After next to no sleep and a slightly thick head from WoodChuck cider mixed with Pencloxin Trihydrate and tabasco sauce . . . I was in a shaky condition when the door was knocked and my astronomically expensive breakfast arrived. . .
Judging by the price of the eggs they serve in the "W" Hotel I estimated that the full chickens must retail for around $1.7 million . . . and the pig that provided the excellent bacon would be around $2.9 million for the whole thing.
Even the coffee was priced as though it had been brought from Columbia that morning by 14 year old mountain virgins from Alta Rica . . . although to be honest it tasted like crap.
Struggling through breakfast, shower and packing saw me leave the hotel and head to the Hertz lot to pick up my gleaming Hummer which would be awaiting my arrival. WRONG!
"No Hummer in stock sir."
Bollocks.
"Would you like the smaller Hummer sir?"
No, certainly not. Do I look like a girl?
Time for some quick thinking and decision making . . . the Shelby Mustang convertible (A brute capable of devouring whole chunks of tarmac with one light touch of the pedal) or a regular Mustang hard top but with GPS Satellite Navigation . . .
For once sense grabbed a hold of me and stopped me in my tracks. The choice was simple: drive a guided missile while map reading and end up spending the rest of my days driving in circles in Alaska or rely on a computer to steer me across America in comparative safety. . .
A regular Mustang hard top in candy red was promptly delivered and after much bitching on my part about the Hummer, a mighty discount was promptly offered on the Mustang and I was off.
To be fair, the regular Mustang is a bit of a brute anyway - the difference is that the Shelby version has been convicted for GBH, while the regular Mustang has just been cautioned for being rowdy. . .
Out on to Interstate 55 which has replaced much of the original Route 66 through Illinois (although there are regular signs along the way reminding that this road is the original "Historical Route 66") and off to St Louis in Missouri.
Music for this stage was:
Back to Black - Amy Winehouse. Excellent start to the day with a 21st century take on the 60s RnB / Detroit Soul sound from a mouthy Jewish girl from London. Fantastic.
The Very Best of Boubacar Traore - the bluesman from Mali. Great rhythms settled me into the clacking sound of the tires as they ran over road seams on the highway while cruise control allowed me to sit back and enjoy the ride.
Buddha Bar IX - disc one. Cool ambient lounge sounds to take my to the South of Illinois and clear my head of all crap before arriving in . . .
Springfield, Illinois. Population 110,000. Home to two of the greatest ever Americans . . .
Abraham Lincoln and Homer Simpson.
Strangely, while there is a whole host of memorials and historical sights dedicated to Mr. Lincoln, including his original home, there is little to celebrate Springfield's other great son - Homer.
I looked high and low for Mr. S, but i guess he was out of town promoting his new movie. In the meantime, Springfield is The Simpsons. Decidedly small town with little to commend it other than the fact that it is decidedly small town and has little to commend it.
It has a feel that more rural parts of the USA have - of superficial rectitude but underlying torpitude. There is a sadness about these towns. You can't help thinking of American Beauty and how behind the neat hedges and well cut lawns there is pain and angst ruling lives of certain direction and lack of escape.
And then there are the poor - who actually number many people in America, despite the nation's wealth - with a McJob to cling on to and then shopping at 7 Eleven and collecting food stamps.
All the more depressing when you can still see by the roadside the evidence of prosperity and hope that once existed in these towns 50 years ago with brightly coloured diners and stores with glowing neon, now faded to dust colours and rust and the neon lights long broken and never replaced. But people still plant the Stars & Stripes in their gardens or on the porches and continue you to believe in the Apple Pie American Dream, although the apples are now made with artificial additives and preservatives and the pastry is made in Korea or perhaps Mexico. . .
I "dined" at the Springfield McDonald's and watched a woman in front of me order enough food to have kept me "nourished" for a week - all pure grease - and then sit down and smother everything she ordered with ketchup and mayo and launch in.
It was almost enough to put me off my lunch - but not quite. I ate my burger in silence while contemplating small town America and keeping a watchful eye on the car to make sure it didn't get ripped off while I was busy furring my arteries with McCholesterol.
St Louis was less than 100 miles and the journey was easy - aided by the rich voice of Blues legend Lightnin' Hopkins . . . which saw me cross the Mississipi and leave Illinois and enter Missouri - and St Louis, the Gateway to the West. Famous for its arch, its baseball (The St Louis Cardinals) and its beer (Anheuser Busch, makers of Bud, has its home here).
I was taken to dinner in "The Hill" - a district of St Louis which is populated by the Italian immigrant community. Immigrant district always spells good food and I was not disappointed here.
My hosts were a business associate and her family and we gathered round a table and ate one of St Louis's specialities - Toasted Ravioli.
This dish was apparently discovered by accident and involves regular meat filled ravioli being coated in parmesan and breadcrumbs then deep fried. After deep frying they are drained, dusted with parmesan and parsley and then grilled until crispy. They are then served with a marinara sauce - delicious!!!!
St Louis is a nice "clean" city with simple street layout and pleasant architecture. The locals are into beer, music, food and baseball - the last being incredibly important. Crossing through this city - "The Gateway to the West" gives a sense of anticipation for what lays ahead on the planes of Kansas and Oklahoma. . .
Next stop Tulsa - and hopefully some great music in the tradition of the Okies - and in particular JJ Cale . . .
Monday, July 23, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Day Two - Movies . . . and the Blues
Eventually I woke up . . . took some more antibiotics and recalled how well they had mixed with Guiness the previous evening and resolved immediately to try the combination again.
I struggled with the concept of getting up and walking around Chicago and instead elected to watch some American TV to gauge how America is doing. After 20 minutes of Fox News, and some shopping channels I decided that America is taking too many drugs and needs to spend some time at the funny farm. How people watch TV in America is just frightening. If you have a mental age higher than four and a half then I challenge you to stay lucid after 45 minutes. . .
I moved on to movies.
A morning / afternoon of celluloid indulgence included The Sentinel (Secret Service thriller), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Johnny Depp excellent as usual in a great remake) and Fracture - another thriller starring Anthony Hopkins. Also very good.
Feeling much refreshed and relaxed the next step was to venture out into downtown Chicago and wander around before heading off to Buddy Guy's again for the evening Blues sessions.
Chicago is certainly one of America's architectural marvels - some stunning buildings around the centre of town flanking the Chicago river and this is the home to the world's first skyscraper built at the end of the 19th century.
The city has a pleasant feeling and the inhabitants are intensely proud of their city and all that it contains from media to music, food to fashion, art to architecture. And rightly so.
One of the city's famed foodstuffs is the Chicago version of the Hot Dog more usually associated with New York. Indeed there are Gourmet Hot Dogs in this city . . . .but they will have to wait for my next visit - my mission was the Blues.
Walking down Wabash avenue (which runs parallel to the main drag of Michigan Avenue - shopping galore), you run under the "loop" which is the raised metro line which provides much of the characteristic metalwork running above the streets in downtown and made famous in every car chase and gangster movie set here. Wabash starts fresh and nice and progressively gets more and more down market as you head towards the South Side.
As the neighbourhood starts to crumble in quality, so the character increases and the dirtier but more interesting side of urban America starts to feature. 754 Wabash Avenue is Buddy Guy's Legends club and I started in around 7.30pm - in time to catch the first set on Saturday nights which is a semi acoustic set. Tonight featured Jimmie Johnson - an old bluesman with the polka dot shirt to prove it and a voice which began slightly lower than his boots. He was accompanied by Big Dave (another one) whose girlfriend Kellie was sitting next to me at the bar.
Kellie is a designer and perhaps the only person I had yet met on this trip to the States who knew where Dubai was. Mainly because she had heard that folks were wealthy in Dubai and so was keen to hear how she could start doing business there. One of her best questions was: "Do those Arabs hate the Americans?". Nicely indicative of the black & white nature of the majority of American "thinking". She did go on to apologise for the US President (the first of many!) and promptly blamed him for all ills foreign and domestic. Not a huge surprise in predominantly democrat Chicago.
The second set was a band by the name of Stan Skibby and his Love Soldiers. The name hadn't given me cause for huge enthusuiasm in the run up to them appearing on stage, but it just goes to show that you can't read much into a name.
Stan is a genius. Full stop. And the Love Soldiers are an incredibly tight band - especially the bass player who was a knock-out. Stan is much inspired by Jimi Hendrix and played several tracks including Fire and Hey Joe. If you shut your eyes you would swear to God you were listening to Jimi at Monterey - but then if you shut your eyes you would miss Stan playing the solo to Fire with his teeth in original Hendrix style and leaping around the stage with his guitar smoking with his amazing solos.
Stan was the real deal I discovered. He came over to the bar during the last set to chat with a guy who knew him. He was wired and worried. When the guy next to me asked him how he was, he replied "I am messed up man. I got me some problems with the State and I'm real messed up. Gotta get me some money man and straighten' mysel out. I am real messed up." But on stage he was anything but messed up and played some of the best live guitar I have ever heard.
The last set was Jimmie Johnson with his band - some very cool cats with outrageous headware including a giant white Stetson for the bass player who must have weighed about 300 pounds.
Jimmie is old school, but his "2nd" guitarist, Chico, was new school and he blew the doors off the bar with the first three numbers with powerful, screaming electric blues of the kind that made Chicago famous. I sat and listened to the Blues for about 5 hours washing my throat with American WoodChuck cider and eating one of Buddy Guy's signature "You're Damn Right" burgers . . .
A couple of middle aged women hung out around the bar - on a business conference in Chicago I later learned in conversation.
One of them struck up a conversation having barged into me by accident as I was sitting minding my own business at the bar and enquired as to where I was from. When I said "Dubai" - I may as well have said Ulan Bator. She not only had never heard of the UAE, she didn't even know where the Middle East was. She then mentioned that she had been thinking of getting a passport at some point - although she had no desire to travel outside of the US. Scary stuff. And this is typical of Americans. Despite their super high technology and highly progressed way of life, many of them are blind, backward and isolated when it comes to anything beyond their borders. Indeed some people can't even stretch their brains beyond the state line. Anyway, the lady went back to her girlfriend, not before apologising for President Bush and the way I had been treated at immigration, and welcomed me to America. Hallelujah and Amen to that.
After the quantity of WoodChuck cider that I had consumed went beyond the recommended sanity levels for those taking super strength antibiotics I managed to fall outside and eventually into a cab back to the hotel. Sleep was almost instant but unfortunately ruined by a 3.30 am call from a client in Abu Dhabi (my fault for not turning off the phone) and then sleeplessness was maintained by a crowd of drunken shitheads shouting in the corridor from 4.00am to 4.30am . . .
Tomorrow -Route 66 begins in earnest with Stage 1 to St Louis...but I'll definitely be back to Chicago some time. Nice place and very good blues.
I struggled with the concept of getting up and walking around Chicago and instead elected to watch some American TV to gauge how America is doing. After 20 minutes of Fox News, and some shopping channels I decided that America is taking too many drugs and needs to spend some time at the funny farm. How people watch TV in America is just frightening. If you have a mental age higher than four and a half then I challenge you to stay lucid after 45 minutes. . .
I moved on to movies.
A morning / afternoon of celluloid indulgence included The Sentinel (Secret Service thriller), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Johnny Depp excellent as usual in a great remake) and Fracture - another thriller starring Anthony Hopkins. Also very good.
Feeling much refreshed and relaxed the next step was to venture out into downtown Chicago and wander around before heading off to Buddy Guy's again for the evening Blues sessions.
Chicago is certainly one of America's architectural marvels - some stunning buildings around the centre of town flanking the Chicago river and this is the home to the world's first skyscraper built at the end of the 19th century.
The city has a pleasant feeling and the inhabitants are intensely proud of their city and all that it contains from media to music, food to fashion, art to architecture. And rightly so.
One of the city's famed foodstuffs is the Chicago version of the Hot Dog more usually associated with New York. Indeed there are Gourmet Hot Dogs in this city . . . .but they will have to wait for my next visit - my mission was the Blues.
Walking down Wabash avenue (which runs parallel to the main drag of Michigan Avenue - shopping galore), you run under the "loop" which is the raised metro line which provides much of the characteristic metalwork running above the streets in downtown and made famous in every car chase and gangster movie set here. Wabash starts fresh and nice and progressively gets more and more down market as you head towards the South Side.
As the neighbourhood starts to crumble in quality, so the character increases and the dirtier but more interesting side of urban America starts to feature. 754 Wabash Avenue is Buddy Guy's Legends club and I started in around 7.30pm - in time to catch the first set on Saturday nights which is a semi acoustic set. Tonight featured Jimmie Johnson - an old bluesman with the polka dot shirt to prove it and a voice which began slightly lower than his boots. He was accompanied by Big Dave (another one) whose girlfriend Kellie was sitting next to me at the bar.
Kellie is a designer and perhaps the only person I had yet met on this trip to the States who knew where Dubai was. Mainly because she had heard that folks were wealthy in Dubai and so was keen to hear how she could start doing business there. One of her best questions was: "Do those Arabs hate the Americans?". Nicely indicative of the black & white nature of the majority of American "thinking". She did go on to apologise for the US President (the first of many!) and promptly blamed him for all ills foreign and domestic. Not a huge surprise in predominantly democrat Chicago.
The second set was a band by the name of Stan Skibby and his Love Soldiers. The name hadn't given me cause for huge enthusuiasm in the run up to them appearing on stage, but it just goes to show that you can't read much into a name.
Stan is a genius. Full stop. And the Love Soldiers are an incredibly tight band - especially the bass player who was a knock-out. Stan is much inspired by Jimi Hendrix and played several tracks including Fire and Hey Joe. If you shut your eyes you would swear to God you were listening to Jimi at Monterey - but then if you shut your eyes you would miss Stan playing the solo to Fire with his teeth in original Hendrix style and leaping around the stage with his guitar smoking with his amazing solos.
Stan was the real deal I discovered. He came over to the bar during the last set to chat with a guy who knew him. He was wired and worried. When the guy next to me asked him how he was, he replied "I am messed up man. I got me some problems with the State and I'm real messed up. Gotta get me some money man and straighten' mysel out. I am real messed up." But on stage he was anything but messed up and played some of the best live guitar I have ever heard.
The last set was Jimmie Johnson with his band - some very cool cats with outrageous headware including a giant white Stetson for the bass player who must have weighed about 300 pounds.
Jimmie is old school, but his "2nd" guitarist, Chico, was new school and he blew the doors off the bar with the first three numbers with powerful, screaming electric blues of the kind that made Chicago famous. I sat and listened to the Blues for about 5 hours washing my throat with American WoodChuck cider and eating one of Buddy Guy's signature "You're Damn Right" burgers . . .
A couple of middle aged women hung out around the bar - on a business conference in Chicago I later learned in conversation.
One of them struck up a conversation having barged into me by accident as I was sitting minding my own business at the bar and enquired as to where I was from. When I said "Dubai" - I may as well have said Ulan Bator. She not only had never heard of the UAE, she didn't even know where the Middle East was. She then mentioned that she had been thinking of getting a passport at some point - although she had no desire to travel outside of the US. Scary stuff. And this is typical of Americans. Despite their super high technology and highly progressed way of life, many of them are blind, backward and isolated when it comes to anything beyond their borders. Indeed some people can't even stretch their brains beyond the state line. Anyway, the lady went back to her girlfriend, not before apologising for President Bush and the way I had been treated at immigration, and welcomed me to America. Hallelujah and Amen to that.
After the quantity of WoodChuck cider that I had consumed went beyond the recommended sanity levels for those taking super strength antibiotics I managed to fall outside and eventually into a cab back to the hotel. Sleep was almost instant but unfortunately ruined by a 3.30 am call from a client in Abu Dhabi (my fault for not turning off the phone) and then sleeplessness was maintained by a crowd of drunken shitheads shouting in the corridor from 4.00am to 4.30am . . .
Tomorrow -Route 66 begins in earnest with Stage 1 to St Louis...but I'll definitely be back to Chicago some time. Nice place and very good blues.
Day One - Rain, planes & anglophiles
Britain is depressing - especially since introducing new laws banning smoking from EVERYWHERE . . . but flying from Britain is especially depressing . . .
My journey began with the cab dropping me at Terminal 3 at Heathrow at around 10am in the middle of a massive thunderstorm. Thanks to increased security I had to run in the pouring rain with my bags including an extra suitcase just to hold my camera equipment about 300 metres into the terminal. They also don't have an awning so no chance for a cigarette - my last having been smoked at 8am in the morning.
In Britain you can only carry on one item of handluggage - everything else must go in the hold. The ONLY country in the world to have this ridiculous rule and the reason why I was laden with an additional suitcase.
Check in took ages - and then on to the Fast Track channel. The only thing I can say about that is that I would hate to see Slow Track in action . . . and then through to scan my shoes in a seperate area. NOTE TO SELF - never fly from Britain again if possible.
I consoled myself with the fact that a steaming Starbucks and a Marlboro were just a minute or two away. Wrong!
Starbucks yes - smoking no. NOT ANYWHERE IN THE ENTIRE AIRPORT. Nazi, fascist, boring legislators have made it impossible now to smoke anywhere inside the terminal - not even a small horrid room full of cancerous desperados is allowed now . . . much to my extreme displeasure.
The lounge was the same old United Airlines lounge - last refurbished in 1974 and ghastly. It used to at least redeem itself with a dedicated smoking area - but alas now, this is no more....
They have also cut back on the food supplies inside and seemingly the only things on offer were celery sticks and health bars with fruit. Not good.
It was also packed and I had to sit next to the obligatory IT project manager from Sadness, Tennesee who was keen to share his opinions on his company and their latest mega project with anyone who would listen and indeed anyone within a 100 metre radius. Unfortunately for me and several hundred other passengers he had encountered an old guy who also worked for the firm. He didn't shut his mouth for nearly two hours and murderous thoughts passed through my mind on more than one occasion. Luckily for him his flight was called just before I could implement my cunning plan to stab him in the face with a celery stick and force feed him to death with "health bars".
Boarding for the flight was delayed by about 45 mins. Apparently to do with the rain which surprised me as rain is hardly a new weather phenomenon in Britain but hey - what am I going to do?
We eventually boarded and I was seated next to Homer Simpson. Unfortunately not the real one, but a similar version from California who also worked in IT (whatever I have done, I have certainly angered somebody to get two IT geeks in one day). Homer also had a chronic cough (although, sadly, not bad enough to bring about his early death before take off) and this was beginning to annoy me. But he was saved by my anger being focused on the airport / airline again when the Captain came on to announce that take-off was going to be delayed - because of the rain.
We were eventually subject to another two and three quarter hours delay sitting on the plane with a nice seven and a half hour flight to follow. Worse - Homer wanted to chat.
Having discussed beer and American politics for an hour Homer asked me how I had amassed such in-depth knowledge of American politics. Well, actually his question was: "How comes you know so much stuff about American politics and shit?". I consider myself woefully uninformed about American politics actually, but it is now evident that I am better informed than the average American voter whose expertise and interest begins and ends at beer. Scary but true.
I passed the plane journey alternating between considering my early death due to the extreme turbulence that had me actually put the seatbelt around my laptop too so as to allow me to work without fear of the laptop becoming part of the ceiling decorations and writing a long speech for a client in the UAE.
Only 16 hours without a cigarette and we landed in O'Hare airport in Chicago . . . my first time in the Windy City. Having filled out my immigration form on the plane and spotted only 19 people in front of me in the passport queue I relaxed knowing that nicotine was only minutes away.
Wrong again.
Because I am resident in the United Arab Emirates and in the course of my business travel to Saudi Arabia, Sudan, Egypt, Oman, Morocco, Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain, Lebanon, Jordan and Iran, I was singled out for special treatment and asked to wait in front of all the other passengers who looked at me as though I was a cross between the Uni Bomber and a convicted paedophile.
Eventually a man with a an IQ lower than the number of bullets in his hand gun came and escorted me to a holding area for further questions. I was with an Italian who had also been singled out for "the treatment" and we discussed our fate in my rusty Italian mixed with his comedy English. Neither of us could muster "dumbf&ck, knee jerk, fascist, racist morons with a superiority complex" in the other's language but we were both thinking it. Oh yes, we were both thinking it.
I was interrogated by a Latino immigration official who wanted to know where exactly I was going, why, when, how, with whom, where I had come from, where I would go after Chicago and so on and so on. I retained my cool using the logic that my nicotine would come more quickly that way and having weighed up that the satisfaction that I would gain from letting rip would be outweighed by the beating, the jail time and the total denial of nicotine. To be fair, the thought of being in a holding cell with Mr. Big asking me to pick up the soap in seven different languages was also a deterrant - plus I wanted to ACTUALLY start my holiday.
Nice that America's closest allies in the so-called "war on terror" are the English. The authorities at Chicago airport certainly do not fall into the camp known as "anglophiles" . . .
Once eventually cleared of immigration (without a tracking device being injected into my brain - I think) the men with guns took me to the baggage carousel which I thought was rather courteous until I realised that the fun wasn't over when the guy wouldn't give me my passport until my bags were found and then took me off to the "special" section of the customs area.
Luckily the customs area was extremely efficient and well staffed with polite and speedy individuals committed to minimising the amount of hassle and inconvenience for travellers. . .not.
One hour later - queues and unpacking and repacking EVERY last button and sock in my bag while being watched over by Dumb & Dumber and their pyschobitch sister, I was released into the United States of America. The Land of the Free.
I smoked. Vigorously and with purpose. And then I smoked again.
I got into a cab with a nice man from Eritrea (an Arab African nation on the East coast of Africa underneath Sudan). I told him my story and he laughed gently in sympathy and understanding. Then he drove like a complete lunatic to the centre of Chicago while I shut my eyes and prayed to all known Gods to deliver me from Hassan Al Schumacher in one piece.
Got to my Hotel - the swanky W Hotel Lakeshore and remembered why i don't normally stay in "W" Hotels. Everyone in the hotel including staff were ultra cool super models wearing the latest fashions and talking a language so hip I felt like an illiterate mute when I came to ask where the elevators were. Note to self #2 - stay in a Marriott and feel like an ultra suave cool meister with amazing dress sense and poise.
I felt like death having hoovered lots of antibiotics and gone without sleep for about 20 hours so and considered going straight to bed. Instead I started to look at my travel plans for the next few days and check out what to do in Chicago. Blues is one of my big interests and Chicago is the launch pad of some of the greats including, of course, Buddy Guy. Three mouse clicks later and I was out of the door and heading to Buddy Guy's Blues Club on Wabash Avenue . . .
The club was great - the real deal with a cat called Clyde on stage with his band playing raw electric blues and snarling into the microphone wearing his trilby hat and a kind of zoot suit . . .and this bar allowed smoking - indeed there were dozens of the practisers of the Black Art of Nicotine consumption proudly puffing away, drinking beer and listening to live music. A combination which has now been banned from almost all other American cities and now of course, Britain.
The crowd was a mixture of afficionados - easily spotted as one can tell that in the real world they are seriously mal-adjusted and sport strange clothing - and the typical Americans. What was interesting to note is that all young American males - almost without exception - sport bad haircuts and all young American women fall into two camps. Anorexic twigs or hippopotami.... Five vegetable and fruit portions a day are evidently being mixed with nine pitchers of beer and a bucket of fried chicken with the inevitable results.
I lasted about an hour and a half until the combination of Guiness (yes - Guiness, poured badly but still recognisable), some of the medical profession's strongest antibiotics and no sleep for 24 hours or so rendered me a cabbage and I had to leave.
A nice Pakistani taxi driver picked me up and kept me amused as he swore voraciously at everyone and everything on the journey to my hotel. I got to my room and crashed out almost instantly, waking at 4.30 am to the noise of people in the corridor about to be sick, have unwise sex and a hangover - not necessarily in that order.
I returned to sleep and dreamt of cigarettes, the blues and beer . . .
My journey began with the cab dropping me at Terminal 3 at Heathrow at around 10am in the middle of a massive thunderstorm. Thanks to increased security I had to run in the pouring rain with my bags including an extra suitcase just to hold my camera equipment about 300 metres into the terminal. They also don't have an awning so no chance for a cigarette - my last having been smoked at 8am in the morning.
In Britain you can only carry on one item of handluggage - everything else must go in the hold. The ONLY country in the world to have this ridiculous rule and the reason why I was laden with an additional suitcase.
Check in took ages - and then on to the Fast Track channel. The only thing I can say about that is that I would hate to see Slow Track in action . . . and then through to scan my shoes in a seperate area. NOTE TO SELF - never fly from Britain again if possible.
I consoled myself with the fact that a steaming Starbucks and a Marlboro were just a minute or two away. Wrong!
Starbucks yes - smoking no. NOT ANYWHERE IN THE ENTIRE AIRPORT. Nazi, fascist, boring legislators have made it impossible now to smoke anywhere inside the terminal - not even a small horrid room full of cancerous desperados is allowed now . . . much to my extreme displeasure.
The lounge was the same old United Airlines lounge - last refurbished in 1974 and ghastly. It used to at least redeem itself with a dedicated smoking area - but alas now, this is no more....
They have also cut back on the food supplies inside and seemingly the only things on offer were celery sticks and health bars with fruit. Not good.
It was also packed and I had to sit next to the obligatory IT project manager from Sadness, Tennesee who was keen to share his opinions on his company and their latest mega project with anyone who would listen and indeed anyone within a 100 metre radius. Unfortunately for me and several hundred other passengers he had encountered an old guy who also worked for the firm. He didn't shut his mouth for nearly two hours and murderous thoughts passed through my mind on more than one occasion. Luckily for him his flight was called just before I could implement my cunning plan to stab him in the face with a celery stick and force feed him to death with "health bars".
Boarding for the flight was delayed by about 45 mins. Apparently to do with the rain which surprised me as rain is hardly a new weather phenomenon in Britain but hey - what am I going to do?
We eventually boarded and I was seated next to Homer Simpson. Unfortunately not the real one, but a similar version from California who also worked in IT (whatever I have done, I have certainly angered somebody to get two IT geeks in one day). Homer also had a chronic cough (although, sadly, not bad enough to bring about his early death before take off) and this was beginning to annoy me. But he was saved by my anger being focused on the airport / airline again when the Captain came on to announce that take-off was going to be delayed - because of the rain.
We were eventually subject to another two and three quarter hours delay sitting on the plane with a nice seven and a half hour flight to follow. Worse - Homer wanted to chat.
Having discussed beer and American politics for an hour Homer asked me how I had amassed such in-depth knowledge of American politics. Well, actually his question was: "How comes you know so much stuff about American politics and shit?". I consider myself woefully uninformed about American politics actually, but it is now evident that I am better informed than the average American voter whose expertise and interest begins and ends at beer. Scary but true.
I passed the plane journey alternating between considering my early death due to the extreme turbulence that had me actually put the seatbelt around my laptop too so as to allow me to work without fear of the laptop becoming part of the ceiling decorations and writing a long speech for a client in the UAE.
Only 16 hours without a cigarette and we landed in O'Hare airport in Chicago . . . my first time in the Windy City. Having filled out my immigration form on the plane and spotted only 19 people in front of me in the passport queue I relaxed knowing that nicotine was only minutes away.
Wrong again.
Because I am resident in the United Arab Emirates and in the course of my business travel to Saudi Arabia, Sudan, Egypt, Oman, Morocco, Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain, Lebanon, Jordan and Iran, I was singled out for special treatment and asked to wait in front of all the other passengers who looked at me as though I was a cross between the Uni Bomber and a convicted paedophile.
Eventually a man with a an IQ lower than the number of bullets in his hand gun came and escorted me to a holding area for further questions. I was with an Italian who had also been singled out for "the treatment" and we discussed our fate in my rusty Italian mixed with his comedy English. Neither of us could muster "dumbf&ck, knee jerk, fascist, racist morons with a superiority complex" in the other's language but we were both thinking it. Oh yes, we were both thinking it.
I was interrogated by a Latino immigration official who wanted to know where exactly I was going, why, when, how, with whom, where I had come from, where I would go after Chicago and so on and so on. I retained my cool using the logic that my nicotine would come more quickly that way and having weighed up that the satisfaction that I would gain from letting rip would be outweighed by the beating, the jail time and the total denial of nicotine. To be fair, the thought of being in a holding cell with Mr. Big asking me to pick up the soap in seven different languages was also a deterrant - plus I wanted to ACTUALLY start my holiday.
Nice that America's closest allies in the so-called "war on terror" are the English. The authorities at Chicago airport certainly do not fall into the camp known as "anglophiles" . . .
Once eventually cleared of immigration (without a tracking device being injected into my brain - I think) the men with guns took me to the baggage carousel which I thought was rather courteous until I realised that the fun wasn't over when the guy wouldn't give me my passport until my bags were found and then took me off to the "special" section of the customs area.
Luckily the customs area was extremely efficient and well staffed with polite and speedy individuals committed to minimising the amount of hassle and inconvenience for travellers. . .not.
One hour later - queues and unpacking and repacking EVERY last button and sock in my bag while being watched over by Dumb & Dumber and their pyschobitch sister, I was released into the United States of America. The Land of the Free.
I smoked. Vigorously and with purpose. And then I smoked again.
I got into a cab with a nice man from Eritrea (an Arab African nation on the East coast of Africa underneath Sudan). I told him my story and he laughed gently in sympathy and understanding. Then he drove like a complete lunatic to the centre of Chicago while I shut my eyes and prayed to all known Gods to deliver me from Hassan Al Schumacher in one piece.
Got to my Hotel - the swanky W Hotel Lakeshore and remembered why i don't normally stay in "W" Hotels. Everyone in the hotel including staff were ultra cool super models wearing the latest fashions and talking a language so hip I felt like an illiterate mute when I came to ask where the elevators were. Note to self #2 - stay in a Marriott and feel like an ultra suave cool meister with amazing dress sense and poise.
I felt like death having hoovered lots of antibiotics and gone without sleep for about 20 hours so and considered going straight to bed. Instead I started to look at my travel plans for the next few days and check out what to do in Chicago. Blues is one of my big interests and Chicago is the launch pad of some of the greats including, of course, Buddy Guy. Three mouse clicks later and I was out of the door and heading to Buddy Guy's Blues Club on Wabash Avenue . . .
The club was great - the real deal with a cat called Clyde on stage with his band playing raw electric blues and snarling into the microphone wearing his trilby hat and a kind of zoot suit . . .and this bar allowed smoking - indeed there were dozens of the practisers of the Black Art of Nicotine consumption proudly puffing away, drinking beer and listening to live music. A combination which has now been banned from almost all other American cities and now of course, Britain.
The crowd was a mixture of afficionados - easily spotted as one can tell that in the real world they are seriously mal-adjusted and sport strange clothing - and the typical Americans. What was interesting to note is that all young American males - almost without exception - sport bad haircuts and all young American women fall into two camps. Anorexic twigs or hippopotami.... Five vegetable and fruit portions a day are evidently being mixed with nine pitchers of beer and a bucket of fried chicken with the inevitable results.
I lasted about an hour and a half until the combination of Guiness (yes - Guiness, poured badly but still recognisable), some of the medical profession's strongest antibiotics and no sleep for 24 hours or so rendered me a cabbage and I had to leave.
A nice Pakistani taxi driver picked me up and kept me amused as he swore voraciously at everyone and everything on the journey to my hotel. I got to my room and crashed out almost instantly, waking at 4.30 am to the noise of people in the corridor about to be sick, have unwise sex and a hangover - not necessarily in that order.
I returned to sleep and dreamt of cigarettes, the blues and beer . . .
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Cartoons are supposed to be funny . . .
Let’s get a few things straight from the beginning:
1. I am white, Western European by origin with American blood, a baptised but non-practising Christian, I live in an Islamic country in the Middle East and I am a degree educated individual with a fairly open mind and a hunger for understanding. I also have many Muslim friends and colleagues (as well as Jews, Druze, Christians and Hindus . . .)
2. Violence is generally the worst way of solving a problem and should only ever be a last resort.
3. Freedom of speech is to be encouraged, not stifled
4. Self-regulation is better than legislation as long as societies and individuals can be trusted to behave responsibly, with respect and equanimity.
Now we have that out of the way, let’s look at the most bizarre, worrying and badly judged situation to happen in recent memory – the cartoon caricatures of the Prophet Mohammad (Peace Be Upon Him).
While no thinking person, Muslim or otherwise, can fail to commend the notion of freedom of speech, it is equally important to recognise that all freedoms come with responsibility.
The decision to produce a cartoon featuring the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH) in itself has to be questioned in terms of how responsible or otherwise such an act is. The decision to publish such an item in a mass media outlet is beyond consideration. It was just plain wrong and wholly irresponsible. Full stop. Period.
Respecting someone’s religious beliefs does not make us subservient to that religion – it just marks us out as being reasonable and tolerant. We would not serve pork to a Jew, we would not serve beef to a Hindu so why would we print offensive cartoons featuring a caricature of the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH)?
This is a fundamental element of Islamic faith. In the same way the Christian tradition forbids idolatry and the Jewish faith refrains from naming God. This is a well-known fact of Islam and should be respected. To not only represent the Prophet (PBUH) in these execrable cartoons (which in itself is an insult to Muslims) but to ridicule the Prophet (PBUH) and attempt to suggest that he is connected to terrorism is puerile, grossly inflammatory and utterly mindless.
When I lived in Greece, shortly before the Athens Olympics there was an art exhibition in the capital city as part of the Cultural Olympics. One of the exhibits was a representation of Jesus Christ performing an unnatural sexual act.
Now how many of you self righteous Christian Right Freedom of Speech supporters feel that that is an appropriate image for public display and that religious Christians would not find this offensive? Ah, I thought so. . .
You see I am not concerned whether Christ performing a sex act is art, or that a newspaper has the freedom to publish a cartoon. My concern is that people in positions of authority or influence need to behave responsibly and not test the limits of their freedoms endlessly. Freedom requires faith – if you continue to test its boundaries, you will begin to find that limits start to be imposed and freedoms start to be denied.
The publishers and editors of Jyllands Postern in Denmark made a great mistake and committed a huge error of judgement when they published the now infamous cartoons. In short, they behaved irresponsibly.
If they had apologised unreservedly for their error of judgement in a timely fashion, had pledged never to repeat such a pointless and offensive act, then this may have avoided the subsequent onslaught of problems and political crises that have evolved from this incident.
Instead they tried to defend their position by claiming they “never meant to insult or offend anyone” – come on guys, think about it! This is just not credible. It is a little like pointing a gun at someone, pulling the trigger, watching the blood start to flow and then saying you didn’t mean the shot to wound or injure.
Moreover, they resorted to hiding behind freedom of speech instead of admitting they acted irresponsibly.
This combination of publishing the cartoons, failing to apologise appropriately and in a timely fashion and then hiding behind freedom of speech as an excuse were enough to ignite a very strong response from Islam . . .
Now, let’s take a look at the other side of the coin . . .
I believe that Muslims are right to be offended, just as the Orthodox Christians of Greece were offended by images of Christ performing unnatural sexual acts. I also believe that the Muslims are right to suggest that this was a deliberate blow against Islam – the other assumption is that the editors of the paper concerned are educationally sub normal retards who genuinely had no idea that this would cause offence . . .
I also believe that Islam was entitled to ask for an unconditional apology from the papers that printed these cartoons.
I think that when these requests were met with half-hearted responses, that Islamic countries were entitled to boycott Danish products in protest. Peaceful boycotting of products is an entirely appropriate way to make a point.
However, the violent protests, the burning of flags and embassies and destruction of all things Western which have occurred in places like Pakistan, Syria and Lebanon, have no place in modern political diplomacy and dialogue.
The right to peacefully negotiate and discuss the issues behind the publishing of the cartoons was unfortunately given up when radical elements of Islam took to violent protest and wilful destruction of all things Danish and indeed other countries from the West.
The right to the upper hand in terms of political dialogue between Islam and the West was also given up at the same moment, as was the opportunity to use this incident to build understanding and peace between Islam and the West.
Instead, the West, which began this whole issue firmly in the wrong, is starting to be vindicated. Not in terms the legitimacy of the publishing of the cartoons, but in terms of the idea that Islam is reactionary, militant and prone to violence. An accusation which is to the greatest part false as anyone who lives in most Islamic countries will testify, but which appears to be true under the spotlight of the western media which are highly selective in their focus, and heavily under the influence of the Christian right and the pro-Israeli Jewish lobby.
Now some parts of Islam are requesting that Europe and the UN institute legislation and codes for respecting religion. This is not the answer. If someone does not possess enough decency, tolerance and sense then enforced legislation is not the solution. Education, information and open mindedness would make a far better option.
What a shame!
What a shame for the millions of Muslims whose right to worship in their chosen fashion and under their own codes was so offended by the West, but their right to reply was thwarted and undermined by those self same people who they consider their brothers.
What a shame for the West with its hideously self righteous assumption that it can criticise, insult and denigrate whomsoever it chooses without fear of retribution because it conceitedly and arrogantly believes that civilised society can only exist in the secular, materialist and right wing countries in Europe and the United States. What a shame that being educated, challenged, informed or open minded is discarded in favour of being bigoted, prejudiced and narrow-minded.
What a shame for world diplomacy. A shame that in the 21st century we continue to reduce ourselves to baiting others and responding in violence.
What a shame that in a post 9/11 era instead of taking the opportunity to extend the hand of peace, we taunt and bully, instead of extending our ears to learn and understand, we put on the mufflers of deaf ignorance and prejudice.
But maybe there is more to this than meets the eye? Maybe this is a diversion for more sinister affairs? With Hamas now legitimately in power in Palestine, after the democratic election process so forcefully demanded by the US (and which suited the US at the time as it favoured their chosen party Fatah), with Syria on the brink of major diplomatic crisis following the Hariri assassination one year ago, (and which many still believe had the hand of the US or the Israeli’s behind it), the on-going turmoil in Lebanon (see above) and of course the nuclear “threat” from fundamentalist Tehran, there is a lot at stake in the Middle East at the moment.
The traditional approach of the US in terms of maintaining the power of the West (which it leads) is to ensure a lack of stability in key areas in the world. Deliberately generating conflict in the Middle East, deliberately stimulating a global divide between Muslims and non-Muslims, would create the kind of tension in global affairs which would be of benefit to the US and Western interests – as long as they could secure oil supplies in the meantime (cf. Iraq).
If the oil crisis on the 1970s and 80s is anything to go by, then the US and its partners ought to have been stockpiling oil reserves over the last couple of years despite the high prices of oil – betting that the market will one day be worse and the reserves will be the fall back to ride out the storm.
If there is no conflict in the Middle to focus attentions on, then the world will have to consider the real threat – that China will become the global superpower and the US and its predominantly Western allies will have to learn to march to their tune . . .
Perhaps I am being cynical, but then unfortunately today’s world doesn’t exactly encourage one to be anything other than cynical especially when it comes to politics.
Since the issue of the cartoons broke out I have travelled to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, which is also reacting very badly to the issue. I felt safe and was happy to be with Muslim clients and colleagues, just as I am in the UAE and around the rest of the Gulf.
You see my Muslim friends and colleagues are my friends and my colleagues – I don’t distinguish them by their religion. We work, laugh and joke together, break bread together and talk about the world and its problems. I would never insult their Prophet (PBUH) or their background just as they would never insult my religion or my culture. Because we respect each other, because we are friends, and most of all because we have taken the time and made the effort to find out a little more about each other than stereotypes and prejudice would ordinarily allow.
And by the way, cartoons are supposed to be funny.
1. I am white, Western European by origin with American blood, a baptised but non-practising Christian, I live in an Islamic country in the Middle East and I am a degree educated individual with a fairly open mind and a hunger for understanding. I also have many Muslim friends and colleagues (as well as Jews, Druze, Christians and Hindus . . .)
2. Violence is generally the worst way of solving a problem and should only ever be a last resort.
3. Freedom of speech is to be encouraged, not stifled
4. Self-regulation is better than legislation as long as societies and individuals can be trusted to behave responsibly, with respect and equanimity.
Now we have that out of the way, let’s look at the most bizarre, worrying and badly judged situation to happen in recent memory – the cartoon caricatures of the Prophet Mohammad (Peace Be Upon Him).
While no thinking person, Muslim or otherwise, can fail to commend the notion of freedom of speech, it is equally important to recognise that all freedoms come with responsibility.
The decision to produce a cartoon featuring the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH) in itself has to be questioned in terms of how responsible or otherwise such an act is. The decision to publish such an item in a mass media outlet is beyond consideration. It was just plain wrong and wholly irresponsible. Full stop. Period.
Respecting someone’s religious beliefs does not make us subservient to that religion – it just marks us out as being reasonable and tolerant. We would not serve pork to a Jew, we would not serve beef to a Hindu so why would we print offensive cartoons featuring a caricature of the Prophet Mohammad (PBUH)?
This is a fundamental element of Islamic faith. In the same way the Christian tradition forbids idolatry and the Jewish faith refrains from naming God. This is a well-known fact of Islam and should be respected. To not only represent the Prophet (PBUH) in these execrable cartoons (which in itself is an insult to Muslims) but to ridicule the Prophet (PBUH) and attempt to suggest that he is connected to terrorism is puerile, grossly inflammatory and utterly mindless.
When I lived in Greece, shortly before the Athens Olympics there was an art exhibition in the capital city as part of the Cultural Olympics. One of the exhibits was a representation of Jesus Christ performing an unnatural sexual act.
Now how many of you self righteous Christian Right Freedom of Speech supporters feel that that is an appropriate image for public display and that religious Christians would not find this offensive? Ah, I thought so. . .
You see I am not concerned whether Christ performing a sex act is art, or that a newspaper has the freedom to publish a cartoon. My concern is that people in positions of authority or influence need to behave responsibly and not test the limits of their freedoms endlessly. Freedom requires faith – if you continue to test its boundaries, you will begin to find that limits start to be imposed and freedoms start to be denied.
The publishers and editors of Jyllands Postern in Denmark made a great mistake and committed a huge error of judgement when they published the now infamous cartoons. In short, they behaved irresponsibly.
If they had apologised unreservedly for their error of judgement in a timely fashion, had pledged never to repeat such a pointless and offensive act, then this may have avoided the subsequent onslaught of problems and political crises that have evolved from this incident.
Instead they tried to defend their position by claiming they “never meant to insult or offend anyone” – come on guys, think about it! This is just not credible. It is a little like pointing a gun at someone, pulling the trigger, watching the blood start to flow and then saying you didn’t mean the shot to wound or injure.
Moreover, they resorted to hiding behind freedom of speech instead of admitting they acted irresponsibly.
This combination of publishing the cartoons, failing to apologise appropriately and in a timely fashion and then hiding behind freedom of speech as an excuse were enough to ignite a very strong response from Islam . . .
Now, let’s take a look at the other side of the coin . . .
I believe that Muslims are right to be offended, just as the Orthodox Christians of Greece were offended by images of Christ performing unnatural sexual acts. I also believe that the Muslims are right to suggest that this was a deliberate blow against Islam – the other assumption is that the editors of the paper concerned are educationally sub normal retards who genuinely had no idea that this would cause offence . . .
I also believe that Islam was entitled to ask for an unconditional apology from the papers that printed these cartoons.
I think that when these requests were met with half-hearted responses, that Islamic countries were entitled to boycott Danish products in protest. Peaceful boycotting of products is an entirely appropriate way to make a point.
However, the violent protests, the burning of flags and embassies and destruction of all things Western which have occurred in places like Pakistan, Syria and Lebanon, have no place in modern political diplomacy and dialogue.
The right to peacefully negotiate and discuss the issues behind the publishing of the cartoons was unfortunately given up when radical elements of Islam took to violent protest and wilful destruction of all things Danish and indeed other countries from the West.
The right to the upper hand in terms of political dialogue between Islam and the West was also given up at the same moment, as was the opportunity to use this incident to build understanding and peace between Islam and the West.
Instead, the West, which began this whole issue firmly in the wrong, is starting to be vindicated. Not in terms the legitimacy of the publishing of the cartoons, but in terms of the idea that Islam is reactionary, militant and prone to violence. An accusation which is to the greatest part false as anyone who lives in most Islamic countries will testify, but which appears to be true under the spotlight of the western media which are highly selective in their focus, and heavily under the influence of the Christian right and the pro-Israeli Jewish lobby.
Now some parts of Islam are requesting that Europe and the UN institute legislation and codes for respecting religion. This is not the answer. If someone does not possess enough decency, tolerance and sense then enforced legislation is not the solution. Education, information and open mindedness would make a far better option.
What a shame!
What a shame for the millions of Muslims whose right to worship in their chosen fashion and under their own codes was so offended by the West, but their right to reply was thwarted and undermined by those self same people who they consider their brothers.
What a shame for the West with its hideously self righteous assumption that it can criticise, insult and denigrate whomsoever it chooses without fear of retribution because it conceitedly and arrogantly believes that civilised society can only exist in the secular, materialist and right wing countries in Europe and the United States. What a shame that being educated, challenged, informed or open minded is discarded in favour of being bigoted, prejudiced and narrow-minded.
What a shame for world diplomacy. A shame that in the 21st century we continue to reduce ourselves to baiting others and responding in violence.
What a shame that in a post 9/11 era instead of taking the opportunity to extend the hand of peace, we taunt and bully, instead of extending our ears to learn and understand, we put on the mufflers of deaf ignorance and prejudice.
But maybe there is more to this than meets the eye? Maybe this is a diversion for more sinister affairs? With Hamas now legitimately in power in Palestine, after the democratic election process so forcefully demanded by the US (and which suited the US at the time as it favoured their chosen party Fatah), with Syria on the brink of major diplomatic crisis following the Hariri assassination one year ago, (and which many still believe had the hand of the US or the Israeli’s behind it), the on-going turmoil in Lebanon (see above) and of course the nuclear “threat” from fundamentalist Tehran, there is a lot at stake in the Middle East at the moment.
The traditional approach of the US in terms of maintaining the power of the West (which it leads) is to ensure a lack of stability in key areas in the world. Deliberately generating conflict in the Middle East, deliberately stimulating a global divide between Muslims and non-Muslims, would create the kind of tension in global affairs which would be of benefit to the US and Western interests – as long as they could secure oil supplies in the meantime (cf. Iraq).
If the oil crisis on the 1970s and 80s is anything to go by, then the US and its partners ought to have been stockpiling oil reserves over the last couple of years despite the high prices of oil – betting that the market will one day be worse and the reserves will be the fall back to ride out the storm.
If there is no conflict in the Middle to focus attentions on, then the world will have to consider the real threat – that China will become the global superpower and the US and its predominantly Western allies will have to learn to march to their tune . . .
Perhaps I am being cynical, but then unfortunately today’s world doesn’t exactly encourage one to be anything other than cynical especially when it comes to politics.
Since the issue of the cartoons broke out I have travelled to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, which is also reacting very badly to the issue. I felt safe and was happy to be with Muslim clients and colleagues, just as I am in the UAE and around the rest of the Gulf.
You see my Muslim friends and colleagues are my friends and my colleagues – I don’t distinguish them by their religion. We work, laugh and joke together, break bread together and talk about the world and its problems. I would never insult their Prophet (PBUH) or their background just as they would never insult my religion or my culture. Because we respect each other, because we are friends, and most of all because we have taken the time and made the effort to find out a little more about each other than stereotypes and prejudice would ordinarily allow.
And by the way, cartoons are supposed to be funny.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Bad Moustaches … New Laws Required
I am sitting in the First Class Lounge of Riyadh airport in Saudi Arabia - struggling through the first 30 minutes of a three and a half hour delay to my flight back to Dubai. (I should point out at this stage that the area in which I am sitting is very badly named as it is certainly not first class and very far from the comfortable notions that the word “lounge” usually conjures up . . .indeed “Deodorant Testing and CNN Endurance Zone” may be a more appropriate naming strategy).
Having lived in Greece and now living in the Middle East, facial hair – and in particular moustaches – are nothing new to me. Indeed this symbol of masculinity is something I am completely used to, although I have not succumbed to growing my own - with the exception of a brief spell at university when I convinced myself that leaving my facial hair to grow would instantly transform me into a Robert De Niro / Al Pacino look-alike and give me the kind of unkempt, brutal appeal that I was missing.
The fact that I have since never entertained the idea of growing anything again may be somehow connected to the fact that the result of this ludicrous notion was a rather pathetic, fluffy red half beard that could only be excused on a student living in Scotland in the late 80s . . .
Although it is not for me, I have never had an issue with the principle of facial hair – indeed I have often admired a good moustache or beard when grown and managed well.
However, there are limits – and a brief scan of the room here in Riyadh airport has afforded me some pretty clear indications of where those limits are. You see, sitting around me now are some criminal examples of inappropriate facial hair growth which in the world of which I will be ruler in the future, would be punishable with lengthy imprisonment or just a simple beating.
BMS – or Bad Moustache Syndrome – afflicts many people and from all backgrounds. Examples range from the straightforward “Comedy Moustache” which appears to have been grown for a bet or another humorous purpose (but 9 times out of 10 sadly ends up being a serious effort) to the plain pathetic “Teutonic Weed” so beloved of German students backpacking around the world in unpleasantly tight leather trousers and rucksacks (not that there are many of these in my Riyadh Airport enclosure…).
But there are other varieties which can move you to tears or laughter instantly depending on your mood. Let me share a small selection with you:
1. Adolf Lipper – why, oh why, despite being some 50 years after the fall of Nazi Germany, does anyone think that a Hitler Moustache is EVER going to be fashionable or appealing?
2. Five O’Clock Shadow ‘Tache – here we are working on the principal that the full five o’clock shadow (or just plain unshaven for two days) look that was popularized in the 1980’s by such stunning examples of masculinity as George Michael, would look somehow better if confined to just the top lip. Is this a kind of new millennium post modernist ironic attempt at minimalism or is it just atrocious facial hair . . . Hint: It looks crap and like you can’t grow a real moustache – so shave it off. Now.
3. The Four Inch Crumb Collector – yup, this is one of those preposterously large moustaches which would appear to have no other reason to exist other than to collect small items of food – presumably with the idea of consuming them later on. These moustaches are often worn completely out of proportion with the rest of the face or indeed the owner and as a result look especially bad.
4. The Old Lady – as you may have guessed, these are the moustaches which are seen on women, usually old women. I don’t think I need to devote any further time to this variety as its lack of appeal is self evident.
5. The YOY – no not Year on Year, but Why Oh Why . . . you must have seen them. Perfectly pleasant looking gentlemen with a nice, youthful, fresh-faced look – who then go and trash it completely with a really bad ‘tache. There is just no explanation for this other than sustained drug abuse, mental imbalance or a bizarre religious conviction.
And the list could go on . . .
Bad moustaches are worse than bad body odour. I mean, bad body odour is something which you suffer from at a distance of up to say two feet from the person who stinks – but a bad ‘tache can hit you at up to 100 feet away or more. Not good, and I think society would be better if rid of these facially irresponsible offenders.
My proposal would involve a corporate social responsibility campaign sponsored by Gillette. Free donations of razors and mirrors to those who need them, and lessons on how to “shave it off” would be made available by the giant of the shaving world.
But this would not be enough. There should also be a deterrent to ensure that this kind of offense is avoided in the first place.
‘Tache Tax is one option. Bad Moustaches would be taxed by the authorities and the proceeds donated to the needy and those in ‘tache shock (the witnessing of extreme Bad Moustache Syndrome which leaves victims traumatized for many years). This ‘Tache Tax could be accompanied by an equal incentive programme which would encourage the growth of responsible, non-offensive facial hair – donations and grants to those few who get it right.
Some money from ‘tache tax could also be channeled into research into BMS. Entire medical and psychiatric units would be able to get to the bottom of this phenomenon and provide the world with a solution which may involve therapy or perhaps genetic modification – depending on the severity of the individual problem.
There will, however, always be a few who get away. These persistent offenders will not be changed by therapy or charity. They need a Short Sharp Shave and some time in jail – with enforced shaving every day. Repeat offenders failing to shape up could be forced to have their upper lip hair removed by laser and then have a “nice” moustache tattooed onto their top lip in replacement . . .
In terms of the rest of my policies for "My World", they go as follows:
Along with Bad Moustaches, I will also be banning Comedy / Novelty Mobile Phone Ringtones, CNN Presenters (with one or two exceptions), the French, Children on Planes and in Supermarkets, drivers of small Toyotas, Traffic Wherever I am Driving, several American Presidents, Plastic Cheese, New Labour, “Marketing Speak”, cinema Hot Dogs, Women who ask if they “look fat in this”, Crown Green Bowling, 14 year old Management Consultants who earn 14 times as much as me, Bulgarian toilets, Czech “cuisine”, queues and Riyadh airport.
The death penalty will be a possibility for all of the above offences and absolutely mandatory for all people who fart on planes.
Having lived in Greece and now living in the Middle East, facial hair – and in particular moustaches – are nothing new to me. Indeed this symbol of masculinity is something I am completely used to, although I have not succumbed to growing my own - with the exception of a brief spell at university when I convinced myself that leaving my facial hair to grow would instantly transform me into a Robert De Niro / Al Pacino look-alike and give me the kind of unkempt, brutal appeal that I was missing.
The fact that I have since never entertained the idea of growing anything again may be somehow connected to the fact that the result of this ludicrous notion was a rather pathetic, fluffy red half beard that could only be excused on a student living in Scotland in the late 80s . . .
Although it is not for me, I have never had an issue with the principle of facial hair – indeed I have often admired a good moustache or beard when grown and managed well.
However, there are limits – and a brief scan of the room here in Riyadh airport has afforded me some pretty clear indications of where those limits are. You see, sitting around me now are some criminal examples of inappropriate facial hair growth which in the world of which I will be ruler in the future, would be punishable with lengthy imprisonment or just a simple beating.
BMS – or Bad Moustache Syndrome – afflicts many people and from all backgrounds. Examples range from the straightforward “Comedy Moustache” which appears to have been grown for a bet or another humorous purpose (but 9 times out of 10 sadly ends up being a serious effort) to the plain pathetic “Teutonic Weed” so beloved of German students backpacking around the world in unpleasantly tight leather trousers and rucksacks (not that there are many of these in my Riyadh Airport enclosure…).
But there are other varieties which can move you to tears or laughter instantly depending on your mood. Let me share a small selection with you:
1. Adolf Lipper – why, oh why, despite being some 50 years after the fall of Nazi Germany, does anyone think that a Hitler Moustache is EVER going to be fashionable or appealing?
2. Five O’Clock Shadow ‘Tache – here we are working on the principal that the full five o’clock shadow (or just plain unshaven for two days) look that was popularized in the 1980’s by such stunning examples of masculinity as George Michael, would look somehow better if confined to just the top lip. Is this a kind of new millennium post modernist ironic attempt at minimalism or is it just atrocious facial hair . . . Hint: It looks crap and like you can’t grow a real moustache – so shave it off. Now.
3. The Four Inch Crumb Collector – yup, this is one of those preposterously large moustaches which would appear to have no other reason to exist other than to collect small items of food – presumably with the idea of consuming them later on. These moustaches are often worn completely out of proportion with the rest of the face or indeed the owner and as a result look especially bad.
4. The Old Lady – as you may have guessed, these are the moustaches which are seen on women, usually old women. I don’t think I need to devote any further time to this variety as its lack of appeal is self evident.
5. The YOY – no not Year on Year, but Why Oh Why . . . you must have seen them. Perfectly pleasant looking gentlemen with a nice, youthful, fresh-faced look – who then go and trash it completely with a really bad ‘tache. There is just no explanation for this other than sustained drug abuse, mental imbalance or a bizarre religious conviction.
And the list could go on . . .
Bad moustaches are worse than bad body odour. I mean, bad body odour is something which you suffer from at a distance of up to say two feet from the person who stinks – but a bad ‘tache can hit you at up to 100 feet away or more. Not good, and I think society would be better if rid of these facially irresponsible offenders.
My proposal would involve a corporate social responsibility campaign sponsored by Gillette. Free donations of razors and mirrors to those who need them, and lessons on how to “shave it off” would be made available by the giant of the shaving world.
But this would not be enough. There should also be a deterrent to ensure that this kind of offense is avoided in the first place.
‘Tache Tax is one option. Bad Moustaches would be taxed by the authorities and the proceeds donated to the needy and those in ‘tache shock (the witnessing of extreme Bad Moustache Syndrome which leaves victims traumatized for many years). This ‘Tache Tax could be accompanied by an equal incentive programme which would encourage the growth of responsible, non-offensive facial hair – donations and grants to those few who get it right.
Some money from ‘tache tax could also be channeled into research into BMS. Entire medical and psychiatric units would be able to get to the bottom of this phenomenon and provide the world with a solution which may involve therapy or perhaps genetic modification – depending on the severity of the individual problem.
There will, however, always be a few who get away. These persistent offenders will not be changed by therapy or charity. They need a Short Sharp Shave and some time in jail – with enforced shaving every day. Repeat offenders failing to shape up could be forced to have their upper lip hair removed by laser and then have a “nice” moustache tattooed onto their top lip in replacement . . .
In terms of the rest of my policies for "My World", they go as follows:
Along with Bad Moustaches, I will also be banning Comedy / Novelty Mobile Phone Ringtones, CNN Presenters (with one or two exceptions), the French, Children on Planes and in Supermarkets, drivers of small Toyotas, Traffic Wherever I am Driving, several American Presidents, Plastic Cheese, New Labour, “Marketing Speak”, cinema Hot Dogs, Women who ask if they “look fat in this”, Crown Green Bowling, 14 year old Management Consultants who earn 14 times as much as me, Bulgarian toilets, Czech “cuisine”, queues and Riyadh airport.
The death penalty will be a possibility for all of the above offences and absolutely mandatory for all people who fart on planes.
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