Mad World

MOVED!!!

2007-10-07T23:51:00.000+02:00

If you liked what you saw here, do try out the new bigger and better website. Frank would be pleased.

Mad World IV : The Iftar

2007-09-19T23:16:00.001+02:00

I had a feeling it was coming. Right as soon as I saw Frank land on my windowsill I could already smell the ma7shy and hear eight loud concurrent and incoherent conversations over the sound of a blaring TV set. I usually run over to him in jittery anticipation of my next message, but this time I edged over hesitantly, looked in the message that was attached to his leg and sighed painfully. Ok, so it’s Iftar at the family gathering tomorrow then. “Oh lord, see me through this one more time” I prayed.

Beads of sweat started forming on my forehead as I rode in the taxi on the way, hugging the giant watermelon I bought as a present so as not to walk in empty handed. The thing is, I love my family and know they love me, but if there’s any place in Egypt where I feel most out of place it’s there at the family gatherings. They call me ‘El Khawaga’ (the foreigner) because I was raised abroad, talk English well and used to teach at an English school. Whenever someone calls me this I always remember the Khawaga’s in old Egyptian movies, speaking in a heavy French accent and always saying ‘ya khabiby’.

I finally get off in front of the old building, pay my fare and the taxi zooms off, leaving both me and the giant watermelon covered in black dust. Just as I was wiping myself off, a huge arm wraps around me and pulls me into a bear hug; it was my uncle who had apparently just arrived now too. I let myself go into the hug and take in a lungful of dry sweat mixed with cigarettes. Finally we let go, he makes fun of my giant watermelon and I laugh uncomfortably, then I see his wife standing next to him and immediately find myself in the predicament I find myself in with all female relatives, do I go in for a hug or the distant handshake? I opt for the safer of the two options but end up getting pulled into warm cleavage, and the three of us start walking up the steps of the building together. A few moments of awkward silence pass, mainly because it had become recently known that my uncle had married a second wife for the last two years, and this first wife apparently doesn’t know. He is of the seemingly religious type who always spends hours at Islamic teachings and the mosque, but it turns out that at least half of those times he was with the other lady. For a second I imagine him at the mosque praying piously and then an hour later wearing leather underwear and pouring hot wax over the other woman as she sensuously strokes the zebeeba on his forehead, but then my eyes accidentally meet his and I get freaked out by the feeling that he knows what I’m thinking.

Thirty minutes later and I’m in the armpit of the evening. Right before Iftar, the 15 or so people are making small talk and catching up, while trying desperately to avoid the topic of my Uncle’s second marriage. At this point I try to be as politely silent as I can be, recovering from being pulled roughly into about 5 large cleavages and having my hand crushed in a few tough male handshakes. Like I predicted, the scene was one of chaos; think Bosnia or Palestine on a bad day. Literally dozens of conversations going on at the same time from people in completely different areas of the room, in topics ranging from last nights football match to the rumours of the presidents demise to how young people today have no morals; everyone talks loudly and gestures as if they are on a stage performing in front of millions. I could even overhear some people talking about other people who were present in that very same room! For a moment I imagine getting up, taking my clothes off and dancing wildly like a chicken, just to break up this madness.

Right on that note my mother asks me, “So Selim, how’s your job at that nice school?” I get caught off guard as I’m still thinking about dancing like a chicken, but I also hadn’t told anyone about being fired a while ago nor my subsequent mental disturbances. “Oh, it’s going fine” I reply coldly, trying to send all the telepathic signals I can to change the subject. Almost as a Godsend, the prayer suddenly goes off and I find myself alone in the living room, everyone is already on the dinner table on their second set of stuffed pigeons. It’s a good thing I didn’t bring Frank.

“Why aren’t you eating?” my grandmother shouts into my ear as she leans over just inches away from my face, drenching the entire left side of my head in mucus and bits of rice. I restrain myself from wiping away the things that are now sliding down my neck so as not to offend her, but instead motion manically to the pile of bones and leftovers on my plate. “You have to eat otherwise you won’t be strong!” she explains. “God damn it, I’m a middle aged, unemployed psychopath, I think physical strength is the last of my concerns right now” I think, but nod politely anyway. My other extremely fat aunt chimes in “yes, you must try my kobeba” with half a chicken wing hanging out of her mouth.

After massacring half the poultry and cow population of Cairo, we head into the living room for some more absurd discussions and the obligatory Ramadan TV programs. As we walk in my mother grabs my arm and whispers into my ear as she pulls me towards her. “Selim, you must talk to your sister about getting married. She isn’t listening to anyone, and for Gods sake, she’s 33!” Now let me explain something about my dear old mom, she has travelled the world and considers herself an intellectual and makes fun of the Egyptian population for being ignorant. She has been through life-threatening operations and survived it bravely. Half the time she argues how the hijab is not something legitimately required by the Koran and the other half about how stupid girls are to get married so young here without falling in love. But what happened when my both beautiful and smart sister started creeping up her 30’s? Yes, that’s right…

Before I could say anything to defend my sister I get pulled in the other direction by my younger cousin, who wants to catch up with me since we hadn’t met since last year. Now my cousin is a very nice young man, but he is of the kind who smokes hashish everyday, drinks, and dates loose girls…but come Ramadan he is the martyr of martyrs, and gives you the impression that he is so close to God it makes you want to cry and ask for his blessings. “Did you see the new Booby ads for Melody TV? It makes me sick” he declares solemnly, shaking his head. “Didn’t I see your picture with her posted on facebook when she was in Marina this summer?” I bluntly asked. He grins sheepishly and replies that he did it just because his friends wanted to. Right…

Everyone settles down as we get focused on the new Ramadan programs on TV. Two hours later and I’ve already lost half my brain cells and the rest are going quickly. I start frantically scratching my head and looking around the room for anyone even remotely disturbed by the retarded, one dimensional characters and plots, but all I see are robotic smiles and the television glare reflecting in focused eyes. “But why is this even remotely interesting? Nobody talks like that! Not everyone in the world dramatises, cheats, robs, lies, connives, and not everything is about love and divorce!” I argue in my head.

Then it hits me like a truck. I scan the room again slowly with a terrified expression. Oh my God.

Oh my…God.

YET ANOTHER DISCLAIMER

2007-09-19T23:09:00.000+02:00

The following pieces of news are completely fake and are not to be taken seriously. Please, please, please don't take me to jail.

2007-09-19T22:34:00.001+02:00

World rallies in support of the US after another attack…again.

It seemed almost like deja-vu last Wednesday, as news began breaking about the latest attack against the US, and the entire world tuned in and showed support once again for the poor, poor Americans. In a bizarre coincidence, as halfway across the globe the Iranian government was discussing the ultimatum they had been given by the US; an Iranian student woke up that morning and decided to change the fate of the world. He got dressed, took a bus to Washington DC, bent over, pulled down his pants…and took a giant shit right in front of the gates of the white house. Before he could be apprehended and questioned, he pissed his own pants in an act of mindless martyrdom, yet rumours have started circulating that it was, in fact, the white house guards who pissed on him. Abdallah Abdallah Seif-Allah was thought to be just a regular foreign student at the Washington Institute of Disturbed Extremists, doing well at his studies and participating frequently in drunken student orgies. “I never thought he could do something this horrible…he was just a normal guy!” exclaimed one of his classmates before he barked like a dog and jumped out of the window to his death.

Only minutes after the news broke out, the peace talks were halted, but Mr. Bush was warned not to come home from his vacation in the Alps and face the nation before the giant stool sample had been cleared and analyzed for biological chemicals. Scientists who arrived on the scene claimed it “looked a bit odd.” However, the president immediately gave a press release, stating “this act of inhumane barbarianismisity has shocked us all. Only time can heal the wounds this atrocityness has created. But until the wounds are healed we will send all our forces to occupy Iran, but we’ll definitely be gone within the next decade or so, just as soon as the franchises and contracts are set up.” Following his statement, millions around the world hung American flags out of their window to show support, and no one took a dump for an entire day out of respect.

Egyptian Police Search for Massari’s Testicles

In yet another example of how bad Egyptians are at hosting international acts, RnB sensation Massari was robbed of one of his luggage bags at Cairo International Airport the day before his show. The news came to him from one of his many muscular entourages, who called him as he waited outside in his car, informing him that a toothless baggage handler stole the bag that carried Massari’s testicles. The testicles, they claim, are stuck onto Massari’s scrotum before shows so as people don’t get suspicious about his schoolgirl voice. Sources say that their original removal was the result of a drunken night in Mexico, where Massari also happened to get accidentally married to his own ass at a small church. Police are urging people to give any information that might help, and even went so far as to setup a toll-free number for information: 555-RNB-BALLS. His Penis, they claim, was wisely kept in a different bag and is perfectly safe.

The 1^st Annual Egyptian Gay & Lesbian pride parade

In a brave announcement posted anonymously online last week on the premier homosexual Egyptian blog site, www.shawaaz-fashkh.com, the leaders of the local gay community called for the entire homosexual population to come out of the shadows and walk the streets of Cairo in solidarity, from Tahrir square to Salah Salem. Despite the extreme online excitement from just about every fudge-packer or muff-diver from Mohandeseen to Nasr City, online one (very stupid) man showed up at the meeting place, dressed in a pink bunny outfit. The 42 year old accountant, who will remain nameless, had a sullen look on his face right before snipers in nearby buildings shot him 103 times in the head.

2007-09-19T22:33:00.001+02:00

Scholar declares New Fatwas

For the last few months the entire Islamic population has been deliberating the controversial fatwas that were issued by an Islamic scholar. The first declared that a man and woman may be left alone in the same room on the condition that the man breastfeeds from the woman, while the second claimed that it was alright for a woman to fix her hymen after breaking it and not have to tell her future husband. News that the same scholar issued two new fatwas today met even more controversy, with the first saying that it is now acceptable for male Muslims over forty to indulge in bestiality given that the animal has a birthmark on his left butt cheek, and the second now deeming it possible for women to cheat on their husbands, providing that they have an affair with a midget, who must be of Bulgarian origin and have three testicles. With this shocking news, police decided to investigate the scholar, who turned out to have no affiliation with Al Azhar at all, but in fact makes a living directing amateur porn movies under the moniker ‘holyman69’.

A win for Tobacco?

Smokers from New York to Bangkok were overjoyed to hear the results of a new groundbreaking study that actually reported that smoking does not harm the health, quite the contrary. The scientific project declared that smoking reduces the risk of tumours, benefits overall health and may, in fact, lead to noticeable enlargement of the genitals. However, some became cynical of the findings when they discovered that the head scientists were none other than The Marlboro Man and his horse.

Apple announces iPhone 2.0 project

With the first version of the eagerly anticipated iPhone now currently enjoying highly positive reviews, the wonder man Steve Jobs of Apple announced today that they have already begun work on its successor. Version 2.0, which will be released to the world later this year and to Egypt in 2009, will more than shock and awe. The revolutionary new device will not only include the original capabilities of cell phone\media player\web browser, but using groundbreaking new technology it will also baby sit your kids, drive you to work, cure cancer, bring peace between the Palestinians and Israelis, find out who killed Kennedy and force Take That into another retirement. All that plus, get this; it will include a special mobile edition of Facebook especially for iPhone users! Just think, you can check who wrote on your wall on the way to work! Yaaaay!

2007-09-19T22:32:00.001+02:00

Shakira Concert Victims

A few days before the event, in an impoverished region of Maadi, Mr. George Hassanein was taken to the local police station after having committed murder in the first degree. Allegedly, his explanation for killing his lifelong friend Zaki Nahaas was that he had stolen his hard to find Shakira concert tickets after a gruelling journey to get them. “I do not regret what I did”, declared George, “we never get big stars here in Cairo, especially not a Moza like Shakira. Yestahel ebn el kalb.”

Yet the bloodshed reached its pinnacle on the concert day. After getting his car stuck in the sand while trying to find the parking lot, Ahmad Fahmy tried desperately to dig his car out. A passing by car of youth also on their way to the concert slowed down next to him and laughed and pointed, at which point Ahmad lost it, chased after the car and brutally murdered all 5 inside with his own shoe. Other fatalities that day included Ms. Pakinam Ramzy, who after discovering that the concert was over while she was still stuck in traffic waiting to take that damn U-turn, and after trading her honour for a ticket, committed suicide in the middle of the street. According to spectators, her last words were “Ya sawiras ya 7ayawaaaaan”.

New Study on Egyptian Soap Operas

The groundbreaking new study, led by famed sociologist Dr. Shaheera Zaghlool, aims to shed light on a chicken-or-the-egg kind of situation in Egypt, basically the question “Does everyone in Egypt live in this retarded way because of soap operas, or do soap operas mirror the retarded behaviour of average Egyptians?” The study will find out when were the first two lovers who drank lemonade at a café by the Nile with the young man promising marriage to the girl despite their poor situation and the rich old guy that also wants to marry the girl, who the first businessman was that picked up the phone in a crummy office and said “aywa ya exelance!” while wearing a yellow blazer, and if, in fact, people brake into dramatic monologues for no apparent reason and end it by saying something really shocking like “dee AKEED eganenet!!” before the scene cuts to the aforementioned lovers by the Nile…

CNN reporter discovers Twilight Zone?

Tony McFarlane, junior CNN reporter, made headlines yesterday after announcing his amazing and accidental discovery of a secret path that leads to an alternate dimension. While on assignment in a Red Sea resort off Israel, investigating the mating habits of bisexual fish, his boat had a technical malfunction, took him deep into the sea and then sank. After swimming to the nearest shore, he found himself in a magical place the likes of which he had never imagined; a place beyond time and space, where apparently even the laws of physics don’t apply. He describes it as a place of wonder, where the ‘democratic’ party is not the least bit democratic, where more people turn out for a Shakira concert than to vote, where an emergency law can remain in place for over thirty years, where entire streets can be blocked for hours for every official that passes, and in his most bizarre observation, no one seems to be doing anything about it. Tony was of course devastated to realize that this was, in fact, an already discovered country called Egypt (pronounced ‘E-Jipt’), which had remained off international radars since they last qualified for the world cup in 1874.

2007-09-19T22:29:00.000+02:00

New ‘Suicide’ Reality Show: morbid genius?

At a press conference last Wednesday, the creators of ‘Pop Idol’, ‘Who wants to marry a millionaire?’ and ‘Survivor’ came together to announce their newest venture, a program they said would revolutionize television and take Reality TV to a whole new level. They then unveiled the stunning idea behind ‘Suicide Island’; a reality show that collects a group of suicidal nitwits from around the world, dumps them on an island full of hard drugs, medieval weapons and Paris Hilton’s debut album constantly blasting from speakers, while millions of viewers watch and bet on who will kill themselves and in what way. The creators explained the statistics behind worldwide suicide rates, and justified the shocking subject nature with “If they do it anyway, why not put it on TV and make them famous before they leave us?”

Another odd democratic candidate…

With the eyes of the whole world focused on the path to the next American elections, there has been heated debate regarding the democratic candidates that the majority hopes would overthrow the current president. To most it seemed quite weak to put as the main contenders Senator Hillary Clinton (an alleged woman) and Mr Obama (a very black man), since either of them, if they win, would be firsts to hold the presidential office. Yet the world was shocked even further today with the announcement of the third democratic candidate; Mr. Suko Oka Sai, better known for his role as the little blue kid in horror movies ‘The Grudge’ & ‘The Grudge 2’. He made the announcement yesterday evening while appearing as a guest on Late Night with Conan O’Brian, where he also denied rumours that he was, in fact, just 7 years old. The actor, who has a serious case of ‘Midget-itus’, only appears to look so young and is actually a seasoned 53 year old with two degrees in International Politics and a minor in French Poetry. The democrats are excited about this new candidate and see him as a possible frontrunner in the campaign.

Starbucks in the Sky

Herald Smallbeans, vice president of the ‘Money, Power & Mass Advertising in Space’ program that NASA had been developing in recent years, finally shined some light on the previously top-secret project. Apparently NASA, in collaboration with McDonalds, Starbucks and Nike, had been putting its full effort recently in launching the first system of Space Advertising. What this means to us is that corporations can actually buy space in the sky, permanent space that will stay day and night, to advertise their products on giant space billboards.

“Through our discussions with these great corporations, we realized that we have been crowding and fighting over Ad space on bridges, highways and television, when all this time there was the wide open sky completely empty!” explained Mr. Smallbeans about the multi-billion dollar project. He went on to announce that the system is almost complete and the entire space station is expected to be launched later this year, with its first products over the US sky to be the aforementioned sponsors of course, as well as Madame Jo’s Quality Thongs and Stink-No-More, a pill that stops compulsive and uncontrollable farting. The Arab branch will launch a few months later over Middle Eastern skies, reportedly with products like GIL underwear, Abou Shakra and Live! Magazine.

Man eats his own Hand!!

Perhaps if more comprehensive results had been published from studies documenting the unhealthy combination of TV + fast food, Alexandrian Ramy Abbas would still have all fingers intact. In the most extreme case till date about how mind numbing current TV is and how delicious yet strangely addictive fast-food is, Mr. Abbas had just ordered a large meal from Hardees and was watching the season finale of 24. He kept stuffing food into his mouth robotically with eyes plastered to the TV when he suddenly awoke from his Kiefer-Sutherland-choking-some-terrorist trance to a strange taste in his mouth and incredible pain in his right hand. Four of the five fingers on his right hand had been chewed down to the bone, and from doctors reports, there is no way he will use that hand again. On a more positive note, Hardees has agreed to pay for his medical expenses in return for his appearance in their future AD Campaign; “Hardees: Finger Eatin’ Good!”

Mad World III : Downtown

2007-09-18T21:05:00.000+02:00

This issue of Mad World is dedicated to the journalists and bloggers who were imprisoned for using the freedom of speech we all should have.

Have you ever noticed how the average Egyptian brain-cell count plummets every year right around Ramadan? Well I discovered why. In my thinking about this, I realized that though we are oppressed and suffocated on a day-to-day basis, the biggest oppression comes in the most covert and devious form.

Another Thursday afternoon, another message from Frank the pigeon. Right on time this week! Oddly enough, all that the message said was ‘meet me downtown’. “Who is ‘me’?” I thought to myself. It obviously couldn’t be Frank; he was sitting right there in front of me. However, my blinding trust for Frank and his messages made me promptly put on some fresh pantyhose and hop into a taxi.

It was a fairly dusty day, with the weather starting to drop its blazing heat and shift towards a cooler autumn feel. This also meant that the wind was picking up, which anywhere else in the world brought about a lovely fresh breeze but here in Egypt it meant dust in your eyes and black garbage bags slapping into your head at 50 miles per hour. “Do you use any drugs?” the moustachioed driver bluntly asked after 15 minutes of awkward silence. “Erm…No. I don’t like to lose my awareness.” He let out a grunt, scratched his nuts and we didn’t speak again for the rest of the trip.

My mind began to wander as I mindlessly watched the Egyptian nightscape go by; lovers by the Nile, men selling flowers to the lovers, kids throwing exploding little firecrackers, the men selling flowers chasing the kids throwing firecrackers because they’re ruining their business by scaring the lovers, etc. Then we hit a god-awful traffic jam midway across one of the bridges. Twenty whole minutes of going at a pace slower than my dead grandmother until we finally reached the cause of the pileup; a police road block. There wasn’t anyone checking licenses, there pretty much wasn’t anyone there at all except a young traffic cop standing to the side smoking a cigarette, so why one earth would they have barriers blocking half of the bridge?? Why?? Why God why?!?!? I imagine myself getting out of the taxi with a bomb attached to my chest, exploding just as I jump into the barriers, setting all the Egyptian drivers free forever! Or at least until they bring in new barriers the next morning…

Finally I reached downtown, and that’s when my stupidity slammed into me like a truck. Not only did I have no idea who the person I was meeting was; I also had no idea where I was to meet them downtown. But considering that I found myself in the hustle and bustle of downtown Cairo I decided to do something I hadn’t done in ages, take a nice long walk by the Nile. Being that I wasn’t directly on the Corniche, I start heading in that direction, passing a few official government–looking buildings along the way. Just as I was crossing past one, two men briskly approach me, walking very similarly to the evil terminator in Terminator 2. “Hey you, where are you going?” one of them asks. “I’m sorry but…who are you?” I reply. “We’re undercover police, now show us your ID and tell us where you’re going and don’t give us a headache.” For a second I contemplate confronting them on their rude commanding manner, but then I decide not to when it occurs to me that they’re probably just ordered to do this by a higher ranking cop who treats them in the same disrespectful manner that they’re treating me. That, plus I’ve seen the online videos of men being raped with a stick in an Egyptian police station.

I tell them I’m going to take a walk by the Nile and hand them my ID. As one of them studies it and the other gives me a ‘we’re going to rape you with a stick’ look, I try to lighten the mood by making a joke about how bad I look in the picture. I get absolute silence and the continued glare, and then get the ID shoved into my chest and I’m told to not walk so closely to diplomatic buildings. Tough crowd.

Crossing big roads in Cairo is like playing a very well animated but also very dangerous video game. There are literally dozens of ways you can die, getting hit by a car is the least of your concerns. Have you ever wondered why we don’t have any Zebra crossings? Well, every guy who tried to paint them on the ground got trampled to death by passing people, donkeys and horses, that’s why. Anyway, I waited for about 5 minutes then ran across like a madman to finally reach the Nile. Now to finally enjoy one of the few great free things in this lovely country…

I decide to walk a little farther up the Corniche, away from the incredibly crowded section I had jumped into. As the people started to thin out I started to feel the kind of natural pleasure I hadn’t felt in ages, the sun setting, the wind (no black plastic bags that day), the soundtrack of children shouting and horns blaring in the background of my dissociated mind. I slide my hand over the cool rail as I slow to a standstill, taking in a lungful of relatively fresh air and the great view of the Nile. Just as I was allowing my thoughts to wander I started hearing someone call out loudly behind me. “Ya Ostaz! Ya Ostaaaaz!!”

I turn to find an old bawab-looking guy coming towards me and waving his arms manically. “Hmm”, I thought, “could this possibly be the guy I’m supposed to be meeting?” Well it turned out not; he was coming to tell me I can’t stand there. By the Nile. He told me I can’t stand there…by the Nile! “But why?” I pleaded. He explained in the most polite manner anyone had spoken to me that day that the traffic officer had told him that no one was allowed to stand right by the Nile, but I was, in fact, allowed to walk a few meters away. I am being completely honest, this actually happened!

I decided that I had no energy left to argue, so I thanked him bitterly and walked away. It was then that I felt I needed to take a seat after walking for so long and immediately spotted a Café right up the street. So I went, sat down and ordered a cup of green tea. My attention was instantly sucked into the blaring TV in front of me. Now I don’t personally own a TV because I believe it is a legitimately evil invention, but just this once I decided to watch to learn more about what Egypt spends its time watching.

And now, my dears, the point of this article. There is oppression on every corner, every intersection, even by the bloody Nile. Not for one second do they let you forget that we are in a self-imposed state of martial law for thirty years on. But you know what the greatest oppression is? The reason brain-cell counts especially deteriorate in Ramadan? That’s right, the media. Of course, it’s not enough that they cripple generation after generation with bad education that teaches us the system of obedience and corruption; they also consume the rest of our lives with incredibly superficial, retarded and one dimensional characters and plots in television programs that literally kill more brain cells than a daily dosage of heroin possibly can.

We, as Egyptians, have many fine qualities. Even those who seem like they’re part of the system are just doing their job, trying to survive like you and me. The only way change can even begin to happen is by rejecting the coma we are all forced into and start trying to change the upcoming generations. Because in all honestly, this is who I felt I met downtown, the future of Egypt. And it doesn’t look good.

Mad World II : Spies and other dodgy things

2007-09-18T20:49:00.000+02:00

Good day, citizens in magazine land! Fluffy is well and looking mighty fine in my little sister’s pink tutu, I might add. If I can only get it to stop singing the Portuguese National Anthem I just might end up keeping the little vixen! Just kidding, you’re gonna get him back in a few articles time. Maybe.

So ever since I wrote my fantabulous debut in your crappy mag, I’ve been thinking about what else I’d like to share with your seven readers. I kept thinking and pacing and howling at the moon, but I suddenly had nothing to talk about. Wouldn’t you know it, just when I ransom a magazine into publishing me!?? So as I’m sitting chewing on Fluffy’s ears for inspiration, suddenly my invisible Mexican friend Paco calls me up on my soon to be released iPhone and informs me of two very important things; his undying love for Pamela Anderson and the news that another Egyptian just got thrown off a building in London. Obviously I was shocked, because I had always thought Paco was more into brunettes, but then again, invisible people are rarely consistent.

But then I started to think about the second piece of news, and that’s when I realized I had found my topic. Have you ever wondered how dodgy the world of politics is? I mean, the whole idea of spies, intelligence, counter intelligence, counter counter intelligence, etc? And how politicians rarely tell the truth, and seem like they’re all friends and allies, but actually have spies extracting information about each other and killing people off. Is that not a sign of a completely un-evolved race, where the leaders (who are supposed to be the best examples) are actually backstabbing lying murderers? And all this might just make sense if they were doing it for the good of the nation or the people, but in that area they also lie and make false statements to get support and remain in power. What amuses me is how dormant we all are about this, it’s like we’ve accepted it as a fact that cannot be changed. Perhaps this is just something in our nature. Perhaps we are comfortable being deceived and herded like sheep. Perhaps they will bring Seinfeld back for another season. Perhaps. Perhaps. That’s such a great word, ‘perhaps’. It’s like a distinguished version of its lower class cousin, ‘maybe’.

Well, that’s all I wanted to say. I gotta go now, Paco just sent me a text message saying he broke up with Pamela Anderson and needs me by his side right now. This is gonna be a long night. Meow.

Mad World I : The Wedding

2007-09-18T20:46:00.000+02:00

Hello readers!

Every once in a while you go through an experience that may only last a couple of hours but completely embodies the culture of an entire nation. In our case it is quite obviously a culture of confusion; political, social, religious, and even musical confusion. My experience is that of an Egyptian wedding. Once again, my adventure begins with Frank.

It was Thursday afternoon, so naturally I was re-organizing my vast record collection in my mother’s swimsuit. Ever since his arrival with me, Fluffy has been giving a hand with the musical selections while I polish my vinyl to a gleam every Thursday. I point at a record and if he barks once, then he wants me to play it, but if he says “no, I don’t really feel like Queen right now” in his heavy French accent then he’s obviously against it. So just as we were arguing over the next song, Frank lands on the windowsill and flutters his white wings to get my attention. I scurry hastily to him and take the note attached to his right leg, which turns out to be an invitation to attend the wedding of a school friend. I give Frank a kiss on his little head and bid him farewell as he majestically takes to the sky.

“Oh boy” I thought, “time to get all dressed up and look fabulous!” You have to understand, I don’t really leave the house much, I guess that’s due to the fact that I don’t really have many friends, well, apart from Fluffy and Frank. All my old friends seemed to mysteriously disappear after I had my nervous breakdown. But this friend who was getting married I hadn’t talk to in years, it seemed that he still had my address and remembered me. I blushed at the thought and immediately put on ‘We are gonna be friends’ by The White Stripes, to truly linger in this emotional moment, but made sure not to get any tears of joy on the French cut swimsuit.

The wedding was that night, so I thought I better start getting ready right away because it started only a few hours later. I showered, shaved, and put on my black evening suit. Just as I was flipping the second fold of my tie while standing in front of the mirror, it suddenly occurred to me how stupid ties really are. I mean, why on earth do we wear a piece of cloth around our necks in this kind of heat? If it covered some vital genital region I can understand, but this, it’s pointless! We might as well wear them around our heads like Rambo. So I thought I’d make a statement, after all, things change with the act of only one person. So I tightened the red tie around my head, fed fluffy and went to get a taxi.

We arrived exactly on time, but the security guards at the gate evidently had a big problem with my new fashion statement, so I was forced to remove it and wear my tie properly. I walked into the hotel, which is owned by the army, and was told that no one had showed up yet so I decided to wander around for a while. I was amazed at how incredibly luxurious army hotels were; floor to ceiling windows, crystal ashtrays and shiny marble floors. “So this is where the money’s going”, I realized. For a second I thought about sneaking out some of the obviously expensive ashtrays and giving them to some street children outside, but quickly decide against it. No, my attack on this corrupt system must be more planned and powerful than that. I need to find a way to take one of the big mirrors, but later. Later…

After circling the hotel a good dozen times, I hear the sound of the ‘Zaffa’ and head towards the lobby again. A smile comes to my face as I see my old friend, all grown up, coming down the stairs with a beautiful woman by his side. I wipe a tear away and clap with the rest of the people to the music of the loud zaffa band. They sing old folk songs about marriage and how beautiful the bride is, but then I get startled to hear them chant “the bride is white, oh yes, the bride is so white!” My jaw drops and I freeze mid-clap. How racist!?? What if she wasn’t white, would they simply edit it and sing “the bride is black, oh yes, black as the night!” or would they leave it out altogether?? Still, it seemed like I was the only one disturbed by this racism as everyone else clapped and sang along about the bride’s fair complexion, which I must say, was due to 6 coats of makeup.

So we follow them like smiling, clapping sheep into the main ballroom and proceed to watch the katb el ketaab commence. The mazoon starts reciting verses from the Koran, and everyone in the room diligently echoes the prayers. Then I get another shock once again when the groom follows the ‘procedure’ by asking the father in Arabic “I want to marry your young virgin daughter” and the father answers “Ok, I am now giving you my young virgin daughter.” Hmm, they really are anal about the whole virgin (‘bikr’) thing. But what if she wasn’t a virgin? Would they exchange it with “I want to marry your young sexually-enlightened-but-overall-more-experienced daughter”? Or would they just leave the whole sex thing out and put in another adjective to sound length-wise, like “I want to marry your young brunette daughter”? I snicker at the idea, but stop myself violently when I notice people giving me murderous looks, obviously misunderstanding my laughter for doubting the bride’s virginity. I get a vision of myself being hung from the ballroom chandelier and set on fire by the crowd.

Once the solemn religious phase ends, everyone gets up and the evening moves to the dance floor. This is signalled by the DJ putting on a trance song with an Arabic vibe that is often played at weddings, little does anyone know that it’s called ‘Good Morning Israel’ and is by Eyal Barkan, an Israeli. So everybody in the army hotel ballroom starts dancing and clapping to ‘Good Morning Israel’, kind of like an Israeli wedding dancing to Ana Bakrah Israel (‘I hate Israel’). Hmm…

This was the first time I actually look around at the people involved, especially the women. They are either veiled and clinging like weed to their fiancée\husband or they’re single and wearing what pretty much amounts to lingerie. The single ones frantically scan the room with hungry eyes in search of a potential suitor. I decide I can’t be the only one sitting so I join the pack on the small dance floor and clap along. The mood shifts to balady music and everyone goes crazy, jumping and singing along. I suddenly feel incredibly out of place, it’s almost as if I was still wearing my Rambo head tie. The DJ plays songs about 3antar (a tribute to guys who can fuck well) and el 3enab (a tribute to nipples) between constant chants of “aywa ma3ayaaaa” and “feen el zaghrootchaaa?” as veiled and non-veiled girls shake what the lord gave them and the men take in eyefuls. Yes, these were the same people reciting Koran a second ago.

I don’t like to judge people, let alone an entire culture. But in the span of 5 hours, I’ve seen people singing praises about how white the makeup of the naturally dark bride is, an army hotel that probably took half the country’s education budget to build, Koran reciters singing about nipples, a wedding speech that sounds like a bargain for a goat and confessed Israel-haters dancing to ‘Good Morning Israel’.

With that said, I really don’t understand why they wouldn’t let me in with the tie around my head. Good night, my little sheep.