Tommy Davidson

Short blog: We took R to see Tommy Davidson do stand up tonight. She laughed at all of the right spots, so we know she has great timing. He was excellent. It was kind of inappropriate for a toddler, but she won’t remember anything. At least not without the aid of psychotherapy.

Tommy Davidson is really brilliant. I know him from In Living Color, of course. But his performance in Bamboozled shook my world. Such an edgy movie, and his performance really challenged the line because he was performing these destructive stereotypes but figured out a way to be funny in the process. In a film that is critical of what (I recall) it calls new age minstrelsy, Spike let Davidson and Savion Glover do they damn thing. And get down. Really brilliant and unsettling and challenging. I wish I thought to tell him that when I met him.

I will try to blog here from time to time.

A bathroom conversation at Harrisburg International Airport

On Thursday morning, I was at the Harrisburg Airport, en route to Seattle, Washington. I took R into the restroom to change her diaper. She was fussing, as she has been recently when I change her. I am talking to her, trying to be calming and reassuring, “You will be alright” and such.

Sixtyish white guy walks in and hears her crying. “You are ok. It is not like you have anything to worry about.” Then out of the blue: “You weren’t born in Haiti or Africa...”

Huh? I cut him off, “Actually, she was born in Africa!”

He looked and sounded shocked and shaking his head says, “I don’t know where that came from.” I hope he was referring to his own presumptions (and much worse). I didn’t say anything else and neither did he. He seemed genuinely dumbfounded as he exited the men’s room.

I was glad I was able to disrupt whatever he had in his mind. I walked out of the men’s room laughing at the absurdity, only to find my laughter occasionally interrupted by deeper thoughts about his presumptions, where they come from, and where they may lead him.

beer

Now that I am visiting the US, I have time to blog about Cairo. It is kind of a funny thing how living in Cairo can get in the way of blogging about Cairo.

In this case, about beer, actually.

In Cairo, you can order via telephone or internet almost anything for delivery and it is remarkably efficient. More so than anyplace I have been. If we want beer, we call a place called “Drinkie’s” (no I am not making this up or changing the names) and they deliver within 45 minutes for no extra charge. And you can request it cold. Also for no extra charge.

Other than Heineken, you have two Egyptian beer options—Stella (not the be confused with its Belgian namesake) and Saqqara. Both are lagers that I, as someone who does not drink very much, find quite satisfactory. Sometime last year, however, we found out about an Egyptian label called Luxor that has a hefeweizen, an unfiltered wheat beer, that is quite delicious.

A few months back, when I telephoned Drinkie’s for beer, I asked if they had Luxor. They said no, so I ordered Stella. Transaction done. A few minutes later, I got a telephone call.

Me: “Hello.”

Caller X: “Hello. Do you need beer?”

Me: [long pause] “No? Thank you.”

Caller X: “OK.”

End of conversation. Me left scratching my head.

My Stella order arrived shortly thereafter.

It took me a few minutes to figure out what probably happened. When I called and asked for Luxor, the dispatcher passed along my telephone number to someone else who does sell it. It is a beautiful example of the way that informal economic networks still infiltrate this highly efficient system.

More recently, the place we ordered Luxor from was closed (closed down, we later learned). We were desperately (ok—that is a dramatic overstatement) seeking Luxor, so the idea hit me. Why not call Drinkie’s again and ask for Luxor, and when they say they don’t have it, hang up and wait for the call from some mysterious beer distributor? I actually thought about doing it, but it seemed a bit too strange...though it might have made for a much better blog entry.

New home office

As I wrote last month, we moved up two floors in our same building. Moving into a flat with a very similar floor layout is a curious experience. The furniture is different and nicer, as are all of the other accouterments and details. It was a fun opportunity to reinvent things about the flat, including my work area. Anyway, there is a section of the living room, where I have a desk and books, and where R keeps some toys.

I was able to decorate the area using some of the Kuba textiles I collected during my two trips to Democratic Republic of Congo. With book cases.

The center is one of my favorites, though I don't know the artist (as I do for the other two).

When I sit at my desk, this is directly behind me. It is huge--about 10 feet long--but fits perfectly in this space.

And my desk.

waiting at the bank

A few weeks ago, I blogged about the new bank policy eliminating a separate and unfair queue for faculty. I have gone to the bank twice since then and have had to wait significantly longer than I did in the past. Last week, I waited at least thirty minutes. Though I did not time it precisely, it was enough time for me to go to the bank, get a number, wait, go out to get something to drink, come back to the bank, wait some more, go to my office, work for a few minutes, and come back to the bank again. Today I waited about 15 minutes, all of it spent in the bank.

I am not sure if there is a problem with the longer waits. But I do know that if it is a problem for faculty, it is surely a problem for everyone else. The best solution seems to be more tellers available for everyone, not a separate faculty line. I guess what strikes me is that if there is a need—for more tellers, for example—the new system makes a solution more likely. By adding faculty voices to those of staff and students, the position for advocating, whatever, becomes much stronger.

Of course, I am talking about a line at a bank, which is terribly unimportant and certainly not worth the time you have spent reading about it. But, I like the idea that the elimination of the separate faculty line creates a new possibility for solidarity in a space where it was much less likely before.

World Cup

I was at the neighborhood market today and everyone who worked there wanted to talk to me about the World Cup. Folks at the market know that I am from the US, so this is a natural topic of conversation. The US tied their hardest match in an otherwise easy (relatively of course) group. And since the US historically has been so pathetic in football, it is the one sphere in which I sometimes root for the imperium.

I will be leaving for the US next week and my only regret is not being able to be in a football-mad country for the rest of the tournament. Even if, as in the case of Egypt, they themselves did not qualify. I guess to be in a country that not only cared, but was also playing would be ideal.

Part of this is self-interest because, like having a baby, football is ready-made conversation piece. It provides endless opportunities to practice my Arabic. The city is the water cooler, and everyone wants to talk about whatever matches were played the day before.

The supermarket and the pharmacy

I ran some errands last night. I went to the supermarket for lettuce and bread. Two heads of romaine and a baguette for 5.60 Egyptian Pounds (exactly one dollar). Next stop: the pharmacy. I got some pain syrup medication for R and Vitamin D drops. The bill was 7.25 EGP. I was home in 10 or 15 minutes, and my pockets were slightly more than $2 US lighter.

Medicine is inexpensive because it is subsidized by the government. Bread is actually also subsidized by the government. But not baguettes. (I could have gotten much more bread for a lot less money had I wanted.)