you had any thoughts about snacking on a penguin (besides this one of course) you’ll have to answer to me. I guess in the hierarchal system of the animal kingdom we humans do them no favours. It’s not bad enough that the cow often gets killed by other animals and left to rot. Nope, we have to downgrade his existence to little more than 9-ounce chunks and baseball gloves. I’m sure Michael Jackson went through a herd of cows with his outfits in the 80s and 90s. And pigs get it even worse. Some countries won’t allow any form of pig product because it is a repulsive and dirty animal. Obese people around the world know just how much the word pig hurts. But if you put tusks on the snout of these things and watch dig around in the dirt you’ll think they aren’t so bad. Let’s talk about birds for a minute again. I remember, a good few years ago now, when watching the sports highlights when I saw something quite remarkable. Pitcher Randy Johnson, famed as much for his 6’ 10” frame as he was for his 100 mile per hour fastball, was on the mound and hurled a pitch towards the plate. Before it reached the batter 66 feet away, the ball struck a dove that had flittered across the field. The bird exploded in a flurry of feathers, killed on impact. The next day, the animal rights people demanded Johnson apologize for his heinous act and major league baseball take action against him. Johnson was remorseful, but unapologetic. Personally, I don’t think he needed to apologize. The odds of hitting a bird in flight, especially one that wasn’t there to begin with, or normally there, are pretty damn high. Several people decided to villainize him. I won’t go as far as saying these people are idiots but if the gene pool is that shallow... Would Johnson have received as much flack if he had hit a stray pigeon flying across the baseball diamond? Maybe not. But by hitting the bird of peace, he certainly didn’t have any for a few weeks. Cheers, The Penguin. |
| I was reading the excellent blog of lizco252 and in one of her recent articles she met up with a fellow writing.com member. I have yet to meet a fellow member of this site, and I know that many on here have. I know of a couple of romances that were formed here and still going strong too. I would assume there are members on here living in Saudi Arabia, but I don’t know any, and that would be an obvious place to start. But then I think it might not be good to unleash me to an unsuspecting public. My real persona and my blog persona often meld together at times and I can be quite unbearable. There are times when I want to walk out of the room that I am standing in. I remember on the Africa trip I felt like the outsider some times because I think my over the top persona bubbled to the surface on one occasion too many. But that is life I suppose. And then I think of who on this site I would want to meet first. The lecherous lothario in me would opt for the hot single girl who finds guys who name themselves after aquatic birds a bigger turn on than the biggest of turn ons. But that would be predictable and somewhat boring. Besides, writing.com isn’t a dating service. If that happens between two people on this site that finally find another soul who understands their passion for words it is a bonus. I’m almost positive that besides my mom, no one wants to hear any tales of me finding love, sex, or love and sex. Well, my mom could probably do without the sex actually. I have had the fortunate pleasure of meeting some of the most remarkable people on this site. These people come from all walks of life, from a high school student struggling to find herself in poetry, to a charming and eloquent lady who has lived more in a single year than I have in my entire life. I have befriended veterans, Arsenal fans, Canadians, Americans, and even people from Zimbabwe. If you throw in the Brits and the Aussies, and I am certainly not forgetting you guys, I have a veritable cornucopia of motivation, inspiration, and colleagues and friends. If my writing has improved in the 2 short years I’ve been on this site it is because of you. And maybe just a little bit of practice. The day will come when I will meet one of you, hopefully all of you, and so I feel I must plan for that day now. While I am tempted to say I should choose by geographic location for ease of flights and probably economic safety, the truth is, that is boring too. A gentleman worthy of your friendship would make a list of his first friends on this site and start by seeing each and every single one of them. Again, boring, but probably a good place to start. The sadist in me says “visit the old guys first” because they’ve got less time but that just seems remarkably cruel (especially now after I have told you all I’ve thought about it). We’ve already discussed what the lothario in me thinks (he’ll probably win too because he’s cool). I could just do a random selection of some person on the site, start by raiding their port, reading everything they produce, comment religiously on their blog, befriend them, name my next pet after them, and then meet them somewhere for a week long holiday at an all-inclusive resort somewhere. That idea is sort of romantic to me, in a non-sexual kind of way. There is something mystical and poetic about that technique, and slightly stalkerish as well. Every writer needs a stalker. I have one. She found me on facebook and she’s actually a very nice person and wrote to tell me her town featured in my book. So I guess she isn’t really a stalker after all. Or maybe I just don’t go and meet anybody. Maybe I just appear on these blog pages as the Penguin, and post photos of someone you think is me. Of course, my mom and dad would say if it wasn’t my photo and ruin all the fun, but I could just do that. I could be content to just go through my life on writing.com without meeting a soul in the flesh. I could hope that I can still draw you to my blog and other work even if I choose to be the reclusive hermit living in a reclusive land (for now). I mean, and here’s the part that’s truly Penguin, how can I honestly be expected to decide which one of you gets to meet me first? And how will the rest of you react to not being first? Damn, life can be terrible when you have a giant ego. Tee hee. Cheers, The Penguin |
| At work today I was busy editing a policy on colon hydrotherapy. Right before lunch too. A lunch where I had chicken masala and curried vegetables. The word irony will spring to mind the next time I have to sit down to go to the bathroom but I won’t talk about that right now. What I will talk about, because I know you are all curious, is the art of colon hydrotherapy. The experts will call it a “colonic”, and I dare you to try and order one of those from the hot bartender at your favorite gin joint that next time you are there. The only things shaken and stirred with the “colonic” are your intestines, colon, rectum, and anus. I’m pretty sure there isn’t an olive thrown in for garnish either. While gin might be dubbed “the panty remover” by lecherous men world wide, and the gin and tonic the favorite tipple for removing said panties, the “colonic” will also have your night end sans panties.... but you’ll also get a hose shoved up your ass. While the old hose up the ass trick was fun in college and at birthday parties, this isn’t quite the same hose up the ass trick your father taught you. Nope, this is completely different. This hose up the ass serves a purpose other than making people laugh or announcing your sexual deviances. But I question why we should do it in either case. In today’s society, the onus on a clean and healthy lifestyle is almost as apparent as Pam Anderson’s funbags when she’s at an awards show. Screams of “meat is murder” can often drown out my pre-pillow talk at restaurants, and activists near and far will have you dreading the day you bought shoes with rubber soles because they will leave a lasting imprint on the earth we tread on. And the zealots, I mean health conscious among us, will try and restrict your diet to nothing more than purified air, water, and maybe a rice cake or two a week. Unless you want to spend lots of money on organic food and then it is okay to stuff your face with bananas, apples, breads, and meats. Toxins and bacteria, germs and pesticides, left over remnants of Napalm and noxious gases still float around and still end up on our food. Sure, we wash everything we eat (righttttt), but that isn’t enough. We fail to remove most of the toxins in the food and our bodies can only remove so much on their own. We can aid the cleansing process with special diets and beverages designed to increase bowel movements and pore restoration, but when all else fails, and it could be a big butt, there is colon hydrotherapy to remove the rest of the toxins that pollute our blood stream. Basically you take a hose and slide it gently into your lubricated anus. Hey, without the lube you might as well just stick a twig up there. The hose is armed with a stopper so you can’t push it in too far. Nice of them to be courteous to my upper anal regions when designing this technique. Apparently when you’re having the hose inserted, the inserter will be holding your upper butt cheek firmly yet gently and then will release it so it folds over the stopper in a natural shape and look. Isn’t that exactly how you looked at the last dinner party you went to? Once the hose is inserted you simply turn on the water supply to fill your cavity with water for 20 minutes, or as long as you can handle it, drain, and repeat the process for an hour. The experts recommend at least five “colonic” sessions to completely cleanse the body of toxins. If by chance the hose slips out, the inserters are requested to start the insertion process, including lubricating, over again rather than just try and jam the hose back in. And you thought that night you spent in prison was liberating. So why would someone in their right mind want to stick a hose up their butt and flush out their system? Well, besides removing your body of harmful toxins that could seep into your blood stream and cause illness, this can be a cure for constipation as well. I have heard a story of a lady who admitted herself into a major hospital in the States complaining she was pregnant. It turns out, the severely constipated woman who hadn’t taken a shit in 8 months (seriously, if I go 8 hours without a little chunk in my wind I worry), just needed some help loosening up her stool. After a bucket load of castor oil she proceeded to spend the rest of her day emptying the contents of her stomach through her soon to be expanded poop shoot. She lost 40 pounds, damn near 20 kilograms of fecal matter. I’m betting her hoop was never the same again. Creepy story huh? Research has shown that people can exercise all they want and still have that distended belly look because of hardened stool hugging the walls of their intestines and colon. In order to rid the body of the excess waste, why not try a “colonic”? The constant caressing of water from the inside, plus the gentle permeations of a helping hand on the external regions of the abdomen will massage the tricky and sticky refuse out of the crevasses of intestine and eventually out of the hole in your deepest and nastiest crevasse. The hospital I work at was giving free “colonic” sessions when we first started doing them and two of my friends had them done. One of them gets it done regularly, one of them said “once was enough. The first time I saw something that didn’t look normal spiraling down the hose on the way out was too much for me to take.” And that is how I feel about the whole ordeal. Some people like to know exactly what they put in their bodies, and are very studious about what they eat, drink, and ingest. I’m the opposite really. I couldn’t really care. Life is too short to do things I’m not supposed to or that might be harmful for me. I drink Coke, eat chocolate, snack on crisps past midnight. I manage to exercise and have great eyesight, can hear, have all my own teeth, and don’t walk with a limp. But perhaps my main reason for not partaking in a “colonic” is because I am one of those people who doesn’t want to know what it is that is living inside me. If it hasn’t killed me yet I’ll take my chances later. The less I know about some things the better I think my life will be. And you are probably wishing right now that you knew less about my glamorous job as a technical writer for a hospital aren’t you? Cheers, The Penguin |
| What kind of idiot starts a new blog, gets excited about it, and then disappears for a few days leaving you all wondering (okay, I’m assuming you might have thought for a nanosecond where I had gone) if I’ll ever be back to continue it? That idiot would be me, Geraint John Isitt, beloved son of John and Marilyn, and friend to Penguins around the world. We have just had the Eid holiday here in Saudi Arabia, one of the few holidays that will excuse you from work, and Chris and I decided to take a few days off so I could kick his ass on the golf course. We drove to Qatar on the Wednesday and golfed Thursday and Friday morning, before journeying back to Saudi later Friday afternoon. Don’t take this the wrong way... but I could easily settle in Doha, Qatar for the right opportunity. I don’t know how entirely true this is but there seems to be a different kind of Muslim in Qatar. Yes, Saudi Arabia is the birthplace of Islam, and it is definitely stricter and less forgiving than the other Arab states, but the Qatari people are nothing short of friendly and welcoming. You first notice it at the border when you drive in. There are no women working at the border crossings in Saudi, and even in Bahrain the immigration booths are all staffed by males. But in Qatar, we had the pleasure of driving by one of the booths and having to stop as four young Qatari girls waved us back to check our passports. They are flirty, like all Arab women when they can be, and when they asked me if I liked Qatar more than Saudi I said I did because Qatari girls are prettier. Of course this was followed by the post-pubescent giggling of 20 year olds (maybe). They stamped our passports and off we went. I have been told many times since I’ve been here that Saudis like Westerners more than they like other Saudis. While this may be true, it is important to remember that they would as soon run each other off the road than wait behind another Saudi at a traffic light. This is a country with no sense of community, where status is paraded around like a porn star parades around her new tits. And if they like us more than they like each other it’s only because the Westerners are here helping them build this barren wasteland. If you were to take away the Western influence in Saudi Arabia you might as well pitch a tent in the Sahara. They may like us; but they loathe us for all the same reasons. They’ll gladly take our fashion, our television shows, and the US dollar, but they’d sell you out at the first chance they got. I don’t think there are a lot of native Qatari people in Qatar to be honest. I’m betting the percentage is pretty small, and getting smaller by the week. Cranes dot the landscape, from East to West and North to South, and where there isn’t land they’re moving sand from the desert and filling in the Arabian Gulf. Little man made islands soon to be home to the extremely wealthy are being developed as we speak, and much like Dubai, that tacky Las Vegas of the Middle East, this is a city that will explode in 10 years. One walk down the shopping mall and the differences in people become apparent. Even in Bahrain, the gawking at women (and men) becomes so boombastically obvious it borders on the lecherous. But in Doha, at the Villagio Mall, women in shorts, women in tank tops, women with cleavage and jeans hiked up a little too high up the crack of a shapely ass walked around with little fan fare. Sure this is a Muslim state, but it is a Muslim state that accepts the foreigners are here building its future and they have their own traditions and customs. It’s a symbiotic relationship that works well. I for one was quite glad to see the freedom and didn’t feel the need to wear shorts past my knees when out in public. I still wouldn’t walk around with those little hot pants that the Hooter’s waitresses wear but orange has never been my color. Maybe I just find it better than it is because of where I am? I have heard that argument as well. Dubai is what it is. People have sex on beaches there and get a warning first before being deported. But Dubai is a cultural pit. Dubai is all glitter and pomp. It is the g-string of the celebrity stripper that does shows with tigers, bubble bath, or tigers and bubble baths. Dubai is glamour personified. And Dubai is set to more than double its population in just 2 years (going from 1.5 to 3.5 million by 2010). Doha is growing, but it is remarkably Arabic in its roots. Some men were being kept out of the mall when we went. Chris and I had no problems walking in, but we were the right kind of foreigner. Asian men (Pakistanis, Indians, etc.) were being kept out of the mall unless they were there with their families, as single men are not allowed in the mall on holidays and weekends. This has caused some debate in the government as discrimination, and has even been voiced by female Arabs. The argument for keeping them out isn’t because they are single men, but because most Asians are in the Middle East on a paltry salary (but still better than at home) so they don’t go to the mall to shop, but just to hang around and possibly cause problems. The single men of Western decent, on a higher salary, are free to shop whenever they want because they have the means to do so. I guess this is kind of like keeping teenagers out of a store back home. I remember a few malls tried it during school hours to stop them from loitering in the food court and around the exits bumming cigarettes. That edict took a lot of flak from some in authoritative positions and was scrapped. I didn’t buy a single thing the three times I went to the mall in Qatar. And all Chris bought was a hat and some golf balls. Mind you, we did stop at Starbucks and have two of our meals at the restaurants inside the mall. And not at the food court either. There is a great South African restaurant called The Butcher Shop and Grill and they do a mean order of beef ribs. I love ribs. We had pasta the next night and Chris accused me of being the most evil person he knows... but that is a tale for another time. Cheers, The Penguin |
| As I was twiddling about online yesterday I decided to take a quiz that promised to tell me what 80s movie I was. I don’t know how many movies they had to choose from and how intricate the calculations were to arrive at the movie that I would be if I was an 80s movie, but after 10 questions I can now confidently say what movie from the 80s I am. I still find it amazing that after only 10 questions, all of them with two or three possible choices, I was told without a fissure of doubt what movie I am. Of course, they didn’t tell me why I was the movie, but since I like the movie they chose me to be I won’t be complaining too much. When I have time I might make up my own reasons why I was this movie. I had to answer simple questions like “do you believe in true love” and “would you rather be a pirate or a ninja?” Funnily enough, I said I did believe in true love, which would totally lean towards the Princess Bride as that is what Westley is being brought back from nearly dead for. However, I also chose ninja because pirates aren’t as cool as Johnny Depp makes them appear. I couldn’t think of an 80s movie with a ninja though. When all was said and done I am the movie the Princess Bride. Thankfully I love that movie. It is one of the most quotable movies of all time. I wanted to be one of the characters from that movie and threatened to change my name to his name. I never did; but it would be cool to go around being called Inigo Montoya telling people “hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!” Alas, my name remains the same. And then, because I was feeling daring and it is a pet peeve of mine in regards to writing, I took a “there, they’re, their” quiz. Those words were omitted from sentences and you had to choose the right version of the word to make the sentence complete. After the 20 questions I reluctantly clicked on the button to reveal my score. You will be, and my former professors will too, pleased to hear that I achieved a score of 100%. Yay me. I hate to admit it but this is a pet peeve for me. Maybe it’s because I still hear people saying anyone can be a writer, but when I see people misusing “there, they’re, their” or “to, too, two”, or “its, it’s” it just irks me. Surely, if anyone could do this for a living, they wouldn’t try and sell you “too water coolers” or tell you that “there family is going on vacation”? Maybe I’m just too attached to this subject matter. Maybe I shouldn’t care if some 16 year old on a bus is boasting to her friends that she is certain she will write books because her marks in English are best than most in her class. I swear, these were her words. I’ve had Saudis telling me I’m using the wrong word and I laugh it off because they don’t know any better. Well, I laugh it off until they demand I change it because I’m wrong. I am the guy whose friends laugh at him because I use punctuation in text messages. Seriously, I have to make sure I’m using the proper punctuation at all times. Back at home I bet my grammar teacher is smiling. As you can tell I’m struggling to keep myself busy some nights. I am writing however, and will hopefully have some stories about rejection letters and acceptance letters to tell you. Cheers, The Penguin |
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We've all had a moments like that...oh, and variations on the other one you mentioned! 