"Georgetowning": An Example

A Yahoo! opinion piece by a Georgia Anne Geyer. The second paragraph gives it away . . .

"I've spent 10 days here looking intensively into the "new Egypt" after last fall's upheaval elections, and it seems to me..."

Flat-out Sick

It finally strikes. A combination of Cairo cold, me getting soaked in a rainshower (I know, I know), and campus-illness that everyone's getting. Prescription: Green tea with honey, sleep, maybe some fuul with baladi. And drugs.

In Awe

That has to be the most amazing real beard I've ever seen. Abu Tir, Palestinian and bearded extraordinaire.

Out of the Mouths of Babes..

Thanks S for sharing A's incarnate wisdom and her synopsis of the civil rights movement:

Alaina: I know what the flag stands for!
Mommy: What?
Alaina: Freedom! I learned about it at school today. Freedom means
choice.
Mommy: Sure does.
Alaina: Well, a long time ago there were only people with black skin
and faces, and they were called slaves.
Mommy: Oh?
Alaina: Yeah, and they had to do all the work. Like you'd say 'Go
get this thing.' And they'd have to go get it.
Mommy: Yep.
Alaina: But then this man came to America. I can't remember his
name... You know, the first white man? And he was, like, the ruler
of the whole country. What's that called again?
Mommy: President.
Alaina: Yeah. And he believed in freedom for everyone.
Mommy: Abraham Lincoln?
Alaina: YEAH! But he wasn't the first president. That George guy
was. But then it was later, and the black people still didn't have
choices. Like, they wanted to go to McDonald's, and the government
said 'No! You can't go to McDonald's!'
Mommy: Hmm.
Alaina: But this other man, Muffin Luther...There's more parts to his
name, but I can't remember them.
Mommy: King Junior?
Alaina: YEAH! Muffin Luther King Junior. And he believed everyone should have equality. Equal means the same. And he was white like us.
Mommy: Really? I'm pretty sure he was black.
Alaina: NO!!! Miss Myra said he had a white face and skin, just like
us.
Mommy: Hmmm.
Alaina: And then the black people were normal and had choices. And
now they're just like us! Like, last year there were some people
with other colored skin, and they were, like, my friends.

NASCAR and Drugs

I really don't care, but I noticed this string of Freudian slips in a NYT piece about the dangers of the 'bumping' racing move:

"It's the crack phenomenon with Nascar racing," the driver Kyle Petty said. "Our meth habit right now is bump drafting. Everybody thinks you got to have it, everybody thinks you got to do it. Some people are more addicted to it than others. And Nascar obviously is stepping in and saying, 'We're having an A.A. meeting now.' "

Ok, Kyle Petty. So we have, um, crack, meth and Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. Anything you want to talk about?

Why I Don't Like Jazz

The Argus Leader's Robert Morast sums up, on his blog, why we both don't like it (or just don't understand it):

"You know, I'm not a cultured jazz head. I'll probably never be a cultured head. This is mostly because I don't understand the audio allure of frenetic bursts of unsyncopated rhythms and notes that quickly die down to work back into the primary melody. It seems ostentatious and unecessary . . . "

Amen, brother. Now blues, on the other hand . . .

Misfit Fittin' In

I’m sitting at Cilantro in Mohandiseen - an upscale coffee shop in an upscale area. Classier than a lot of coffee shops in the US – that I’ve been too at least. The atmosphere is serene, the clients polylingual and leather-clad. I keep waiting for them to discover that not only am I unclassy and poor, I’m wearing the only pants I currently own that fit me at all. But so far they’ve left me alone. Me – sporting my foreigner looks and silver laptop. Who knows how long I’ll make it through this masquerade.

I sat down at a table in the corner. I pulled the chair back and the corner of the leg yanked out a piece of faux-marble tile baseboard. I looked around. No one saw, at least, none of the Gucci-ed glitterati. So I carefully pushed the piece back in with my toe and tried to look nonchalant.

In some ways, this place is a great example of much of the “upscale” I’ve experienced here. It looks - and often is worth – a million bucks. But at the same time, there is a quiet desperation, a feeling that it wouldn’t take much for this to collapse into obscurity and ruin. I think it breeds a bit of a reckless abandon: go for broke, because it might not be around later anyway. Or maybe it allows one to be carefree: If it all falls apart, it’s okay because then we’re right back where we started.

Okay, that seems a bit overblown. The point is, upscale class here never feels like upscale class. Then again, I probably wouldn’t know upscale class if it daintily avoided me in the street.

Georgetowning an Experience

It’s called “Georgetowning” it: When one has a “real” cultural experience, and converts it (probably in a blog like this one) into a tome on the deeper truth, an in-depth look into the real world exposed by you being in-country and on the scene. . . Even though you probably don’t really have any idea what just happened AND you probably got ripped off.

“It’s like when you buy bread from a guy on the street and then go back and write about how it’s a perfect symbol of the economy, or something,” says my friend.

You see, Georgetown (the university in DC) spreads its students across the globe, and Cairo in particular seems infested (blessed, I mean) with them. Now don’t get me wrong – I have friends from Georgetown, unpretentious ones. Even if they do talk about their home U all the time.

The thing is, I don’t think the concept is limited to Georgetown students. M in Senegal told me about going to a place with French people sporting the hair and clothes that allows them to go back home and say, with a mix of pride and fear, “I was in AFRICA.”

I’m guilty of it too. I do it all the time – cheaply trying to plumb the depths of my experiences here for something to learn, to grasp, something to take back home. “This is one of the once-in-a-lifetime experiences,” people say. True. But sometimes I think I’m blind from looking so much. And yet, I persist.

And blame Georgetown.

End Neocolonialism! Oooh, Look at the Pretty Torch

You gotta love it. UberProtesters at the Winter Olympics in Turin take some time from their busy protesting for something really worthwhile.

"We will always stand close to the people who defend their countries and struggle against neo-colonialism," said Chiara, a red-haired orator. "But first let's watch the torch." The protesters pulled out cell phones and began to snap digital photos.

A la Michael Moore - George W.'s "Now watch this drive" comparison, anyone?

Read the WP piece here.

Will Kidnap for Job

Unemployed? Need a job? Kidnap a foreigner!

"Gaza militants have kidnapped about 20 foreigners in recent months, using their hostages to try to get jobs from the Palestinian Authority or to force it to release their jailed comrades."

And, the CNN piece says, they often get what they want. I guess that's one way.

How It'll End, and Why

The Danish Cartoon Controversy rages on, with no end in sight. Embassies are burning across the Middle East, while Western newspapers scream "freedom of the press!" The Arab world is alternately angry at the West and itself. But a piece in Saudi Arabia's Al-Jazirah newspaper (quoted in a Slate article) glints a critical eye at how this all tends to go down:

"Muslims are the strongest people in the world when it comes to individual reactions and the weakest when it comes to institutionalized operations. Events have taught us that every reaction to such attacks on Islam (wherever they may take place) ends with institutionalized responses aimed at sapping the popular, local anger, but not at treating the issue in the place where it broke out."

Feel the Flow

From the funeral of Coretta Scott King:

"We know now there were no weapons of mass destruction over there. But Coretta knew, and we knew, that there are weapons of misdirection right down here. Millions without health insurance. Poverty abounds. For war, billions more, but no more for the poor."

Thank you Rev. Lowery. Take notes, young grasshopper. That's how to write the spoken word. Read it...Da-dum, da-dum-dum...feel the rhythm.

Read the LA Times story here.

On to the Africa Cup Finals

Egypt wins again - this time against M's Senegalese Teranga Lions. That means they'll face Ivory Coast in the final in two days. I was downtown in an overcrowded "ahwa" or coffee shop with a couple of friends and a bunch of Egyptians. Some apple sheesha, and hot cinnamon milk got me in the mood for a good game.

Television watching in Egypt is a group activity, but never more so than during a big football match. For this one, riot police in their big trucks were stationed around the city - but especially close to Midan Tahrir. The cafe I was at was one block away from the big central square, which is actually shaped more like a circle.

With every mistake, good defense or shot on the goal, we exploded out of our seats - to yell at the clearly-guilty-as-sin Senegal player who fouled Barakat, or throw up our hands at a horrible pass or a shot on the goal gone wrong.

As time wound down, Egypt's 2-1 advantage looked secure. I could feel the pressure build - stamping of restless feet and the occassional victory whistle.

Then it was over. Khalas. Done. The players celebrated onscreen as we victoriously poured out of the ahwa into the streets. Behind us, the waiter, his glasses knocked askew, flipped through bills and made change as he tried to get everyone to pay their last minute bills.

A crowd gathered in the square - a swirling mass of young men and flags, shouting and chanting. The police looked concerned but not overly worried as they herded the crowd out of the traffic doing it's part to celebrate with a cacophany of honks.

At that moment, in the spin of celebration, everyone in Egypt was an Egyptian. And we were all winners.

On to the finals...

EGYPT WINS!!!!!

Egypt beat the Democratic Republic of Congo's football (I mean, soccer) team last night in the African Cup quarterfinals. I didn't get to see the game live, but I saw all the highlights later. For hours, boisterous Egyptians drove around town tooting their horns - "honk, honk, honk-honk-honk" - and waiving the Red, White and Black. Even the police down at my corner joined in, echoing back the car horns with their whistles. It's a big game for them - from here they move on to the semi-finals to do battle with the Teranga Lions of Senegal (M, your team's going down!)

I'll be sure to see that game as it happens. I think nobody is happier than an Egyptian when the Pharaohs win, and nobody is harder to be around when they lose.

You've Got to Love Bitterness

It was a rough time last semester, with Arabic kicking my butt. But apparently when I said Failure was new to me, during a dark time, I forgot to say I meant academic failure (even though I thought that'd be clear) - and forget to mention every personal failure I've had which has let someone down. Lord knows I've had a few. Hence the anonymous comment posted below this morning.

"Failure NEW to you???? Hmmmmm. You disapointed/failed me majorly....but then again, you didn't know me very well either, did you?????"

Thanks Anonymous, for making my day brighter. Hopefully yours is as well. I hope an anonymous twist of the knife truly satisfies.

And for what it's worth - since I don't have the slightest clue who you are - I'm glad to see you've moved on so sucessfully. I have. I've learned lessons and become a better person because of them. Hope you can say the same.
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Part Deux - It Continues

Received shortly after I posted the above -

Mr. Fugelberg - I don't think it's bitterness that someone feels against you. Surely, you put your personal life out there online in this blog, or personal diary, for the entire world to read and certainly must not realize that you open yourself up to criticism. (What are blogs for? Agreeing with everything and everyone out there?)

Even though you travel afar on distant soil foreign from your own, you need to learn that not every one will like you/agree with you, or what you have to say. It's called LIVING IN REALITY. Just because you don't have the same opinions that say, your neighbor has/or doesn't have, it doesn't make you right/wrong, and it doesn't make your neighbor right/wrong, it just makes two different opinions in the world.

Right?

P.S. Maybe the person who wrote the anonymous blog you are referring to you did actually learn a lesson from you as well and they just have a different way of showing it. Question is, how bitter are you? Hence, why would you respond in the way you did? I detect a sense of bitterness in your response as well.

My response:

Anonymous -

I'm spelling your name correctly, although you don't have the courtesy to do the same with mine. And yet you know it. Interesting. Since you clearly know who I am, I hope citing my name gave you the moral authority you seem to think you need.

You seem to be patently confused about what I said regarding failure and how I responded. Of course I realize my life, through my blog, is more open than it would be if I did't post a thing. I'll admit, I don't get a lot of readers, so any comments I do get have a higher than average affect on me. As you've so ably pointed out, I'm right here, online, standing where you can see me. I wish you had the same respect.

Frankly, I'm confused by your lecture on "LIVING IN REALITY" as you so ably put it. I'm certainly aware, and respect, other people's opinions. I wouldn't be here in Cairo if I didn't. So in that way, your critique seems misplaced. But there's clearly a big difference between arguing about politics or whatever and making an anonymous personal attack which seems to be based on a past experience with me. That's bitterness, clear and simple, not a difference of opinion.

If the person who commented learned a lesson from me, despite my own apparent lack of character, I am gratified. But writing an anonymous, biting personal comment seems to indicate a lack of growth and be somewhat counterproductive. If that's what it takes for 'anonymous' to walk away from the past, so be it. I just wish they wouldn't step on my feelings on their way.

You ask if I am bitter, and you claim to detect a sense of bitterness. I'm not bitter, since I have no idea which past personal situation 'anonymous' is commenting on. But I certainly feel blind-sided from the attack. I've grown much in the past few years - I feel like I've come so far and learned so much. It hurts to have a blank face whisper poison on my blog.