Freedom is a freefall

...until you get caught. A Frenchman and a Brit basejump the Burj. A nice little film from Current TV.

Terrorizing fish

Non-working weekends–I'm a fan of these.
Time to get out of the city and get WET.
Before the sandstorms filled the sky with the beige haze, blowing in the July heat, the conditions were PERFECT for wake boarding in neighboring Emirate, Um Al Quwain. Well...it was a little windy, but even still. There's a modest little beach club on the Um Al Quwain Creek. It's not nearly as fancy as "beach club" suggests. There's hardly even a beach. But there's a mediocre grille, some houseboats, a speedboat, and dude that reminds me of Mowgli who drives it. It's protected by some mangroves and the perfect place to terrorize some fish and face-plant like the champions we are.

The town's at the end of the creek. Cause creeks here have ends. (You have your fake Louis Vuitton, your fake boobs, and naturally, or shall I say UNnaturally, you also get your fake creeks, that are really just extended bay-inlet-waterway-thingys.)

Wake boarding seems easy enough...

My first time getting yanked through the water, I pretty much sucked. I blame the shorts. Yes, I found my balance, but balance is boring. Idiocy...way more fun to watch.

Brian was doing all right. He'd had a few more weekends of practice under his belt. So the chop didn't destroy him.

He caught a little air, and occasionally landed it.

And occasionally he didn't.

Mike jumps the wake despite the chop, one rigid wipe out at a time.

A little further down the shore we would buzz by the public beach where families were having some picnics on the sand. It looked like they were mostly local Um Al Quwainians (?) The women were in their abayas, some in veils, which made me realize I've never seen a veiled chic wakeboard. Wake boards + Islamic modesty = awkward. But just because I haven't seen it, doesn't mean it doesn't happen. I hope it does...against all odds.

Boats are FUN. Just sayin'.

Bow-of-the-Boat-Blue-Steele.

Any self-respecting wake board jaunt needs a uuber-tacky-tourist-pyramid backdrop. Done.

Go fish
On this particular weekend, the fish were doubly terrorized by a fishing festival. Anyway you could get out there with your bait and tackle, the fishermen were on it. Biggest fish won a speed boat.

Jet ski fishermen. I saw someone else trying to fish from a little blow up boat. In a tussle between a fishing hook and a blow up boat...my money's on the hook.

Weighing the contenders.

I think it was that cute little ray in the grass there that took the prize. Dead fish don't bother me. Skewered rays do :(

shameless consuption

But before the mass gastronomic indulgence...something cute:

Deger saved a bird. Little twat was bashing her head into parking garage walls trying to escape, despite obvious windows and ways out, EVERYWHERE. Bird-brain. Odds are the little wench didn't appreciate Deger's awesomeness. So let's all appreciate on the bird's pea-brained behalf. All together now: AWWWWWWWW.

Now onto BRUNCH! We headed to a cute little place across the pond from Irish Village. (I have no idea what it's called.) And unlike the other ostentatious brunches where vats of gourmet grub go stale all day long, here you order one little dainty taste at a time, and they make each plate fresh. Genius.


Glam with sauce, delivered in dainty little portions, and as many as we want. Life's really rough sometimes.


duck won ton! Almost as cute as the ones still swimming around the pond outside, but way more delicious. And that's not pesto. It's dill-sto.

Deger and his mom check out a pre-wonton duck. For some reason he seems to be terrified of the water. (The duck, not Deger. Although Deger might be scared of the pond too.) He also doesn't seem to recognize the significant irony of the moment. (Again the duck, not Deger.)

And then off to Madinat to chill and digest. And by chill, of course I mean sweat.


Arab lights are neat, especially when the ceiling doesn't bother to block out the sky.

Canal side beer + shisha + beanbags = the perfect way to hunker down for the post-brunch recovery and enjoy the last few days of hot but bearable outdoor temperatures.

Saleh-Shisha?

Meet Mo.


The chill, Arab teddy bear. Mo thinks he's an amazing dancer. Really, he's a bit uncoordinated.

Nerd.

Oh! Reflections!

What's a better way to end the day than a Strawberry Dacari at Trader Vics?
A dual strawberry Dacari slurp-off at Trader Vics with Veeeeee!

Full Moon Beach Party at Atlantis.
aka, snob-fest, kinda trying to be like the one in Thailand (so I hear), without the fun hippie travelers, and with too many stilettos, and silocon body parts. I have no idea why the women here insist on hooching themselves up, in order to sink their 3-inch heels into sand. But at least there were enough NORMAL people around in flip flops to sorta balance things out. A bottle of beer should NEVER cost that much though, especially when the bar makes you wait half an hour for change. I don't care WHAT city you're in. It's a BEACH party for Christ-sake, not the Oscars. Dubai...Atlantis....you make me cry a little bit on the inside.

Roommates, Leon and Benoit, didn't seem to mind though.

At least they had fire breathing and twirling minsrals to entertain the latent pyro inside all of us. (I wonder if they still have eyebrows.)

Another weekend, another gastronomic orgy
It's not a meal. It's an epic-Arab-seafood-extravaganza. Just the appetizers alone could have kept me satisfied for a week. Mmmmm...hummus.

One small tidbit amongst the abundance. Let's call it "Becky" just for fun. Becky here has been deep fried to a crisp, head still attached. Perfect for rapid munching and nonchalant decapitation. I ate her. Other folks at the table ate "Beckys" by the handful. Crunchy!

This giant prawn seems to have already lost this battle. The euphoric Delaney might be responsible.

Is that a mosque mole?
Post-seafood face-stuffing, we headed over to Lime Tree Cafe. It's good to walk these things off before you proceed to sit again. On the way we spied a flying hamburger balloon. Yes, Islam and American hamburger propaganda share the same prayer-filled sky.

Not so shiny after all

Considering all the previous press about the glitz and glam of the oh-so-posh-a-rific-fan-brand-tabulous-Dubai lifestyle, a bit of the other perspective is healthy. The place isn't perfect and it's refreshing to hear someone say so, even if it's exaggerated.

Give this a read. The article is long. Read it anyway. And please, keep a few things in mind. This ran in the opinions section of the Independent in the UK. It is biased. It's written by a journalist who probably popped into town for a couple days to write something that would things up, expose some realities, visit the the most polarizing locations, and talk to the most polarized perspectives, judge, be asked not to judge, continue to judge, and write about it. It's well written. It's spot on...in some respects. It's terribly off and narrow in others.

The dark side of Dubai
http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/johann-hari/the-dark-side-of-dubai-1664368.html
This link is now blocked in the UAE. Funny, eh? Good ol' unfreedom of speech. If the link simply doesn't work, paste the address or google "dark side of dubai" and you should be able to find it without any trouble.

Some perspective on the article
and keep in mind I'm not defending Dubai, just wanna put stuff in context.

Is the human rights situation here messed up?
Yes. Is it messed up in a bunch of other countries? Yes. Are the labor camps real? Yes. Do the construction guys I walk past every day look at me with a sort of sad, broken desperation? Yes. Do I feel helpless about it? Yes. Should I speak out against it or try to run an awareness campaign? I'd rather not go to jail and get kicked out of the country. And it would probably happen in that order.

Are all western expats oblivious,
drunk, and too damn shallow to care about the corruption and human rights trouble? No. Many are clueless. Many are not. Maybe he should have done his interviewing in places other than a notoriously trashy pub. Don't get me wrong, I like Double Deckers for what it is– a great place to grab some pints, sit outside, watch some football and watch the Aussie Chippendales prance around in their bow ties and knee-length shorts. But sometimes it also smells like stale beer and feet. For obvious reasons, it's not the best place to go for informed opinions on the state of affairs in Dubai.

Dubai is a ghost town?
Um, no it's not. Parts are, like many villas on The Palm that have been bought up by investors, or Russians, who just want to say they have a villa on The Palm. The economy has slowed down here just like everywhere else, but when half the place is in transition between construction zone and city, there's gonna be some weird emptiness in between, regardless of downturn or upturn. Some apartment towers in Jumeirah Beach Residence are still empty. Some are filling up. Some stores are closing, others are still waiting to open. But when you see 18 jewelry stores right next to each other, and no drug store in the open air plaza at the base of 5, 45 story apartment towers, it just makes sense that a few will shut down.

Are the Emiratis are either pro-exploitation or con-exploitation?
Do they all tell the same "my grandmother walked to a well" story and now we're rich, so who cares what has to be sacrificed in the process? Um, no. But is the exploitation happening, and are the Emiratis the sacred class, benefiting from it? Yes. Is it racist and irritating, and just weird? Yes. Is this their country and are the rest of the white-colar expats still capitolizing on a fancy tax-free resort town? Yes. Do most of the local and white-collar folks have Philipino or Indian or Pakistani maids and nannies? Yes. Does that happen in many other non-western countries? Yes. Is the exploitation far more complicated than how he explained it in the article? Yes. Is it right? No. Are some of them treated well? Yes.

And as the west criticizes, we're all a little bit hypocritical.
As in any rapidly developing nation, be it in the wake of imperialism, or instant economic boom, or a migrant orchard industry in the US, or in the wake of a monarchy with the means and ambition to push a country to get ahead and prosper ASAP, there are consequences. They are complicated. Read. Comment. Ask questions. And lets see if this blog stays up or if the invisible hand of dubizie shuts it down.

want more?
Slumdogs and Millionaires

Shortly following the blitz of media criticism, the Sheikh responded.
Mohammed: Global crisis behind us

The worst of the crisis is over

Is it me, or does it stink in here?

Sometimes camels take a crap.
Maybe that's what happened at Lynx. I don't know. I don't like talking about advertising here. That's not what "The Camel's Toe" is supposed to be about. Why waste precious pixels on ad bullshit when other blogs do such a great job of it already? But this month, the '09 Lynx Award Show made Dubai stink last week, and for that offense I can't help myself. So forgive me while I digress from the typical stories of Arab graffiti, sand in my bra, nasty camel milk and succulent beaches, but I need to vent.

Lynx judges, you have killed a little bit of my faith in creative advertising. It's a tiny death, mind you, nibbling away at our shared love for original ideas and honest people. I am not jealous of the winning work. I WISH I was jealous. I LOVE being jealous of amazing work. It sets the bar higher. Jealousy of ideas I wish I'd thought of myself, beautiful writing, fresh art, it all keeps the creative heart beating. I'm more embarrassed, than angry, because the ones who SHOULD be embarrassed probably aren't.

I was frustrated though, that Tuesday night, so it's good that I didn't manage to run into one particular Creative Director/self-declared "roll model," as I made my tipsy way through the celebrating and equally pissed off masses towards the exit.


I'd like to think I wouldn't have regretted a word of what I didn't have the opportunity to say. (Double negative anybody?) Are you proud of yourself? Really? How would you define the phrase, "hack" given the opportunity? So, were you just too much of a "pussy" to show your face on the cover of Campaign magazine? I can't IMAGINE why. Instead I just went home and went too bed, a far better use of my evening.

Considering the unethical, copycat, "borrowed," un-client approved, lazy work for products (that in some cases) don't even EXIST in the Middle East, that our dear Lynx judges unwittingly chose to either celebrate this year, or perhaps simply draw attention to, I'm glad my shortlisted babies didn't have to endure such rank company. But then again, thank goodness for the few legit pieces of fresh thinking that SHOULD be the focus of the post award show buzz. It's a shame the scam artists of our industry have tarnished the setting, and I hate that I feel compelled to write about it. I'd rather be gushing with love and envy. To the judge who said something along the lines of, "this is for a big name brand, therefore it can't possibly be scam," I'm afraid you've been scammed. But at this point, I'm sure you realize. But the stolen fed-ex turned aramex ad? The gummie bears? Really? did an entire panel of judges really not recognize them? Life must be nice underneath that rock.

Recycling's "in" this year

This image started surfing the inter-continental-agency email waves the next day. I don't know who made it, but it gave me a nice chuckle. Thanks, cute creative with a sense of humor. Can we be friends?

Want the details?
I know you do. Cause like I said...why hate on ads, when someone else has already done it. No need to re-write the play-by-play.

www.bloganubis.com

One optimistic friend told me, "I kinda think that Fp7 was actually made an example of. By giving them agency of the year, showing the ads that were obviously scammy, maybe the judges were making a statement." I hadn't thought about it that way. Maybe he's got something there. Maybe some healthy embarrassment will come of it. Maybe my myopic, bitchy little perspective has been too busy downing a second desert to notice. I'd like to think so. Maybe the copy-ads were innocent. We've all done it by accident before. You see something, it sticks in your head in a hidden sort of way, and you think you think it up later on. Or it's might just be a good idea that's occurred to more than one person at more than one agency at the same time. It happens. Like the JWT/TBWA bandaid/Hansaplast ad. It's weird when brains are thinking in parallel. Telepathy is creepy-cool. Maybe this sort of innocence just happened a lot this year, but then again, odds are against it.

www.campaignme.wordpress.com/2009/03/25/dubai-lynx-launches-investigation-into-fp7-dohas-winning-work/

To everyone else who's jaw was dangling in the mediocre chicken gravy that night, remember, Karma works. I've seen it. (Sometimes it works fast, and unfolds right in front of you, and that's really satisfying.) So create on, my friends. Make us all jealous with your golden originality next year, and I will love you. Just, please for the love of God, Allah, Al Lat, Buddha, Ganesha, Zeus, Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, please let the work be truly yours. Let it be for a legit client, even if it's a tiny one you had to seek out for awards, then at least get the product right. Let the idea be new. Let recycling just be for empty bottles and wasted paper, and planet friendliness. Then, as you wave your ego-trophy in inebriated well-deserved joy, I will be the first to stand up and cheer my heart out for you.

myth castration, part deux

So while the good 'ol USA continues to get their information on Dubai and the Middle East from the "not at all biased or lame" US media...barfs in the corner...may the super-dooper myth-demolition-extravaganza continue.


1. Dubai is all sand. sand sand sand sand.
Sure there's sand. Yes...it can feel a wee-bit beige. But if the desert is really nothing but a bunch of dunes and camels, then explain this deliciousness.

Safa Park.
From here, the entire city looks green,
and unlike Paris, you can PLAY on it!

Perfect for frolicking, afternoon concepting,
naps, dog romps, picnics and blatant stupidity.

Granted, a lot of the city IS beige. Unless it's a tall shiny ego phallus. Then it's tall, shiny, and...well, phallic. But it makes for some crazy views when I walk from work to the Dubai Mall for lunch.

This particular erection looks even taller in person, especially when there's a perfect little cloud for dramatic effect. But this is the kind of crap CNN's already covered. Sorry I digress, but it brings us to our next myth....


2. There are no clouds, EVER, and it never rains.
Um, see above. It'll be gone this summer, but it rains in the winter. Thank God. Last winter it rained so much, the city flooded. That was good fun.

Yay weather! Rain, wind, big waves! Okay, it doesn't
really show up here. You'll just have to trust me.

3. Dubai is not in Iraq. And it's not Gaza either. Get a map, people.
I know high school geography was a while ago, but come on. The Middle East is a REGION. For the world to consider a chunk-o-planet a "region," it has to be BIG. Those are just the rules. Dubai is in the United Arab Emirates. It's a little country with a lot of ambition, a lot of tolerance, and the cleanest, shiniest floors ever.

Dubai faces the Arabian Gulf, and if you drive over to Fujiarah, you get a delicious piece of the Indian Ocean. (Technically, it's the Gulf of Oman, but lets not nit-pick. The snorkeling/diving's suposed to be pretty great.) And don't let the whole "Indian Ocean" bit confuse you. Dubai is not in India either. Some neighborhoods just seem that way.


4. Girls should be VEILED?! It's an Islamic nation, therefore it's DRY?!
What? This isn't SAUDI. Dubai is the Vegas/Singapore of the Middle East. Everyone from Europe comes here to defrost, get fried in the sun, ride a camel, party, shop and pick up some knock-off handbags and gold.

On the way to the Gold Souk,
Why take a bridge, when you can take an Abra?

Everyone from the rest of the Middle East comes here to embrace the tolerance and open mindedness of the place, party shop and pick up some real handbags and gold. (Most of them are over the whole camel and sun thing. It's old news.)

This was a fancy little table at a club, for 4 of us. Holy excess!



Roomies at 360

Another night, elsewhere in the city....drinks, music, balmy breezes, strappless tops, and 360 degrees of water. (It's on a jetty.) Take a ten minute walk back down the jetty, through the hotel and out on the street, and you can hear the call to prayer five times a day. Some say it's hypocritical. Some say it's tolerant. Some say it's economics. I'm just amazed that there's life for my tube-top after South Beach.

The general rule? Don't have sex in public. Don't pass out like a drunken idiot on the sidewalk, don't streak down Jumeriah Beach Road (even though it may be tempting,) and you'll be all right. Some of the women I work with dress more seductively than in many ad agencies in the states. Bare shoulders, strappy dresses, Abayas, veils, sweaters, whatever rocks your boat. If you want to dress like a whore, knock yourself out. What will happen? The Indian and Pakistani guys will stare. Yes, they really will. People might think you're Russian and ask you how much, and they won't let you strut through a mosque dressed like that. It's okay to wear a bikini. (Ideally not at work. That would be weird.)

Good place for Bikini!


Bad place for Bikini!


Dumb placed for Bikini!

Now that we've cleared that up, it's also okay to wear shorts and socks with your sandals here, if you don't mind sticking out like an American tourist. The fashionistas might avert their eyes and make fun of you, but it'll be in a Lebanese version of English-French-Arabic, so you won't know the difference and everyone stays happy. And if you're romping around in your short shorts, rocking the sock-sandal thing, you probably ARE a tourist, in which case, so what? ENJOY IT.


5. Women have to deal with loads of sexism at work.
Actually, every advertising chic gets her own personal MINSTREL! At least if you're lucky enough to know someone with a ukulele and feather pen. If you're one of those feminist freaks who yells at the men who are considerate enough to hold the door for you, and let you leave the elevator first, you might not like Dubai. Ladies first. American men, take lessons, your chivalry has gone down the toilet.


Do I see sexism here? Yes. It's eye opening. It makes me angry. And when i do see it, it's out of context. I ask questions. I get less angry, i get more angry. I get confused. It's called a healthy exposure to a different culture. Do I have any idea what it's really like, to be an Emirati woman, in a conservative Emirati family? No. But I know it varies from family to family, a lot. I know it varies from Saudi to Syrian to Lebanese to Iranian to American...to any other given ex-pat family. And anyone who's afraid to come here just because they're too in love with their Wal-Mart-esque-narrow-minded complacency, they're missing out. There's more to life than Iowa. Here's to the open mind. Here's my roaming minstrel. Hawt. Now if only he'd learn to play the damn thing.

time to debunk some myths...

and bury some misunderstandings in the sand. Or grass. YES. Believe it or not, there IS the occasional burst of green in Dubai, and I have the photos to PROVE it, (considering contrary, popular uninformed opinion might argue otherwise). As I've fallen into a bit of a lull here, I'm probably the first one guilty of saying lame crap like, "There's no culture in Dubai." Granted, if your circle only includes Barasti, (think maxim-quality meat-market beach-bar with a decent beer selection,) the beach, Starbucks, and a few more Glam South Beachy Hotel Bars, and the mall, you'd be right. BORING.

BUT I'm the first to admit, I've been a little bit of a lazy twat, and yes, the plethora of knock off Gucci and Prada and L.V. and Hummers and Verssace and Maseratis and gold crap and tacky crap, and skanky girls dressed in their stilettos and lycra-polyester and ads that boast premium and luxury and posh and high end and blah blah blah...all make it very easy to think the Dubai world is shallow. In many regards, it is. But in many regards it is not. There is more than tall buildings and fancy hotels and camels. Really.

For instance, a given lunch with the awesome folks I work with will typically include: A Cuban-American, Philippino, Frenchie, Aussie, Serbian, Egyptian, Syrian, Indian, Brit, South African...and I could keep going. That's culture. That's crazy-awesome-lunch-time banter with a side of pesto. But this is a given about Dubai. This part you don't have to seek out. It slaps you in the face. Now Arab Hip Hop... different matter.

Meet Narcicyst.
Brilliant Hip Hop artist split between Iraq, Dubai and Canada, doing what he can to shine some light on some serious issues from Gaza violence to placelessness and ignorant stereotypes. Powerful lyrics, infectious rhythms. DOPE music.

Title song for the new P.H.A.T.W.A. album.

• Play PHATWA

http://www.narcy.net/audio/phatwatrack.mp3
(just in case the link doesn't work)

Phatwa trailer:
(The first official music video/short film to come off the album)


Current TV documentary
the MC and his art:

Then there's Desert Heat.
Emirati hip hop covering Middle Eastern politics, Arab history,and Mom-love, (cause who doesn't love their mom?) all with a mix of hip hop and Arab rhythms. Fun.

on MTV Arabia...


We'll consider this the first scratch in the dusty Dubai-Myth surface. Green-shots of sprawling parks coming as soon as I get the photos off the camera. Promise. (And please pardon typos. I'm sleepy.)

1 year in Dubai. 1 list of tipsy randomness.

1. drunk. No. To be fair, tipsy.
2. i have officially been in Dubai, exactly 1 yEAR.
3. tipsy :)
4. already said...more on that later.
5. No tycoons. No camel race victories, however, have found camels. Wild ones. Rode one. Not wild. Triumph.
6. i should put this on da blog.
7. i like artichokes. haven't had one since i arrived. but that's not dubai's fault. i blame the artichoke, for being such a second thought vegetable.
9. is an artichoke a vegetable?
10. What if, by going to the other side of the planet, I've become a second thought vegetable?
11. Turkey day involved splendid turkey, prepared by the American-Cuban-Spanish-Southern-Boston dude, who's really just American. He just insists on claiming all the extra baggage too, but can cook a mean turkey. Mucho stuffing made by the fabulous Turkish dude. more folks from random nations, including but not limited to Syria, Philippines, Atlanta (a nation in itself) Canada, Egypt, France and probably a couple others I've forgotten. please refer to number 1 and 3. Wow that was long.
12. Russel Peters was HYSTERICAL tonight, as was his opener, Oz something who Iv'e heard of before, laughed with (not at) before but can't come up with the rest of his name for obvious reasons...
13. elipsi are cool...screw you, professor...ad teacher types. What did the poor ellipsis ever do to you to deserve all the hate?
13. The two Stella afterwards proved yet again that I'm a terrible lightweight.
14. This is a very long top ten list.
15. It's National Day tomorrow. No work. Lots of green white and red stuff, everywhere. NO WORK!
16. Dubai is not in Iraq, for anyone still wondering. Catch up, USA.
17. Beach is good. Straw cowboy hat for beach is good. Good is good. Sleep is good. Running out of laundry detergent is bad, but not nearly as bad as turned milk. Comedy is good. Cultural comedy, making fun of accents in the most accented, culturally integrated place in the world is simply AWESOME.
18 A roommate just came home with a random girl. Great. Or weird. I'm not sure.
19. Tomorrow's National Day! No work!
20. This is an exceptionally long top ten list. Double the list, double the pleasure, double the typos, double the realization that a year ago today I was in a plane on my way to Dubai. And yes, the beach is still beautiful. Oh turquoise splendid refreshingness, i will see you tomorrow....after a nice little run along the walk. Am I spoiled or what?
21. "Splendid" is British. I am not British. That word is annoying, and yet I over use it like an unintentional pretentious snob. (Barfs in the corner...and not from the Stella.) 1 round of apologies, on me.
22. Between the Russel Peters show and BarZar for beers at Madinat Souk, we passed an African midget...aka....exceptionally exceptional short person with a very dark complexion, IN a Dishdash, in a city with very few of all the above mentioned...the odds. Unbelievable. The remainder of the evening was uneventful, save for the random bloke who tried to pick up a couple girls we were with, with his cell phone.
Bloke: (with big ears and cell phone in hand. Big ears weren't in hand. Cell phone was.) Do any of you happen to know how to spell reciprocity...
(or some equally absurd word to text, while clearly not terribly certain about what it means, much less how to use it in a sentence.) BUT the line worked. He got this Irish girl's number by time she left. Unbelievable.
22. German word for nipple, when back translated = breast wart. hehe. Way to go German. You've always had a way with romance. Oh wait. That would be the romantic languages. Never mind. Good effort though. Good effort.

the great camel encouner

With fall came the clouds
the cool breezes, wild camels, and visiting friends from the far reaches of the planet. With fall also came the economic belly dance that leaves everyone a little bit confused–hopeful one day, as the economy's teasing hips sway towards you, then back away, gyrating until you have to find the horizon to steady yourself. Everyday I start work with the New York Times. And almost every day, the economic outlook is different. The Market's looking up. The economy's in the toilet. No it's not. Oh wait, yes it is, and someone flushed. And the dance goes on. With fall, came a global celebration as relief ripples from the Obama epicenter, across the pond to the Middle East, Europe, Asia, and probably a few undiscovered tribal islands somewhere in Micronesia.

Regardless of how hopeful, or disappointed or confused you feel, I invite you to set the small politics aside. Forget about your party. Forget about pro-choice or pro-life. Forget about race. Forget about taxes. Forget about oil. Forget about health care. Even forget about the economy, just for a moment, and consider this:
In the last eight years, I've been out of the country...a lot. And on Wednesday, November 5th, for the first time in close to eight years, the United States was not hated. How do I know?

In my agency, we probably have close to 30 nationalities represented. (I didn't count. Everyone's really from everywhere. When folks say that about Dubai, they're not kidding. Really. This is basically a little snow globe of the globe. minus the snow. Okay, maybe it's more of a sand globe.)

My British roommate, woke me up, banging my bedroom door down with the news. At work that Wednesday, my many-nation office celebrated. People congratulated me as if I has singlehandedly put Obama in office. The Iranian guy high-fived me. We did a happy dance.
In the weeks leading up to the election, they wanted to know who I was voting for. Why was I voting for him. Why wasn't I voting for the other? What did I think of the running mates? How biased was the media in the states? Was I biased? Who did I think would win and why? The Egyptian chap I sit next to was probably more informed and unbiased in forming his opinions than the average American. On Tuesday the entire planet watched. On Wednesday, they celebrated, not just an election. They celebrated a new leader of the free-world who they wanted to talk to, instead of punch. The global community knows all too well, that whatever the U.S. does, it will have a direct impact on them, while they're the mercy of the American voters, many of which (through no fault of their own) have never been off American soil. The little sand-globe here, celebrated the U.S. President Elect as if he was their own. They were celebrating the United States, not hating it.

Fall in Dubai, didn't bring gold and red leaves. There's no hot cider, no nip in the air, no corn mazes, no pumpkin patch day-trips. There's no Annie's Mac and Cheese. There are no snow dusted peaks. There are spectacular sand dunes, truckloads of hummus, rad friends, Krispy Kreme Donuts...

And of course, camels! Wild ones!

As you drive out into the desert towards Al Ain, the sand gets softer and redder. Looks like paprika. Doesn't taste like paprika though. Trust me.

The great dune trek. Just add epic soundtrack.

The Sorcerer's Apprentice has competition. He's tall, Turkish, cooks amazing Thanksgiving stuffing and stuffed mushrooms, and could out sorcerer Mickey Mouse in a second. But he wouldn't. He's too nice for that.

360 degrees of sea breezes and mood lighting

360: Trendy club at the end of a jetty just next to the Burj Al Arab (that hotel. Yeah, that one.) It's round, glam, with a 360 view (duh), beer, Shisha, and with the right people, it's chill and fun. In this case, the people were great, the beer was cold, and the shisha smelled of grape to go with the purple mood lighting. An odd-cool mix of creatives from the agency, an amazing Austrian photographer his amazing producer and an amazing friend from ad school. Awesome.

On the way into 360. You can see the jetty in the background, and of course the over rated, over publicized Burj Al Arab.

Trey and Sheik Bin Elephante face off at a shop at Madinat Souk.

Lucky for Trey, his Royal Elephantness wasn't prepared for the green curry.

From the top of the Emirate Towers.
This little bar at the top of the city reminds me of Lost in Translation. Shelly says it reminds her of Shanghai. I'm not sure what I remind her of, but it can't be good. Perhaps, terrifying.

Say 'Prune'

Fake glam poses for a glam place. Oh fab. Um...where are my Birkenstocks? Hm. A picture of the view would have been nice here. Maybe I'll add it later.

Coming soon....Tales of more camels and Shisha at Bab Al Shams.

Epiphanies from the Chic Side

Epiphany #1
Celebrity horse jockey, Frankie Dettori owns a fancy little Italian restaurant on "The Walk" at Jumeirah Beach Residence. Naturally, if something is fancy, my instinct is to just throw on some heels with whatever else I happen to be wearing, and it usually works out all right. Well, Frankie's is fancy, in that the raviolis are still ravioli's, but there aren't very many of them, they just cost a little bit more, and odds are, the company you're with tends to be a little bit fancier as well. So, good thing my heels did their job and spruced up the little denim skirt just fine. The thing is though, "The Walk" is cobbled, making my journey between cafe di Roma and Frankie's a complete pain-in-the-ass. And that's when it struck me: Cobbles and heels are stupid together, which is funny, considering shoe makers and fixers are called cobblers.

Epiphany #2
When you go out to dinner with fancy people, at a fancy little restaurant, in a fancy little city like Dubai, where shiny is in, and most everyone around you knows the difference between this season and last season's Gucci, always, always order from the expensive side of the menu. If one person orders drinks, order your own drink. Hell, order two. Here's why. If you're at said restaurant with said fancy people, and if you go, thinking you can order on the conservative side, and have a nice experience without going broke, you're wrong. You're wrong because some twat at the opposite end of the table is bound to say, "lets just split the bill," probably because that person feels a little bit too tipsy to care, and doesn't want to deal with doing 3rd grade math. As a creative who managed to turn the math side of my brain off a few years back, even I would be perfectly capable and willing to do it. I've got a brain, and a pencil and a phone with a calculator function. Bring it. Send the bill down to my end. It might take a while, but I'm ready and willing to tell you exactly how much you owe. Just don't expect the one kid at the table not wearing this season's LV or DG or P or G to cover your lazy-ass extravagant ordering habits. It's okay. I'm over it. The moral of the story? Order expensive, and let the rich assholes cover the difference. Sure Babycakes, lets split the bill. Better yet, if you're rolling in it, why don't you just cover my sirloin and 4 martinis, and we'll call it even. Cause clearly, while you're feeling lazy about a little bit of simple arithmetic, I'm thinking about how the economy's going down the toilet back home. Maybe you won't know the difference, but I will. And then on the way back home...there were those confounded cobbles again, trying to devour my heels for dessert.

Eid Mubarak y'all!

Eid ended the month long Ramadan fast a day sooner than we expected! Woot! The moon did its lunar thing, and the guy who goes and looks at the moon did his thing, and bam, I get a text message from work last night at ten with the joyous news that Eid's begun. It's a great festivus of eating! No work! It's like a snow day, only longer, and no snow, with an Islamic backstory I understand better than I did, say, a year ago, but still don't know nearly enough about it. What I do know, is the crazy shop hours, and all the closed cafes, and perpetual fear that I'll forget about Ramadan and take a swig of water on the street, is over. Sidewalk cafes are open during daylight hours agian! We can eat lunch IN the restaurants, as opposed to mandatory takeout.

Among the ex-pats, it seems like there's some mixed feelings about the Ramadan thing here. If so many people in Dubai are not practicing Muslims, then why should we be subjected to the closed restaurants etc? Isn't the point of fasting during the daylight hours, to test your willpower, and deny yourself temptation until sunset? So then if there's no temptation, what's the point? While I get this school of thought, I don't agree with it.

I don't care how much you stuff your face when you get up for the 4am prayer. After that, no food or drink till sunset is brutal. There's a reason they shorten the hours of work. Even when I eat breakfast, if I don't eat lunch, the talons come out by 2. You don't need other people wafting their butter chicken in your face. Not to mention, we're all guests in an Islamic nation. And the place is super liberal, with the bars, and the clubs, and an open minded attitude that lets me feel comfortable wearing a strappy tanktop to work and a bikini on the beach. The least we can do is endure a month of slight inconvenience during their holy month. I mean, it's sacred, and if it's not your style of sacredness, fine. Appreciate the nice tax break. We have very little to complain about. But I AM glad it's over, so I can coffee shop my heart out night AND day. Yay Eid!


I moved. It was a villa thing.



It was a co-habitation thing. Another hiccup from the conservative side of Dubai. The villa-shares in Jumeirah are complicated. Otherwise known as illegal, as they're making Jumeriah a family place, and "letting" the single debaucherous ex-pats migrate to Marina, or the Greens. And I don't think it's so much that they want Jumeirah to be family only, or that they're really so concerned about single people of the opposite sex living under one roof to save money. I think it may be more an effort to get the ex-pats to bring these newer areas to life. Fill 'em up fast, get retail business rolling. But this is all theory. Either way, the police are laying down the smack, shutting the share's down, and while there are a few folks in my villa who blew the lid off awesomeness, everything happens for a reason. 'Cause now I have MARINA to explore, complete with a GORGEOUS beach, little restaurants and shopping plazas, an Italian coffee shop with an ocean view (YUM) all in walking distance, not to mention the 5 swimming pools within a 3 minute walk. If I wasn't working my ass off, I'd consider myself officially spoiled.

The new backyard.

Jumeriah Beach Residence is big. It's not just one tower, it's many. It's not just one plaza with towers surrounding it, there are a lot of those too. I fondly call it Gotham City. When you catch the lighting right, these towers feel cartoonishly foreboding, looming overhead. Yes, this WHOLE thing is part of the same complex. It's huge, it's beige, and the longer I live here, the more it grows on me, in an UN-mildewy sort of way.

Just one piece of JBR = the tall beige towers behind the palm trees. The squarish hotel isn't that old, but they're tearing it down anyway, so they can put something glam up in its place.







The contrast between finished spaces filling up with life and the raw manic construction still impresses me. This is a fountain on the second floor plaza level of JBR, looking across the beach towards The Palm. Just to the left of this photo is a Krispy Kreme, which requires a double dose of will power. So far we're batting a 50 percent average, and during Ramadan, when everything but the grocery store was closed all day long, a dark KK was just depressing. I'm much happier using my own willpower than Islam's. But seeing that I'm a guest in an Islamic country, who am I to complain? At least my God wants me to eat :) When the sky isn't so hazy, you can easily see the Atlantis at the end of The Palm, from this fountain, (or Krispy Kreme's delicious windows).

If you turn around from this little fountain, head across the plaza, you'll cross a road and a bridge over the marina channel, and end up at Marina Walk: plenty of coffee, overpriced restaurants, pretty views of yachts, sweet jumpy fountain you can play in and get drenched, some nice walk-side shesha places, and of course...Johnny Rockets. Oh, sweet succulent chocolate malts, how I love thee. AND I just found out the legendary Fudruckers of my childhood just opened up a mere five minute walk from my front door. For those of you un-familiar with the best hamburgers in the world, familiarize yourself. You won't regret it. I just hope this one lives up to my nostalgic standard, but on the other side of the planet you never can tell. KFC here?...lets just say the Colonel would roll over in his grave.

Marina Walk

I ended up here the other day, lost, trying to find the one coffee shop in Marina that was supposedly open during daylight hours during the holy month of Ramadan. They all fast like manics. I found it in time for it to be...closed for a couple hours before they opened again at 6 pm. Oh Iftar.



And then one morning in the midst of the late summer heat, came the haze.

When the breeze kicks up and the sky turns an opaque haze, blurring the distinction between the skyscrapers and the skies they scrape, Timeout Dubai says the sun is hiding. The shadows are there, but dim. And while it’s technically sunny out, the odd glowing coin in the sky looks more like a paper cut out pasted against a set backdrop to the stage that is Dubai.
In the spring, the windstorms bring a shift in weather. With each storm comes a new wave of heat. But now in mid-September, there aren’t any drifts of beach sand piling across Jumeirah Beach Road. The sun just gets a little bit shy, and the mornings wake up a little bit cooler. The nights though are heavy with water, so my jeans stick to my legs as we go swimming through the humidity. Sweat beads in my cleavage, but it’s finally just cool enough that I don’t mind. I don’t mind a bit because I can finally sit outside all evening with friends over Moroccan green tea and Krispy Kreme donuts (talk about a brilliant mashing of cultures) and welcome the condensation on your skin because the breeze that comes with it, is finally just cool enough to wish the heat away.

A sea plane! just like Seattle, only not at all like Seattle in so many ways.

work hard play hard, and scribble like a maniac
Ramadan makes everyone a little crazy. Those who are fasting, are, well, hungry-crazy till sunset. Then after Iftar, they're crazy-full. the post-fast belly, is truly "tight like a drum" and it reverberates like any decent timpani. And then the happy person said tummy's attached to, falls asleep in a happy little ball of digestion.

Those who are not fasting go a little stir-crazy. In my case I had "sympathy hunger." I've never been so hungry at around 4 pm, as I was during Ramadan. I blame the fasters in our office. They couldn't eat or drink, but shared their parched hunger with me via osmosis. I had to go stuff my face on their behalf. Lasagna with your tea? Yes please, and I'll take that side salad too.
Then there's the stir-crazy rebellion. This time it involved a house party, some fruit punch, and....MAGIC MARKERS! If I'd understood the full potential of these magic wands of color as a kid, I'm sure I would have turned out about the same, but with a little more trouble mixed in. Lucky for my parents, I'm a late bloomer, so now they get to endure images of me with some orange cock n' balls scribbled across my forehead floating about on the internets. All of them. Good thing I was coloring inside the lines at the time, and good thing we know to color outside the lines now. Sadly, the camera didn't come out till we hit the elevator on our way out around 4 am.

Rad friends + magic markers = tomfoolery of awesomeness.
(The fact that my spell-check just fixed how I spelled awesomeness, is awesome.)

And with June came the humidity

A little narrative excerpt...

And they rose up out of the sea. Some said it was the heat, that it could trick the eyes. Some said it was simply humidity hanging thick in the air. But I knew it was more than that. The Gulf itself would send her men crawling up the shore, stepping out of the waves to wrap their arms around the palms, to kiss the woman who floated across the expansive sand on the wings of her Abaya. And the few cars parked at that hour out on the open beach would never see them pass. Headlamps, you see, only illuminating the obvious. Yes sir, the humidity came. It crawled across the sands and into the unsuspecting arms of Jumeirah. It crawled under the villa gates, over the villa walls and across the hidden gardens and courtyards within. The men of the gulf crawled out of the jolly rancher sea and poured their hearts around the half built skyscraper shells of Marina and Business Bay. They smothered the sandy beige of the desert and dusty greens of Safa Park till the grass and brittle palm fronds glistened. The flying lights down the city’s artery, Sheik Zayed Road, pushed through the clutches of the humidity, unaware. The men rose from the surf and made sweet illicit love to the neurotic empire until the construction lights grew into vast holy halos in the night, until the city of Dubai was illuminated by it’s own hungry construction, glowing as if it had already sunk into the sea.