8-9-10

Well, I haven’t really been up to much since my last post. I worked all day yesterday, taking some breaks to read Kerry’s NYTimes opinion piece on an exit strategy for Iraq (which I unfortunately can’t find a link for), my weekly Dan Savage, and Thomas Friedman’s op-ed about immigration. Regarding the latter, many people whose opinions I respect absolutely detest Friedman, but I can’t say I know too much about him. Yesterday’s piece started with some strong points about unavoidable impacts of globalization before veering sharply into crazy-town (you’ll take your barcode and speak English and like it or get the hell out). There was also an interesting piece in the Times about Syria’s apparent crackdown on dissidents across the country.

Syrian officials are aggressively silencing domestic political opposition while accommodating religious conservatives to shore up support across the country.

Amy pointed out that if you replace “Syrian officials” with “American officials”, the sentence works just as well.

I’ve also been F5’ing michaeltotten.com in my anticipation of him revealing his super-secret travel location. This afternoon I was richly rewarded by his absolutely ridiculous “Open Letter To Hezbollah”. I don’t know whether it’s the fact that this dramatic piece of chest-puffing appears when he’s back safe in Portland nearly four months after he wrote his entirely content-less piece for the LA Weekly, or that he tells Hussein that he doesn’t know Beirut because he doesn’t hang out in the Richie Rich cafes and bars MJT frequented, or that he refers to the act of looking at his website “internet surveillance”, but this piece is a notable gem in the already rich tiara of Totten’s jack-assery. I suspect this bold move is meant to throw his readers off the trail after several people (including, uh, me) responded to his “guess where I went that I wasn’t supposed to” shenangigans by listing all of the places he could have possibly been referring to as perfectly permissable places to travel (Syria, Iran, et al).

So, since I’ve done nothing of consequence the last few days, I’m letting loose with a post I’ve been crafting and perfecting– but mostly just sitting on–for a little while. Here are a bunch of pictures I had in a folder for a post I was going to make back in November. A very rough and incomplete and non-sequential accounting August, September, and October, a few of months that I forgot to keep track of…

One of my favorite pictures ever. Geoff, Ray, and Amy in the souk in Damascus. File under album liner for future band.

In our hotel…this way to Mecca. (Damascus)

Ray, Geoff, and Amy relax in the catacomb chapel beneath St. Paul’s. (Damascus)

Ray, Geoff, Charlie, and I at the taxi stand in Damascus. We first met Charlie in ’02, when he told me, “You smoke like a tough guy…like a fish…like chicken.” In the several times we have encountered Charlie since, I have never asked what in the hell he meant by that.

Ray contemplates his Lebanese heritage atop the big hill in Jounieh.

Geoff contemplates infinity. (Jounieh)

The church atop the big hill in Jounieh.

This picture is from the first night Russell and Bridget arrived in Beirut. I have no idea why, but it cracks me up every time I see it.

The lot of us at Yabani, Beirut’s best subterranean sushi restaurant. Later in the evening, three of us guys (I can’t remember which three) were denied entry to Y-Bar, the club downstairs. One of the narcs at the door said, “Three guys. No way. It’s a nightclub, don’t you know?” Nightclub or not, it was also like 9pm. I actually ran into the same sexist door policy with our friend Bjorn at De Prague tonight, actually. I mean, I understand the rationale behind the strategy, but I appreciate it when bouncers play it a little closer to the vest.

The Italian Job.

I didn’t realize until making some photoshop zombies recently how much Russell likes this pose. This was at the little bar in the Starco building (I can’t remember what it’s called, but it’s no longer in business…which I think we found out after telling somebody to meet us there). Geoff and Ray were leaving the next day.

Grafitti in Chatila.

This was from one of the first few nights Dan and Addie visited. We were at Kayan, which was relatively new as Gemmayze joints go. They gave us a bunch of free food and stuff.

On the balloon over Beirut. I surreptitiously judged all our guests on their willingness and/or enthusiasm to go on the balloon. Addie masked her fear with hysterical laughter, which broke the instrument I use for such judgements.

Balloon pros.

My first and last attempt at cooking kafta. If I tell you this story over brunch, Amy will be quick to point out that I didn’t actually make the kafta, but rather bought it at the HyperMarket, rolled it into tubes, and grilled it. Fair enough.

Amy stands over some ancient mosaics and looks over the Cypriot coast. There was a massive (and architecturally impressive) wood and steel structure over the site. It’s not often I trumpet the superior qualities of Lebanon, but in Baalbek, this site would have been located behind the public washrooms (which is a testament to the magnificence of the ancient sites of Lebanon, not to any Lebanese disregard of the same).

Our rental in Cyprus. Notable only for the right-side steering. I didn’t realize that the Cypriots drove British until we were in the rental car parking lot.

A botched attempt at a nice couple shot, but a successful attempt at a nice Amy shot. (Cyprus)

A flattering photo, I think. (Cyprus)

Amy rises from the dead. (Cyprus)

Our side-view mirror was taken out by someone even less adept at driving British than I. I made an attempt at the old stick-and-duct-tape fix. You have no idea how hard it is to find duct-tape in Cyprus…and I have no idea if my credit card company ever reimbursed me the 80CYP for the damages.

My mom and dad gaze at the Cypriot sunset…and the mysterious figure rising from the water.

One of two sea turtle remains we saw on the beach. (Cyprus)

A lizard in Baalbek. Presumably behind the public washrooms.

Good golly, I’ll never tire of making Star Wars-related jokes about the get-ups they give tourists at the Ummayad Mosque in Damascus. To that effect, my mom looks for potential takers on a slightly-used R2 unit.

My mom plays it cool with the argileh in Damascus.

Hey, it’s Charlie!

Our good friend and favorite bartender Mike at Brooke’s, a place that sucks, before he started working at Torino, a place that doesn’t suck.

Out of sequence…the gang at an outdoor restaurant in Baalbek. Highlights of the afternoon included accidentally ordering about 10x too much food and the snotty teenage waiters speaking to us in French. Fortunately for us, Russell speaks French. Unfortunately for the waiters, they did not.